The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sundering Flood, by William Morris
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Title: The Sundering Flood
Author: William Morris
Editor: May Morris
Release Date: May 20, 2008 [EBook #25547]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNDERING FLOOD ***
Produced by Jeremy Woodburn
THE SUNDERING FLOOD
by
WILLIAM MORRIS
from
The Collected Works of William Morris
Volume XXI
The Sundering Flood
Unfinished Romances
Longmans Green and Company
Paternoster Row London
New York Bombay Calcutta
MDCCCCXIV
CONTENTS
Chapter I. Of a River Called the Sundering Flood, and of the Folk that
Dwelt Thereby
Chapter II. Of Wethermel and the Child Osberne
Chapter III. Wolves Harry the Flock
Chapter IV. Surly John Falls Out with the Goodman
Chapter V. Osberne Slays the Wolves
Chapter VI. They Fare to the Cloven Mote
Chapter VII. Of a Newcomer, and His Gift to Osberne
Chapter VIII. The Goodman Gets a New Hired Man
Chapter IX. The Bight of the Cloven Knoll
Chapter X. Osberne and Elfhild Hold Converse Together
Chapter XI. Osberne Shoots a Gift Across the Flood
Chapter XII. Of a Guest Called Waywearer
Chapter XIII. Steelhead Gives Osberne the Sword Boardcleaver
Chapter XIV. The Gifts of Steelhead
Chapter XV. Surly John Brings a Guest to Wethermel
Chapter XVI. Hardcastle Would Seize Wethermel
Chapter XVII. The Slaying of Hardcastle
Chapter XVIII. Elfhild Hears of the Slaying
Chapter XIX. The Winter Passes and Elfhild Tells of the Death of Her
Kinswoman
Chapter XX. Osberne Fares to Eastcheaping and Brings Gifts for Elfhild
Chapter XXI. Warriors from Eastcheaping Ride into the Dale
Chapter XXII. Osberne Takes Leave of Elfhild
Chapter XXIII. Osberne Is Chosen Captain of the Dalesmen
Chapter XXIV. A Skirmish with the Baron of Deepdale in the Marshes
Chapter XXV. Stephen Tells of an Adventure in the Camp of the Foemen
Chapter XXVI. They Bring the Baron into Eastcheaping
Chapter XXVII. They Parley from the Walls
Chapter XXVIII. The Baron of Deepdale Makes Peace
Chapter XXIX. Osberne and His Men Return to Wethermel
Chapter XXX. Osberne Goes to the Trysting-Place
Chapter XXXI. They Meet Through Autumn and Winter
Chapter XXXII. Foemen Among the West Dalers
Chapter XXXIII. Osberne Seeks Tidings of Elfhild
Chapter XXXIV. Osberne Sorrows for the Loss of Elfhild
Chapter XXXV. Osberne Seeks Counsel of Steelhead
Chapter XXXVI. The Staves which Osberne Taught to the Dalesmen
Chapter XXXVII. Osberne Takes Leave of Wethermel
Chapter XXXVIII. Osberne Parts from Stephen the Eater
Chapter XXXIX. Osberne Gets Him a New Master
Chapter XL. Osberne Rides with Sir Godrick
Chapter XLI. They Joust with the Knight of the Fish
Chapter XLII. They Deliver the Thorp-Dwellers from the Black Skinners
Chapter XLIII. They Come to the Edge of the Wood Masterless
Chapter XLIV. They Reach Longshaw and Osberne Gets Him a New Name
Chapter XLV. The Red Lad Scatters the Host of the Barons
Chapter XLVI. Osberne Enters the City of the Sundering Flood
Chapter XLVII. The Battle in the Square
Chapter XLVIII. Sir Godrick Is Chosen Burgreve of the City
Chapter XLIX. Of the City King and the Outland King
Chapter L. The Red Lad Speaks Privily with Sir Godrick
Chapter LI. Osberne is Beguiled by Felons
Chapter LII. The Meeting of Osberne and Elfhild
Chapter LIII. Strangers Come to Wethermel
Chapter LIV. The Carline Beginneth Her Tale
Chapter LV. The Blue Knight Buys the Maiden of the Chapman
Chapter LVI. The Blue Knight Talks with the Maiden by the Way
Chapter LVII. They Come to Brookside
Chapter LVIII. Peaceful Days in the Castle of Brookside
Chapter LIX. Tidings of Longshaw and of the Hosting of the Barons'
League
Chapter LX. The Blue Knight Gathers Men and Departs from Brookside
Chapter LXI. The Maiden and the Carline Flee to the Grey Sisters
Chapter LXII. They Fall in with Three Chapmen
Chapter LXIII. They Escape from the Chapmen by the Carline's Wizardry
Chapter LXIV. The Carline Endeth Her Tale
Chapter LXV. Osberne and Elfhild Make Themselves Known to Their People
Chapter LXVI. The Lip of the Sundering Flood
Chapter LXVII. A Friend at Need
Chapter LXVIII. The Knight of Longshaw Gathereth Force
ILLUSTRATIONS
Map of the country of the Sundering Flood
THE SUNDERING FLOOD
Chapter I. Of a River Called the Sundering Flood, and of the Folk that
Dwelt Thereby
It is told that there was once a mighty river which ran south into the
sea, and at the mouth thereof was a great and rich city, which had
been builded and had waxed and thriven because of the great and most
excellent haven which the river aforesaid made where it fell into the
sea. And now it was like looking at a huge wood of barked and
smoothened fir-trees when one saw the masts of the ships that lay in
the said haven.
But up in this river ran the flood of tide a long way, so that the
biggest of dromonds and round-ships might fare up it, and oft they lay
amid pleasant up-country places, with their yards all but touching the
windows of the husbandman's stead, and their bowsprits thrusting forth
amongst the middens, and the routing swine, and querulous hens. And
the uneasy lads and lasses sitting at high-mass of the Sunday in the
grey church would see the tall masts amidst the painted saints of the
aisle windows, and their minds would wander from the mass-hackled
priest and the words and the gestures of him, and see visions of far
countries and outlandish folk, and some would be heart-smitten with
that desire of wandering and looking on new things which so oft the
sea-beat board and the wind-strained pine bear with them to the
dwellings of the stay-at-homes: and to some it seemed as if, when they
went from out the church, they should fall in with St. Thomas of India
stepping over the gangway, and come to visit their uplandish Christmas
and the Yule-feast of the field-abiders of midwinter frost. And
moreover, when the tide failed, and there was no longer a flood to
bear the sea-going keels up-stream (and that was hard on an hundred of
miles from the sea), yet was this great river a noble and
wide-spreading water, and the downlong stream thereof not so heavy nor
so fierce but that the barges and lesser keels might well spread their
sails when the south-west blew, and fare on without beating; or if the
wind were fouler for them, they that were loth to reach from shore to
shore might be tracked up by the draught of horses and bullocks, and
bear the wares of the merchants to many a cheaping.
Other rivers moreover not a few fell into this main flood, and of the
some were no lesser than the Thames is at Abingdon, where I, who
gathered this tale, dwell in the House of the Black Canons; blessed be
St. William, and St. Richard, and the Holy Austin our candle in the
dark! Yea and some were even bigger, so that the land was well
furnished both of fisheries and water-ways.
Now the name of this river was the Sundering Flood, and the city at
the mouth thereof was called the City of the Sundering Flood. And it
is no wonder, considering all that I have told concerning the wares
and chaffer that it bore up-country, though the folk of the City and
its lands (and the city-folk in special) knew no cause for this name.
Nay, oft they jested and gibed and gabbed, for they loved their river
much and were proud of it; wherefore they said it was no sunderer but
a uniter; that it joined land to land and shore to shore; that it had
peopled the wilderness and made the waste places blossom, and that no
highway for wheels and beasts in all the land was so full of blessings
and joys as was their own wet Highway of the Flood. Nevertheless, as
meseemeth that no name is given to any town or mountain or river
causeless, but that men are moved to name all steads for a remembrance
of deeds that have been done and tidings that have befallen, or some
due cause, even so might it well be with the Sundering Flood, and
whereas also I wot something of that cause I shall now presently show
you the same.
For ye must know that all this welfare of the said mighty river was
during that while that it flowed through the plain country anigh the
city, or the fertile pastures and acres of hill and dale and down
further to the north. But one who should follow it up further and
further would reach at last the place where it came forth from the
mountains. There, though it be far smaller than lower down, yet is it
still a mighty great water, and it is then well two hundred miles from
the main sea. Now from the mountains it cometh in three great forces,
and many smaller ones, and perilous and awful it is to behold; for
betwixt those forces it filleth all the mountain ghyll, and there is
no foothold for man, nay for goat, save at a hundred foot or more
above the water, and that evil and perilous; and is the running of a
winter millstream to the beetles and shrew-mice that haunt the
greensward beside it, so is the running of that flood to the sons of
Adam and the beasts that serve them: and none has been so bold as to
strive to cast a bridge across it.
But when ye have journeyed with much toil and no little peril over the
mountain-necks (for by the gorge of the river, as aforesaid, no man
may go) and have come out of the mountains once more, then again ye
have the flood before you, cleaving a great waste of rocks mingled
with sand, where groweth neither tree nor bush nor grass; and now the
flood floweth wide and shallow but swift, so that no words may tell of
its swiftness, and on either side the water are great wastes of
tumbled stones that the spates have borne down from the higher ground.
And ye shall know that from this place upward to its very wells in the
higher mountains, the flood decreaseth not much in body or might,
though it be wider or narrower as it is shallower or deeper, for
nought but mere trickles of water fall into it in the space of this
sandy waste, and what feeding it hath is from the bents and hills on
either side as you wend toward the mountains to the north, where, as
aforesaid, are its chiefest wells.
Now when ye have journeyed over this waste for some sixty miles, the
land begins to better, and there is grass again, yet no trees, and it
rises into bents, which go back on each side, east and west, from the
Flood, and the said bents are grass also up to the tops, where they
are crested with sheer rocks black of colour. As for the Flood itself,
it is now gathered into straiter compass, and is deep, and exceeding
strong; high banks it hath on either side thereof of twenty foot and
upward of black rock going down sheer to the water; and thus it is for
a long way, save that the banks be higher and higher as the great
valley of the river rises toward the northern mountains.
But as it rises the land betters yet, and is well grassed, and in
divers nooks and crannies groweth small wood of birch and whiles of
quicken tree; but ever the best of the grass waxeth nigh unto the lips
of the Sundering Flood, where it rises a little from the Dale to the
water; and what little acre-land there is, and it is but little, is up
on knolls that lie nearer to the bent, and be turned somewhat
southward; or on the east side of the Flood (which runneth here nigh
due north to south), on the bent-side itself, where, as it windeth and
turneth, certain slopes lie turned to southwest. And in these places
be a few garths, fenced against the deer, wherein grow rye, and some
little barley whereof to make malt for beer and ale, whereas the folk
of this high-up windy valley may have no comfort of wine. And it is to
be said that ever is that land better and the getting more on the east
side of the Sundering Flood than on the west.
As to the folk of this land, they are but few even now, and belike
were fewer yet in the time of my tale. There was no great man amongst
them, neither King, nor Earl, nor Alderman, and it had been hard
living for a strong-thief in the Dale. Yet folk there were both on the
east side and the west of the Flood. On neither side were they utterly
cut off from the world outside the Dale; for though it were toilsome,
it was not perilous to climb the bents and so wend over the necks east
and west, where some forty miles from the west bank and fifty from the
east you might come down into a valley fairly well peopled, wherein
were two or three cheaping-towns: and to these towns the dalesmen had
some resort, that they might sell such of their wool as they needed
not to weave for themselves, and other small chaffer, so that they
might buy wrought wares such as cutlery and pots, and above all boards
and timber, whereof they had nought at home.
But this you must wot and understand, that howsoever the Sundering
Flood might be misnamed down below, up in the Dale and down away to
the southern mountains it was such that better named it might not be,
and that nought might cross its waters undrowned save the fowl flying.
Nay, and if one went up-stream to where it welled forth from the great
mountains, he were no nearer to passing from one side to the other,
for there would be nought before him but a wall of sheer rock, and
above that rent and tumbled crags, the safe strong-houses of erne and
osprey and gerfalcon. Wherefore all the dealings which the folk on the
east Dale and the west might have with each other was but shouting and
crying across the swirling and gurgling eddies of the black water,
which themselves the while seemed to be talking together in some dread
and unknown tongue.
True it is that on certain feast days and above all on Midsummer
night, the folk would pluck up a heart, and gather together as gaily
clad as might be where the Flood was the narrowest (save at one place,
whereof more hereafter), and there on each side would trundle the
fire-wheel, and do other Midsummer games, and make music of
string-play and horns, and sing songs of old time and drink to each
other, and depart at last to their own homes blessing each other. But
never might any man on the east touch the hand of any on the west,
save it were that by some strange wandering from the cheaping-towns
aforesaid they might meet at last, far and far off from the Dale of
the Sundering Flood.
Chapter II. Of Wethermel and the Child Osberne
Draw we nigher now to the heart of our tale, and tell how on the east
side of the Sundering Flood was erewhile a stead hight Wethermel: a
stead more lonely than most even in that Dale, the last house but one,
and that was but a cot, toward the mountains at the head of the Dale.
It was not ill set down, for its houses stood beneath a low spreading
knoll, the broader side whereof was turned to the south-west, and
where by consequence was good increase of corn year by year. The said
knoll of Wethermel was amidst of the plain of the Dale a mile from the
waterside, and all round about it the pasture was good for kine and
horses and sheep all to the water's lip on the west and half way up
the bent on the east; while towards the crown of the bent was a wood
of bushes good for firewood and charcoal, and even beyond the crown of
the bent was good sheep-land a long way.
Nevertheless, though its land was fruitful as for that country, yet
had Wethermel no great name for luck, and folk who had the choice
would liever dwell otherwhere, so that it was hard for the goodman to
get men to work there for hire. Many folk deemed that this ill-luck
came because the knoll had been of old time a dwelling of the Dwarfs
or the Land-wights, and that they grudged it that the children of Adam
had supplanted them, and that corn grew on the very roof of their
ancient house. But however that might be, there was little thriving
there for the most part: and at least it was noted by some, that if
there were any good hap, it ever missed one generation, and went not
from father to son, but from grandsire to grandson: and even so it was
now at the beginning of this tale.
For he who had been master of Wethermel had died a young man, and his
wife followed him in a month or two, and there was left in the house
but the father and mother of these twain, hale and stout folk, he of
fifty winters, she of forty-five; an old woman of seventy, a kinswoman
of the house who had fostered the late goodman; and a little lad who
had to name Osberne, now twelve winters old, a child strong and bold,
tall, bright and beauteous. These four were all the folk of Wethermel,
save now and then a hired man who was hard pressed for livelihood
would be got to abide there some six months or so. It must be told
further that there was no house within ten miles either up or down the
water on that side, save the little cot abovesaid nigher to the
mountains, and that was four miles up-stream; it hight Burcot, and was
somewhat kenspeckle. Withal as to those Cloven Motes, as they were
called, which were between the folk on either side, they were holden
at a stead seven miles below Wethermel. So that in all wise was it a
lonely and scantly-manned abode: and because of this every man on the
stead must work somewhat hard and long day by day, and even Osberne
the little lad must do his share; and up to this time we tell of, his
work was chiefly about the houses, or else it was on the knoll, or
round about it, scaring fowl from the corn; weeding the acre-ground,
or tending the old horses that fed near the garth; or goose-herding at
whiles. Forsooth, the two elders, who loved and treasured the little
carle exceedingly, were loth to trust him far out of sight because of
his bold heart and wilful spirit; and there were perils in the Dale,
and in special at that rough and wild end of thereof, though they came
not from weaponed reivers for the more part, though now and again some
desperate outcast from the thicker peopled lands had strayed into it;
and there was talk from time to time of outlaws who lay out over the
mountain-necks, and might not always do to lack a sheep or a neat or a
horse. Other perils more of every-day there were for a young child, as
the deep and hurrying stream of the Sundering Flood, and the wolves
which haunted the bent and the foothills of the mountains; and ever
moreover there was the peril from creatures seldom seen, Dwarfs and
Land-wights to wit, who, as all tales told, might be well pleased to
have away into their realm so fair a child of the sons of Adam as was
this Osberne.
Forsooth for the most part the lad kept within bounds, for love's sake
rather than fear, though he wotted well that beating abode
bound-breaking; but ye may well wot that this quietness might not
always be. And one while amongst others he was missing for long, and
when his grandsire sought him he found him at last half way between
grass and water above the fierce swirling stream of the river; for he
had clomb down the sheer rock of the bank, which all along the water
is fashioned into staves, as it were organ-pipes, but here and there
broken by I wot not what mighty power. There then was my lad in an
ingle-nook of the rock, and not able either to go down or come up,
till the goodman let a rope down to him and hauled him on to the
grass.
Belike he was a little cowed by the peril, and the beating he got for
putting his folk in such fear; but though he was somewhat moved by his
grandam's tears and lamentations over him, and no less by the old
carline's bewailing for his days that he would so surely shorten, yet
this was not by a many the last time he strayed from the stead away
into peril. On a time he was missing again nightlong, but in the
morning came into the house blithe and merry, but exceeding hungry,
and when the good man asked him where he had been and bade him
whipping-cheer, he said that he cared little if beaten were he, so
merry a time he had had; for he had gone a long way up the Dale, and
about twilight (this was in mid-May) had fallen in with a merry lad
somewhat bigger than himself, who had shown him many merry plays, and
at last had brought him to his house, "which is not builded of stone
and turf, like to ours," saith he, "but is in a hole in the rock; and
there we wore away the night, and there was no one there but we two,
and again he showed me more strange plays, which were wondrous; but
some did frighten me."
Then his grandsire asked him what like those plays were. Said Osberne:
"He took a stone and stroked it, and mumbled, and it turned into a
mouse, and played with us nought afraid a while; but presently it grew
much bigger, till it was bigger than a hare; and great game meseemed
that was, till on a sudden it stood on its hind-legs, and lo it was
become a little child, and O, but so much littler than I; and then it
ran away from us into the dark, squealing the while like a mouse
behind the panel, only louder. Well, thereafter, my playmate took a
big knife, and said: 'Now, drudgling, I shall show thee a good game
indeed.' And so he did, for he set the edge of the said knife against
his neck, and off came his head; but there came no blood, nor did he
tumble down, but took up his head and stuck it on again, and then he
stood crowing like our big red cock. Then he said: 'Poultry, cockerel,
now I will do the like by thee.' And he came to me with the knife; but
I was afraid, and gat hold of his hand and had the knife from him; and
then I wrestled with him and gave him a fall; but I must needs let him
get up again presently, whereas he grew stronger under my hand; then
he thrust me from him and laughed exceeding much, and said: 'Here is a
champion come into my house forsooth! Well, I will leave thine head on
thy shoulders, for belike I might not be able to stick it on again,
which were a pity of thee, for a champion shalt thou verily be in the
days to come.' After this all his play with me was to sit down and bid
me hearken; and then he took out a little pipe, and put it to his
mouth, and made music out of it, which was both sweet and merry. And
then he left that, and fell to telling me tales about the woods where
big trees grow, and how his kindred had used to dwell therein, and
fashioned most fair things in smith's work of gold and silver and
iron; and all this liked me well; and he said: 'I tell thee that one
day thou shalt have a sword of my father's father's fashioning, and
that will be an old one, for they both were long-lived.' And as he
spake I deemed that he was not like a child any more, but a little,
little old man, white-haired and wrinkle-faced, but without a beard,
and his hair shone like glass. And then--I went to sleep, and when I
woke up again it was morning, and I looked around and there was no one
with me. So I arose and came home to you, and I am safe and sound if
thou beat me not, kinsman."
Now ye may judge if his fore-elders were not scared by the lad's tale,
for they knew that he had fallen in with one of the Dwarf-kin, and his
grandam caught him up and hugged him and kissed him well favouredly;
and the carline, whose name was Bridget, followed on the like road;
and then she said: "See you, kinsmen, if it be not my doing that the
blessed bairn has come back to us. Tell us, sweetheart, what thou hast
round thy neck under thy shirt." Osberne laughed. Said he: "Thou didst
hang on me a morsel of parchment with signs drawn thereon, and it is
done in a silk bag. Fear not, foster-mother, but that I will wear it
yet, since thou makest such to-do over it."
"Ah! the kind lad thou art, my dear," said the carline. "I will tell
you, kinsmen, that I had that said parchment from our priest, and it
is strong neckguard against all evil things, for on it is scored the
Holy Rood, and thereon are the names of the three Holy Kings, and
other writing withal which I may not read, for it is clerks' Latin."
And again the two women made much of the little lad, while the goodman
stood by grumbling and grunting; but this time did Osberne escape his
beating, though he was promised a drubbing which should give him much
to think on if he went that way again; and the women prayed and
besought him to be obedient to the goodman herein.
But one thing he had not told his kinsfolk, to wit, that the Dwarf had
given him for a gift that same knife wherewith he had played the game
of heads-off, and a fair sheath went with it, and he had done him to
wit that most like luck would go with it. Wherefore little Osberne had
the said knife hidden under his raiment, along with the parchment
whereon was scored the Holy Rood and the good words of wisdom written.
Chapter III. Wolves Harry the Flock
Now these matters, and other strayings and misdoings of the youngling,
befel before the time whereof I now tell, when he was, as aforesaid,
passed of twelve years; and it was in latter autumn, when the nights
are lengthening. At this time there was a hired man dwelling with
them, whose work it was to drive the sheep afield, either up on to the
eastern bents or away off down to the water, so as they might not eat
the grass of the kine from them. But Osberne, both of his own will and
at the bidding of the goodman, went off afield with this man John and
helped him to keep the sheep from straying over-far. Now one day at
evening, somewhat later than he was wont, when, as it chanced, Osberne
had not fared with him, back comes John from the bents, and he looked
scared and pale, and he tells the tale that as the light began to fail
up there, three huge wolves fell upon the sheep, and slew sundry of
them, and it was easy to be seen of him that he had held no very close
battle with the wolves, but had stood aloof till they had done their
supper, and then gathered what he could of the sheep without going
over-near the field of deed. The goodman berated him for his
cowardice, and seemed to begrudge him his victuals somewhat that
night, whereas, what with them who the wolves had slain, and them who
had perchance fled away, the flock was seventeen wethers short. John
excused himself what he might, and said that he had no weapon, nought
save his shepherd's staff, and that the wolves had slain his dog in
the first stour: but while he spake, Osberne, who sat by, deemed him
somewhat stark and tall to be so little-hearted.
However, the next day the goodman and John must needs go up to the
bent to see if they might find aught alive of the sheep that were
missing, and each of them bore a shield and short spear, that they
might make head against the wolves if that host should fall on them in
the middle of the [day]. Meantime Osberne, by the goodman's bidding,
drives the flock down toward the water, nothing loth, for ever the
wondrous stream seemed to draw the lad to it. And a fair day he had of
it, wandering amidst the sheep and being friendly with them, whiles
drawing out his knife to look thereon, as oft he did when he was
alone; and forsooth it was a goodly weapon, carven with quaintnesses
about the heft, the blade inlaid with runes done in gold, and the
sheath of silver. Whiles also he stood on the river's lip and looked
across the water which was there in most places as big as the Thames
is at Reading, but sometimes narrower. But there was nought stirring
within eyeshot on the further bank that day, save the fowl, and a bull
that came running along and lowing as he went on some errand, whatever
it might be, for he was not followed of any men. So he came back with
the flock before dark all safe; neither had he gone far from the
stead, for so he was bidden of by his grandsire.
A little after comes in the goodman with John, neither of them in very
sweet temper; they had seen nought of the sheep save the hide and
bones of a half score, but the wolves they had not failed to see; they
had come to the same place as the last night, and seemed by no means
afraid of the man-host with its spears and shields, wherefore these
last had turned their backs and run from them stoutly, and now sat
together glowering on each other, and casting now and again a gibe
each at each. But they were at one in this, that the wolves were huge
and fierce beyond measure, and such as any man might fear. But at last
John spake and said: "Well, master, it is as they say down the Dale,
that this no lucky house; meseems ye are beset with no common wolves,
but with skin-changers who have taken the shape of wolves, whether
they be Land-wights or Dwarfs, or ride-a-nights of the outlaws."
At that word waxed the master wood-wrath, as was his wont if any spake
of the luck of Wethermel; and he forgot his fear in his anger, and
said: "Hearken the fool-talk of him! Thou hadst not the heart for all
thine inches to go forward before thy master, and a man on the
downward side of years; and now thou must needs make up fairy tales to
cover they cowardice." Said John, grinning, "Keep thy head, master;
for sooth it is that thou wert the first to run, and wert the first
through the door."
"Thou liest," said the goodman; "but this I tell thee, that whosoever
was afraid then, thou shalt be afraid now." And he rose up and smote
his man upon the face so that he fell to the ground, and John leapt up
and would have smitten his master again; but even therewith comes in
the goodwife, and Bridget with her, bearing in the supper smoking hot,
and something seemed to hold John back from his blow, and he sat down,
surly enough but silent. Then said the goodwife: "What is to do here?
Hast thou run against the settle-end, John, that thy cheek is red and
blue?"
Laughed the youngling thereat, and a word came into his mouth, and he
sang:
All grey on the bent
There the sheep-greedy went:
The big spear and shield
Met the foes of the field,
But nought the white teeth
In the warriors gat sheath,
For master and man
Full meetly they ran.
But now in this hall
The fear off doth fall
From one of the twain,
And his hand getteth gain,
But the other sits there,
And new groweth his fear
Both of man and of grey.
So the meat on board lay,
Thou on whom gold doth ride,
Meat-goddess grey-eyed,
Let the loaf-warden eat,
And the man whom he beat,
And the lad that doth lie
In wall-nook hereby,
And thou Gold-tree the fair,
And the milk-mother dear,
Lest the meat wax a-cold
Both for bold and unbold.
Hereat all laughed, but the two men somewhat from one side of their
mouths. And the goodman said: "See thou to it, kinsman, lest stripes
be thy song-pay." But Osberne laughed from a fair and merry face and
sang again:
O lord of the land,
To the staff lay no hand
Till the grey ones thou face
In the wind-weary place.
And therewith he fell to his meat and ate stoutly, and to the women it
seemed that their little kinsman had the makings of a champion in him,
and his staves they loved dearly in their hearts, and they smiled upon
him kindly; and he looked from one to the other and quoth he:
Three mothers had I,
And one is gone by,
But two are left here,
Leal, buxom, and dear.
As for the goodman, now that the meat was getting into him, the wrath
was running off, and he thought within himself that presently he
should have good avail of his grandson.
Chapter IV. Surly John Falls Out with the Goodman
On the morrow comes John to the goodman, and quoth he: "Master, there
is small doubt that I shall one day pay thee for the pudding in the
pot which thou gavest me yestereen, and after that I shall have to
take my soles out of this straightway; so meseemeth I had best go
hence today."
"Well," said the goodman, "if thou must go, go, and the devil go with
thee. But as to the knock on thy cheekbone, I will boot thee therefor,
if thou wilt take boot and abide, for though thou be no hard worker,
nor very deft of thy hands, yet the winter is lonely here, and thou
wilt be missed somewhat."
Quoth John: "Yea, goodman, but there is this in it withal, that
Wethermel liketh me not, though I say nought against thee for a
master. I love not thy were-wolves, that are big and gruesome enough
to frighten two stout armed men; and I love not thy Dwarfs, who cut
off their own heads and stick them on again, and give guesting to
little lads, doing them no hurt; for meseems that means that the said
Dwarf will be carving guest-quarters here one day, and who knows how
soon; and I care not for such an one as a fellow at board. And then
there is thy grandson, and a fair boy he is and a good scald, though
that be come upon him somewhat suddenly. But he is over bigwordy for
me, and I see clearly that soon there shall be two masters in this
house, and one is well enough for me. And lastly as to thy kinswomen;
I wot well I shall have no good word from them year in year out. So
take this for my last word, that I shall turn my back upon thee so
soon as thou hast paid me my hire, and shall go seek quarters down the
Dale, at some merrier stead than this."
The goodman looked on him sourly, and then turned about and took a bag
from the chest, and drew silver from it, and told over certain pieces
and laid them before John (who is henceforth called Surly John) and
said: "Here is thine hire in good silver. And now I shall not say one
more word to thee for good or bad, save this, that thou hadst best
look to it that thy silver melt not before many months are over. Take
thy soles out of this straightway." So John took up his silver, and
stowed it in his pouch, and then he said: "Well, goodman, now that I
am paid I think that I had best pay thee for the cheek-knock of last
night."
He was a tall man and strong of thirty winters, and the goodman
somewhat on in years and not over strong, wherefore the battle seemed
like to go all one way. But lo, as he rushed on the goodman, of a
sudden he felt his feet pulled away from under him, and fell noseling
to the ground; and when he would rise, lo there was on one side of him
the goodman with a cudgel in his hand, and Osberne on the other, with
his whittle drawn; and the lad laughed and said: "Thou has been a long
while and used many words about going, so belike thou wert best tarry
no longer; or wert thou thinking thou wouldst go to bed? Nay, thou
hast talked long, but nought so long that it is night yet."
So therewith Surly John arose and shook the dust of the floor off him,
shouldered his bag, which he had ready by, and went out-of-doors and
down the Dale afoot, for he was too shamefaced to crave the loan of a
horse, to which forsooth the kinsmen would have made him welcome.
So the day wore amidst divers matters, and the sheep pastured anigh to
the Mel; but ever the goodman said that wolves or no wolves he must
drive them up the bent next day. But he said this so often, that it
seemed as if he were not over willing thereto; and in the evening he
took forth an old sword which he had, a good one, and sat whetting it
with a hone. So they fared to bed.
But in the morning ere it was light the goodman deemed he heard
goings-on in the house, and he sat up and hearkened. Next then he
heard a hand amongst the three shields which hung on the panel the
other side of his shut-bed, and thereafter he heard one going to the
door; and he smiled thereat and lay down again, and presently there
came the sound of the bleating of many sheep. So the carle stands up
therewith and does on his raiment and takes his spear and shield and
girds his sword to him, and goeth forth and out of the garth, and
turns his face up toward the bent, but goes very slow; and day was now
just beginning to dawn though the stars yet shone; clear was the
morning. Now in the grey light the carle could just see what he looked
to see, to wit, the whole flock going together toward the bent, and a
little figure of a son of Adam going after them, on whom a red scarlet
hue was even dimly to be seen.
The carle smiled, and said to himself, Forsooth, yonder ruffler must
needs clothe him in holiday raiment to do his doughty deed! Now will I
not follow him to mar his championship, but will leave him alone to
his luck, which I see to be great.
So he abode a little in an ingle of the garth wall, while the sheep
lessened but grew clearer before him, and the scarlet raiment of his
grandson grew brighter; and then he went swiftly, skirting the knoll
till he had it betwixt him and the stead, and thereafter he went more
leisurely toward the north. And he said to himself, The lad will do
well enough; and as to the women, they will make the less outcry, that
when they find me and my weapons gone they will think I have fared
with him up the bent. So therewith he betook himself well out of the
way, keeping near to the bank of the river.
Chapter V. Osberne Slays the Wolves
As to Osberne, I will say nought of him till he comes back in the
even, driving all his sheep before him, not one lacking, and two of
the lost ones found. He bears with him shield and spear, and has the
Dwarf-wrought whittle in his girdle. Over his shoulder to boot he
carries a biggish bag, well-nigh big enough for so little a carle; of
white linen it is, it hath something heavy in it, and is much stained
with blood. So he folds the sheep straightway, and then comes into the
hall, he and his bag, and throws the same into the ingle of the hearth
fire. Then he casts a sack over his shoulders and sits before the bag,
so that it may not be lightly seen. By this time, it was dusking
outside, and inside the hall it was pretty much dark save for the
fire, where little flames leapt up now and again as some piece of the
firing tumbled over. In the hall was no one, for the women were
bringing in the kine, and the goodman was not yet come in from the
field.
There he sits quietly, stirring little. And the next tidings is, the
goodman comes home alone; he hears the sheep a-bleating, and goes glad
at heart to the fold; and there is his joy eked, for by the light of
the moon, which is now rising, he can see well enough to tell over the
sheep, and finds two more than there were yesterday. So he goes
speedily toward the hall, and the women now come up after him, having
gotten the kine into the byre; so they all three go into the hall
together.
Then cries out the goodman: "Is there aught in the hall now?" Osberne
answers from where he sat: "There is but little, for I am little."
Then they turn and see him hugging himself up in the sack, and
something at his back, they cannot see what; and the goodman says:
"What hast thou been about all day, kinsman? Thou art forever
foolhardy and a truant; of right, stripes should pay the for thy
straying." Said Osberne: "I have been shepherding sheep; may it not
buy me off the stripes that I have found two of the lost ones, and
brought back all safe?" "Maybe," says the master; "but did aught else
befal thee?" Says the lad: "Will it not buy me off beating that I have
also brought home good catch?"
"Yea, if the catch be good," says the goodman. "It is but a leash of
snipes, which I got me in a corner of the bog up yonder," says
Osberne. "Snipes!" says Bridget; "deft art thou, fosterling, to take
them without either springe or stonebow, and they all flittering like
butterflies on a March day."
"Yea, auntie," saith he, "but a stone or two might avail without the
bow, were one deft enough. Yet with no such weapon did I slay them;
ask me what weapons I bore against them." Therewith he stirs and
shakes himself, and off tumbles the sack from his shoulders, and
therewith his grandam lights up the candles, and they all see the
scarlet and gold of his holiday raiment; and Bridget says: "This also
will I ask thee, fosterling, do men go out to take snipes in their
holiday raiment?"
"I will tell thee," says the little lad: "the weapons I bore against
the catch were the shield to ward, and the spear to thrust, and the
knife for the shearing of the heads: and I tell thee that when men go
to battle they use to wend in their fair-dyed raiment."
Then he stood up in the hall, the little one, but trim and goodly,
with gleaming eyes and bright hair, and a word came into his mouth:
On the wind-weary bent
The grey ones they went,
Growled the greedy and glared
On the sheep-kin afeared;
Low looked the bright sun
On the battle begun,
For they saw how the swain
Stood betwixt them and gain.
'Twas the spear in the belly, the spear in the mouth,
And a warp of the shield from the north to the south,
The spear in the throat, and the eyes of the sun
Scarce shut as the last of the battle was done.
"Well sung, kinsman!" said the goodman: "now shalt thou show us the
snipes." But ere the lad might stoop to his bag the two women were
upon him, clipping and kissing him as if they would never have enough
thereof. He made a shift to thrust them off at last, and stooping to
his bag he drew out something and cast it on the board, and lo the
sheared-off head of a great grey wolf with gaping jaws and glistening
white fangs, and the women shrank before it. But Osberne said: "Lo the
first of the catch, and here is the second." And again he drew out a
head from the bag and cast it on the board; and so with the third in
due course.
"Now," said he, "the bag is empty, and deemest thou, grandsire, that I
have bought off my beating? And thou, grandam, I pray thee, give me my
meat, for I am anhungered." So now they had nought but praises and
caresses for him and they made as it were a new feast of the November
day, and were as merry as if they were feasting the best days of Yule.
Chapter VI. They Fare to the Cloven Mote
And now the days wore away to winter, and ever thereafter might
Osberne do what he would, and go where he would, for as little a lad
as he was; but he worked with a good will if he were uncompelled, and
if he were suffered to wander at whiles as his will drave him.
Forsooth, since he had no fellows of a like age to him, it was whiles
that he found the open field or the waste gave him better fellowship
than the older folk, yea even than the women.
Winter came, and the snow and the frost, which was not very hard in
that land, as many would have been glad if it were, for then might the
Sundering Flood have been laid with ice, which never betid. On the
morning of Yule day, Osberne and his grandsire and grandam got under
way long before daylight, that they might go to the Cloven Mote, and
hear the Christmass in the church of Allhallows, which had been
builded on the east side of the water to be the church of the Mote;
but on the other side of the water was another church like to it in
all ways, and under the same invocation, for the Western folk. This
was the first time that Osberne had been boun to the Mote, and withal
both the women were wont to stay at home: but this time nought would
serve the goodwife but she must wend with her man, that she might show
her darling and her champion to the neighbours. It was a matter of
seven miles down the water to the Mote-stead, and they went aslant
over the snow-covered fields, and hit the riverbank about half way,
and went thence along the very lip of the water. And by then it was
pretty much daylight; and Osberne looked over the water and saw about
a half mile off (for the day was clear) two little knolls rising from
the field, and betwixt them and about them a shaw of small wood; and
he asked his grandsire what that might be, for hitherto he had never
been so far down the water; whereas before he slew the wolves, down
the water was banned to him, and after that he had been busy about the
houses and folds, or driving the sheep to the bents day by day.
So his grandsire answered him: "That is hight Hartshaw, and we are
told that on the other side of the shaw and the knolls looking west is
a stead with houses inhabited, and the whole place is hight Hartshaw
Knolls." Said Osberne: "I would we were there a while, for as I look
at the stead it seemeth friendly to me, and I fare to feel that the
folk thereof shall come into my life some day." Answered the goodman:
"We hear that little dwelleth there save a widow-woman and her one
child, a little maiden. And as to thy one day, it shall be a long
while coming; for long and long shall it be for any one to encompass
the Sundering Flood, save the Winter of Fear come upon us, and all the
land be overlaid with ice, and the waters of the Flood be stayed;
which may God and Allhallows forfend."
The lad said nought for a while; and then he said: "Goodman, I would
we had gone down to riverbank from out our own door, and gone all
along the Flood-side to the Mote; for it were pleasant to have looked
across the Flood, thinking of all there is on the other side, and
wondering if we shall ever get there. Why did we not this, for on the
very bank the going is better?" Said the carle: "We have come the
shortest way this bitter morning; that is all."
Herein he lied; for they had gone that slant-way to give the go-by to
a certain place of the Flood-bank which the Dale-dwellers deemed
perilous; but thereof he would not tell the little carle, now that he
was become so masterful, deeming that if he heard of any peril toward
he would be all agog to try the adventure thereof, as forsooth was
true. Of this place, which lay now but just behind them, shall more be
told hereafter.
Now they come to the Mote in good time when the sun was but just
arisen, and there was already a throng; and at their coming the folk
on the western side raised a shout, as the folk on either side were
wont to welcome newcomers; but the very first man they hit upon was
Surly John; and the goodwife, a soft, kind woman, hailed him friendly,
and was fain to have some one whom she knew unto whom to tell her tale
of the champion and the wolves. For indeed it needs must out to the
very first comer, and out it came now, many worded, and folk, both men
and women, gathered about the twain to hearken; for the goodwife told
it all well and without hitch.
Surly John must needs abide the telling of it, but when it was done he
said: "Well, dame, so it is that I always deemed the lad kenspeckle;
and it has moreover turned out as I warned you, that you have got a
new master over you." And therewith he turned away; but of those
others who heard the tale there were more than one or two who praised
it much, and deemed it marvellous as might well be that a child should
have faced and slain those three monsters who had put two stout men to
flight. And one man made up this stave, which was presently sung all
about the Eastern Mote, and went over the water with the tale to the
Western one:
To run and to fight
Are deeds free to the wight,
And John tried in battle
Had heard the boards rattle,
But needed to prove
The race back to the stove;
So his wightness he showed
In way-wearing the road.
While Osberne, who knew
How the foot-race to do,
Must try the new game
Where the battle-beasts came.
Bairn for fight, but for running the strong man and tall,
And all folk for the laughter when both are in hall.
When Surly John heard this stave he cursed between his teeth, but said
nought.
But now on either side, the churches fell to ringing to mass, and all
folk fared to service. And Osberne sat in a good place amongst the
carles, and forsooth he had both ears and eyes open, both then and all
day. Mass over, the cooking-fires were lighted and tents were pitched
on either side the water, and in a while they went to dinner; and
thereafter, when they had sung a while, came the time of drinking, and
folk were paired, men and women so far as might be, for more men there
were than women. But whereas all men save Surly John were well with
Osberne, there was gotten for his mate a fair young damsel of but
seventeen winters, and Osberne, who had looked hard on all the women
who were well-liking (for he had seen but very seldom any women save
those two of his kinfolk), was amazed with joy when the dear maid
pulled down her hood and pulled off her gloves. And whereas she was
shy of him because of his doughtiness, for all that he was but a
child, it was not until they had drunk a cup or two that he took heart
to set his hand to her neck and kiss her cheeks and her mouth, whereat
she blushed rosy red, and all they that were in the tent laughed and
cheered. But thereafter they fell to sweet speech and talked much, and
he held her hand when the end of the feast was done; which was after
this wise, that folk stood on the the very lip of the river in one
long row, hand in hand, and the loving-cup went down each row, and
they cried healths to each other, and then lifted up their voices and
shouted all together, and so undid the Mote and parted. And this time
(and it was dark save for the fires flaring behind them) it was the
maid that kissed Osberne; neither needed she, a tall damsel though she
was, to stoop much thereto, for right big and tall he was of his
years.
So then all went back each to his own home. And the winter wore away
at Wethermel with nought to tell of.
Chapter VII. Of a Newcomer, and His Gift to Osberne
Now when spring came again, needs must Osberne drive the sheep up to
the bents, though he had liefer haunted the riverside, for sore he
desired to cross the Flood and find out tidings there. And though he
were a child, yet he would by his own choice have fared to seek out
the pretty maiden whose hand he had held on the edge of the river that
even, but livelihood drave him to look to the sheep now that the
spring grass was growing.
So on a certain day when March was wearing towards April he drave his
sheep up over the crown of the bent; and there he went with them a way
where, the land still rising, the ground was hard and rocky but clean,
and the grass sweet for as scanty as it was, growing in little hollows
and shelters round about the rocks. Wherefore the sheep were nimble in
their feeding, and led him on long, till they and he were come into a
little grassy dale with a stream running through it. There they were
neither to hold nor to bind, but strayed all up and down the dale and
over the crest of the bent thereof, and would not come to his call;
and his dog was young and not very wise, and could do little to help
him. So he began to think he had best gather what of the sheep he
could, and drive them home and fold them, and then come back and hunt
for the rest, perhaps with the help of his grandsire; but as the ones
he could get at were all close anigh, and he was hot and weary with
running hither and thither and holloaing to sheep and dog, he would go
down to the stream and drink and rest awhile first. And even so he
did, and lay down by the water and drank a long draught; but while he
was about it he thought he heard footsteps coming down the hill-side
over the greensward.
Howsoever, he had his drink out, and then rose to his knees and looked
up, and therewith sprang hastily to his feet, for a tall man was
coming on toward him not ten yards from the stream. He was not to say
afeard by the sight, yet somewhat startled, for the man was not his
grandsire, nor forsooth did he seem to be one of the Dale-dwellers.
For he was so clad that he had a grey hawberk on him of fine ringmail,
and a scarlet coat thereunder embroidered goodly; a big gold ring was
on his left arm, a bright basnet on his head; he was girt with a
sword, and bare a bow in his hand, and a quiver hung at his back. He
was a goodly man, young by seeming, bright-faced and grey-eyed; his
hair was yellow and as fine as silk, and it hung down over his
shoulders.
Now Osberne put as good a face on the meeting as he might, and gave
the newcomer the sele of the day, and he hailed him again in a clear
loud voice, and they stood looking on each other across the stream a
while. Then the newcomer laughed pleasantly and said: "Hast thou any
name that I may call thee by?"
"I am Osberne of Wethermel," said the youngling. "Aha," said the man,
"art thou he that slew the leash of great grey wolves last autumn, who
had put two armed men to flight the day before?" Said Osberne,
reddening: "Well, what was I to do? There fell a leash of hill-dogs on
our sheep, and I made them forbear. Was it a scathe to thee, lord?"
The newcomer laughed again: "Nay, my lad," said he, "I love them no
more than ye do; they were no dogs of mine. But what doest thou here?"
"Thou seest," said the youngling, "that I am shepherding our sheep;
and a many have run from me, and I cannot bring them back to me. So I
was going home with those that be left."
"Well," says the man, "we can soon mend that. Rest thou here and abide
my coming back again, and I will fetch them for thee."
"With a good will," says Osberne, "and I shall can thee many thanks
therefor."
So the man strode on and through the stream, and went his ways up the
further bent, and Osberne sat down on a stone and abode him in no
little wonder. The man was gone somewhat more than an hour, and then
Osberne sees the sheep topping the crest of the bent, and pouring down
into the dale, and the newcomer came next driving them down; and when
they came to the stream they stood there and moved no more than if
they were penned.
Then the newcomer came through them up to Osberne, and said in a kind
voice, though it was loud: "What, art thou here yet? I deemed that
thou wouldst have run home."
"Why should I have run?" said the lad. "For fear of me," said the
other. Said Osberne: "I was somewhat afeard when I first saw thee, and
thou with the grey byrny and the gleaming helm; but then I saw that
thou wert no ill man, and I feared thee no longer. Withal I was fain
to see thee again; for thou art goodly and fair to behold, and I am
fain to remember thee."
Said the man: "Even so have others said ere now." "Were they women?"
said Osberne. "Thou art brisk and keen, youngling," said the man.
"Yes, they were women: but it was long ago." "Yet thou lookest no old
man," said Osberne. "I have seen old men: they be nought like to
thee."
"Heed thou not that," said the helmed man; "but tell me, how old a man
art thou?" Said Osberne: "When this April is three days old I shall be
thirteen years old."
Said the man of the waste: "Well, thou art stalwarth for thy years,
and that liketh me well, and meseems that we shall be friends
hereafter: and when thou art a grown man I shall seem no older to
thee; nay we shall be as brothers. Belike I shall see thee again
before long; meanwhile, I give the this rede: when thou mayest, seek
thou to the side of the Sundering Flood, for meseemeth that there
lieth thy weird. Now there is this last word to be said, that I came
hither today to see thee, and in token thereof I have brought thee a
gift. Canst thou shoot in the bow aught?" Said Osberne: "There is one
at home, and my grandsire hath bent it for me at whiles, and taught me
how to shoot somewhat; but I am little deft therein."
Then the man betook him the bow which he had in his hand and said:
"Here is one that shall make thee deft; for whoso hath this as a gift
from me shall hit what he shooteth at if he use my shafts withal, and
here be three which I will give thee; and if thou take heed, thou
shalt not find them easy to lose, since ever they shall go home. But
if ever thou lose two of them, then take the third and go into some
waste place where there is neither meadow nor acre, and turn to the
north-east and shoot upward toward the heavens, and say this rhyme:
A shaft to the north,
Come ye three, come ye forth;
A shaft to the east,
Come three at the least;
A shaft to the sky,
Come swift, come anigh!
Come one, one and one,
And the tale is all done.
And then shalt thou find the arrows lying at thy feet. Now take the
bow and arrows, and drive me thy sheep betwixt us to the top of the
bent that looks down on Wethermel."
Then Osberne took the bow and shafts, and he all quivering with joy
and delight, and then the two of them together went back across the
waste with the sheep before them, and as they went side by side the
man said many things, and this at last: "Now that I know thy name, it
is like that those wouldst know mine and who I am; but my very name I
may not tell thee, for thy tongue has no word for it, but now and when
we meet again thou mayst call me Steelhead: and thou shalt know that
when we next meet I shall be arrayed all otherwise than now. In that
array I deem thou wilt know me, but look to it that thou show no sign
thereof before other men; and as to the bow, thou wilt not be eager
belike to say of whom thou hadst it. Lo now! we have opened up
Wethermel; fare thou well, bold bairn, and forget not my redes."
And therewith he turned about and gat him gone into the waste again,
striding hugely; and the lad was sorry to lack him, for he deemed him
the goodliest and best man that he had ever met.
Chapter VIII. The Goodman Gets a New Hired Man
Now when he came home to Wethermel he found tidings there, for the
goodman had gotten a new hired man, and he showed him to Osberne, who
greeted him well: he was a tall man, mild of aspect and speech,
flaxen-haired and blue-eyed, and seemed a stark carle. He had come to
the stead that morning while the goodman was away, and had craved
guesting of the women, who made him welcome and set him down to meat.
He told them that his name was Stephen, that he had been born in the
country-side, but had gone thence in his early youth to Eastcheaping,
which was the market town whither that folk had resort; and that he
had grown up there and there wedded a wife; but that when she died in
childing with her first bairn, and the bairn had not lived, he loathed
the place, and came back again into the Dale.
So when the goodman came home this Stephen offered himself to him, and
said that he deemed he could do as good a stroke of work as another,
and that he was not for any great wage, but he must not be stinted of
his meat, whereas he was a heavy feeder. The goodman liked the looks
of him, and they struck the bargain betwixt them straightway, and
Stephen had hansel of a second dinner, and ate well thereat; and
henceforth is he called Stephen the Eater.
Now when the goodman saw Osberne bring in his new weapon, he asked him
whence he had it, and the lad told him that he had been far in the
waste, and had found it there. The goodman eyed him, but said nought.
Forsooth, he misdoubted him that the bow was somewhat unked, and that
the lad had had some new dealings with the Dwarf-kin or other strange
wights. But then he bethought him of Osberne's luck, and withal it
came to his mind that now he had gotten this victual-waster, it would
not be ill if his lad should shoot them some venison or fowl now and
again; and by the look of the bow he deemed it like to be a lucky one.
But Stephen reached out for the bow, and handled it and turned it
about, and spake: "This is a handy weapon, and they who made it were
not without craft, and it pleases me to see it; for now when it brings
home prey in the evening, the goodman will deem my maw the less
burdensome to him. By my rede, goodman, ye will do well to make thy
youngling the hunter to us all, for such bows as this may be shot in
only by them that be fated thereto." And he nodded and smiled on
Osberne, and the lad deemed that the new man would be friendly to him.
So then was supper brought in, and Stephen the Eater played as good a
part as if he had eaten nought since sunrise.
But the next day, when Stephen was boun for driving the sheep to the
bent, he said to Osberne: "Come thou with me, young master, to show me
the way; and bring thy bow and arrows withal, and see if thou canst
shoot us something toothsome, for both of feathers and fur their is
foison on the hill-side." So they went together, and betwixt whiles of
the shepherding Osberne shot a whole string of heathfowl and whimbrel;
and ever he hit that which he shot at, so that the arrows were indeed
easy to find, since they never failed to be in the quarry.
The goodman was well pleased with his catch, and Stephen licked his
lips over the look of the larder. And the next day the lad let Stephen
go alone to the hill, and he himself took a horse and went up the
water a ten miles toward the mountain, and there he slew a hart of ten
tines with one arrow, and brought the quarry home across the horse, to
the joy of all the household, and the goodman was not rueing his
bargain with Stephen the Eater. So it went on that every two or three
days Osberne fared afield after catch, and but seldom came home
empty-handed, and the other days he did as he would and went where he
listed. And now he began to follow the rede of Steelhead, and went
oftenest by the side of the Sundering Flood, but as yet he had gone up
the water and not down.
Chapter IX. The Bight of the Cloven Knoll
And now it was mid-April, and the goodman dight him to ride to a mote
of the neighbours at a stead hight Bullmeads, where the Dalesmen were
wont to gather in the spring, that they might ride thence all together
to the town of Eastcheaping and sell the autumn clip of wool and do
other chaffer. So the carle goes his ways alone, and will be one night
at Bullmeads and two at Eastcheaping, and then another at Bullmeads,
and be back on the fifth day. And when he was gone comes Stephen to
Osberne, and says: "Young master, I am going presently to the hill
with the sheep, and thou needest neither to go with me nor fare
a-hunting today, since the house is full of meat; so thou art free,
and were I in thy shoes I would go straight from this door down to the
water-side, and see if thou mayst not happen on something fair or
seldom seen. But hearken to my rede, if thou comest on aught such,
thou hast no need to tell of it to any one, not even to me. [And it
were not amiss to do on they coat of scarlet.]"
Osberne thanks him, and takes his bow of arrows and goes his way and
comes to the riverside and turns his face south, and goes slowly along
the very edge of the water; and the water itself drew his eyes down to
gaze on the dark green deeps and fierce downlong swirl of the stream,
with its sharp clean lines as if they were carven in steel, and the
curling and upheaval and sudden changing of the talking eddies: so
that he scarce might see the familiar greensward of the further shore.
At last, when he had gone thus more than two miles from where he first
hit the water, a long straight reach lay before him, and as he looked
down it, it seemed as if the river came presently to an end; but in
sooth there was a sharp turn to the east by which the water ran, but
narrowing much; and this narrowing was made by the thrusting forth of
the western bank into a sharp ness, which, from where Osberne now
stood, showed a wide flank facing, as it seemed, the whole hurrying
stream of the Flood. But the stream turned ere it smote the cliff, and
striving for the narrow outgate made a prodigious eddy or whirlpool
ere it might clear itself of the under-water foot of the ness and
make eastward so as to rush on toward the sea. But in the face of the
wall, in the bight where the whirlpool turned from it, was a cave the
height of a tall man, and some four feet athwart, and below it a ledge
thrust out from the sheer rock and hanging over the terrible water,
and it was but a yard wide or so. It was but ten feet above the water,
and from it to the grass above must have been a matter of forty foot.
But the ness as it thrust forth into the river rose also, so that its
crest was a score of feet higher where it went down into the water
than its base amidst the green grass. Then came the strait passage of
the water, some thirty feet across, and then the bank of the eastern
side, which, though it thrust out not, but rather was as it were
driven back by the stream, yet it rose toward the water, though not so
much as the ness over against it. It was as if some one had cast down
a knoll across the Sundering Flood, and the stream had washed away the
sloped side thereof, and then had sheared its way through by the east
side where the ground was the softest. Forsooth so it seemed to the
Dalesmen, for on either side they called it the Bight of the Cloven
Knoll.
Osberne stood amazed right over against the cave in the cliff-side,
and stared at the boiling waters beneath him, that seemed mighty
enough to have made a hole in the ship of the world and sunk it in the
deep. And he wondered at the cave, whether it was there by chance hap,
or that some hands had wrought it for an habitation.
And as he stood gazing there, on a sudden there came out of the cave a
shape as of man, and stood upon the ledge above the water, and the lad
saw at once that it was a little maiden of about his own age, with
ruddy golden hair streaming down from her head, and she was clad in a
short coat of dark blue stuff and no more raiment, as far as he could
see. Now as aforesaid Osberne was in his holiday raiment of
red-scarlet by the bidding of Stephen. Now the maiden looks up and
sees the lad standing on the eastern shore, and starts back
astonished. Then she came forward again and looked under the sharp of
her hand, for the sun shone from the south and was cast back dazzling
from the water. There was but some thirty feet of water between them,
but all gurgling and rushing and talking, so the child raised a shrill
and clear voice as she clapped her hands together and cried: "O thou
beauteous creature, what art thou?" Osberne laughed, and said in a
loud voice: "I am a man but young of years, so that they call me a
boy, and a bairn, and a lad. But what art thou?"
"Nay, nay," she said, "I must be nigher to thee; it is over-wide here
amidst the waters' speech. Fare up to the top on thy side, and so will
I." And therewith she turned about and fell to climbing up the side of
the cliff by the broken black staves and the shaly slips. And though
Osberne were a boy, yea and a tough one in some ways, he trembled and
his heart beat quick to see the little creature wending that perilous
upright road, and he might not take his eyes off her till she had
landed safely on the greensward; then he turned and went swiftly up
the eastern knoll, and reached the edge of the sheer rock just as the
maiden came running up the ness on her side.
He spake not, for he was eyeing her closely, and she might not speak
for a while for lack of breath. At last she said: "Now are we as near
to each other as we may be today; yea for many days, or it may be for
all our lives long: so now let us talk." She set her two feet together
and held her hands in front of her, and so stood as if she looked for
him to begin. But the words came not speedily to his mouth, and at
last she said: "I wonder why thou wilt not speak again; for thy laugh
was as the voice of a dear bird; and thy voice is beauteous, so loud
and clear."
He laughed, and said: "Well then, I will speak. Tell me what thou art.
Art thou of the Faery? for thou art too well shapen to be of the
Dwarfkin." She clapped her hands together and laughed; then she said:
"I laughed not as mocking thy question, but for joy to hear thy voice
again. Nay, nay, I am no faery, but of the children of men. But thou,
art thou not of the sons of the Land-wights?"
"No more than thou art," said he. "I am also a goodman's son, but my
father is dead, and my mother also, and I live at home at Wethermel up
the water, with my grandsire and grandam."
Said she: "Are they kind to thee?" The lad drew himself up: "I am kind
to them," said he. "How goodly thou art!" she said; "that was why I
dreamed thou must be of the Land-wights, because I have seen divers
men, some old, some young like to thee, but none half so goodly." He
smiled, and said: "Well, I thought thou wert of the Faery because thou
art goodly and little. I have seen a pretty maid not long since, but
she was older than thou, I deem, and far taller. But tell me, how old
art thou?" She said: "When May is half worn I shall be of thirteen
winters."
"Lo now," said he, "we be nigh of an age; I was thirteen in early
April. But thou hast not told me where thou dwellest, and how." She
said: "I dwell at Hartshaw Knolls hard by. I am the daughter of a
goodman, as thou art, and my father and mother are dead, so that my
father I never saw, and now I dwell with my two aunts and they be both
older than was my mother."
"Are they kind to thee?" said the lad, laughing that he must cast back
her question. "Whiles," said she, laughing also, "and whiles not:
maybe that is because I am not always kind to them, as thou art to thy
folk." He answered nought, and she was silent a while; then he said:
"What is in thy mind, maiden?" "This," she said, "that I am thinking
how fair a chance it was that I should have seen thee, for thou hast
made me so glad." Said he: "We can see each other again belike and
make it less of a chance." "O yea," she said, and was silent a while.
Said he: "I wot not why it was that thou wert in the cave: and tell
me, is it not exceeding perilous, the climbing up and down? Why wilt
thou do that? Also, I must tell thee, that this was another cause why I
thought thou wert of the Faery, that thou camest out of the cave."
Said she: "I will tell thee all about the cave; but first as to the
peril of going thither and coming hence: wouldst thou be very sorry if
I were lost on the way?" "Yea," said he, "exceeding sorry." "Well,"
said she, "then fear it not, for it is so much a wont of mine that to
me there is no peril therein: yet I am glad that thou wert afraid for
me." "I was sore afraid," said Osberne.
"Now as to the cave," said the maiden. "I found it out two years ago,
when I was very little, and the women had been less than kind to me.
And thither may I go whenas I would that they should seek me not;
because folk say that it is a dwelling of the Dwarfs, and they fear to
enter it. Besides, when I think of my kinswomen coming down the rock
to find me therein, and they be tall, and one stiff, as if she were
cut out of timber, and the other exceeding fat, that makes me merry!"
And therewith she sat down on the very edge of the cliff with her
little legs hanging over the water, and laughed, rocking to and fro in
her laughter, and Osberne laughed also. But he said: "But art thou not
afraid of the Dwarfs?" She said: "Dear bairn or boy, I had been there
many times before I heard tell of the Dwarfs, and I gat no harm, and
after I had heard the tale I went still, and still gat no harm; nay I
will tell thee somewhat: I gat gifts, or such they seemed unto me.
First I had to herd the sheep and take them to the best grass, and
whiles they strayed and were wearisome to me, and I came home with
divers missing, and then would I be wyted or even whipped for what was
no fault of mine. And one such time I betook me to the cave and sat
therein and wept, and complained to myself of my harm, and when I went
out of the cave I saw on the ledge close to my foot a thing lying, and
I took it up, and saw that it was a pipe with seven holes therein, and
when I blew into it, it made sweet and merry little music. So I
thought it great prize, and went away home with it, with all my
sorrows well healed. But the next day I drave my sheep to grass, as my
business was, and as oft happened, they strayed, and I followed them
and gat nothing done; so I was weary, and afraid of what would betide
at home in the stead. So I sat down on a stone, and when I had wept a
little I thought I would comfort myself with the music of the pipe.
But lo a wonder, for no sooner had a note or two sounded than all the
sheep came running up to me, bleating and mowing, and would rub
against my sides as I sat piping, and home I brought every head in all
glee. And even so has it befallen ever since; and that was hard on a
year agone. Fair boy, what dost thou think I am doing now?" Osberne
laughed. "Disporting thee in speech with a friend," said he. "Nay,"
said she, "but I am shepherding sheep."
And she drew forth the pipe from her bosom and fell to playing it, and
a ravishing sweet melody came thence, and so merry that the lad
himself began to shift his feet as one moving to measure, and
straightway he heard a sound of bleating, and sheep came running
toward the maiden from all about. Then she arose and ran to them, lest
they should shove each other into the water; and she danced before
them, lifting up her scanty blue skirts and twinkling her bare feet
and legs, while her hair danced about her, and the sheep, they too
capered and danced about as if she had bidden them. And the boy looked
on and laughed without stint, and he deemed it the best of games to
behold. But when she was weary she came back to the head of the ness
and sat down again as before, and let the sheep go where they would.
Chapter X. Osberne and Elfhild Hold Converse Together
So when she was rested she fell to speech again: "Dear lad, this was
the first gift, and I could not but deem that some one had heard me
make my moan unseen and had given me that good gift. So what must I do
but try it again, and one day I went down into the cave and fell to
bewailing me that I had nought to deck me with, neither of gold nor
silver, as other maidens had, for in sooth I had seen them with such
things. And when I had done, I went forth on to the ledge, and this
time I trod cautiously lest I should kick the dainty thing into the
water, and lo, there lay this pretty thing." And she drew forth from
her bosom a necklace of gold and gems; gold and emerald, gold and
sapphire, gold and ruby; and it flashed in the sun, and Osberne
thought it a fair toy indeed, but knew not that scarce a queen had got
aught so fair in her treasure. "Ye may wot well that I dare not show
either this or the pipe to my aunts, who would have taken them away
from me and cried horror at them; for oft would they cry out at the
evil things that dwelt in the ness and all the ills they brought on
the children of men. So I play on the pipe when none are by, and I
deck myself sitting in the sun with this fair necklace. Look thou,
lad, for it is a joy to show me unto thee so decked." And she did back
her raiment from her thin neck, and it was white as snow under the
woolen, and she did on the necklace, and Osberne thought indeed that
it sat well there, and that her head and neck looked grand and
graithly.
Then she said: "One other gift I gat from these cave-folk, if there be
such in the cave. On a day I was ailing, and could scarce hold up my
head for weariness and sickness; so I stole down hither and clomb with
all trouble and peril down to the cave, and fell to bewailing my
sickness, and scarce had I done ere I felt exceeding drowsy, and so
laid me down on the floor of the cave and fell asleep there, feeling
sick no longer even then. And when I awoke, after some three hours as
I deemed, there was nought amiss with me, and I climbed up to grass
again strong and merry, and making nought of the climb. And even so
have I done once and again, and never have the good folk failed me
herein. Hast thou ever had dealings with such-like creatures?"
Osberne answered, and told her of his meeting with the Dwarf that
time, and held up to her the whittle he had got, and flashed it in the
sun; and then he was about to tell her of Steelhead. But he remembered
that he was scarce free to tell any one of him, so he held his peace
thereof; but he said: "Meseemeth, maiden, that thou art not without
might, such friends as thou hast. But tell me, what canst thou do
beside the shepherding?" She said: "I can spin and weave, and bake the
bread and make the butter, and grind meal at the quern; but the last
is hard work, and I would not do it uncompelled, nor forsooth the
indoor work either, for nought but the shepherding is to my mind. But
now tell me, what canst thou do?" He said: "Meseems I cannot keep my
sheep together so well as thou; but last autumn I learned how to slay
wolves that would tear the sheep."
She rose up as if to look at him the better, and strained her hands
together hard, and gazed eagerly at him. He saw that she was wondering
at him and praising him, so he said lightly: "It is no so great a
matter as some think; what is most needed is a good heart and a quick
eye. Thus I slew the three of them."
"O," she said, "now I know that thou art that fair child and champion
of whom I have heard tell, that thy deed was a wonder; and now thou
art so kind that thou wilt wear the day talking to a poor and feeble
maiden."
Said he: "I do that because it is my will and it pleases me to see
thee and talk to thee, for thou art good to look at and dear."
Then she said: "But what else canst thou do, Champion?" Said he: "Of
late I am thought to be somewhat deft at shooting in the bow, so that
whatso I aim at, that I hit. Thus I am not like to lack for meat."
"Yea," she said, "but that is wonderful; and besides, now canst thou
shoot at the wolves from afar without their being able to come at thee
to bite thee. But now it is hard to get thee to tell of thy prowess,
and I must ask after every deal. Tell me of something else." Quoth he:
"At home they deem me somewhat of a scald, so that I can smithy out
staves." She clapped her hands together and cried: "Now that is good
indeed, since thou canst also slay wolves. But how sweet it would be
for me to have thee making a stave before me now. Wouldst thou?"
"I wot not," he said, laughing; "but let me try." So he sat down and
fell to conning his rhymes, while she stood looking on from across the
water. At last he stood up and sang:
Now the grass groweth free
And the lily's on lea,
And the April-tide green
Is full goodly beseen,
And far behind
Lies the winter blind,
And the lord of the Gale
Is shadowy pale;
And thou, linden be-blossomed, with bed of the worm
Camest forth from the dark house as spring from the storm.
O barm-cloth tree,
The light is in thee,
And as spring-tide shines
Through the lily lines,
So forth from thine heart
Through thy red lips apart
Came words and love
To wolf-bane's grove,
And the shaker of battle-board blesseth the Earth
For the love and the longing, kind craving and mirth.
May I forget
The grass spring-wet
And the quivering stem
On the brooklet's hem,
And the brake thrust up
And the saffron's cup,
Each fashioned thing
From the heart of Spring,
Long ere I forget it, the house of thy word
And the doors of thy learning, the roof of speech-hoard.
When thou art away
In the winter grey,
Through the hall-reek then
And the din of men
Shall I yet behold
Sif's hair of gold
And Hild's bright feet,
The battle-fleet,
And from threshold to hearthstone, like as songs of the South,
To and fro shall be fleeting the words of thy mouth.
Then his song dropped down, and they stood looking silently at each
other, and tears ran over the little maiden's cheeks. But she spake
first and said: "Most lovely is thy lay, and there is this in it, that
I see thou hast made it while thou wert sitting there, for it is all
about thee and me, and how thou lovest me and I thee. And full surely
I know that thou wilt one day be a great and mighty man. Yet this I
find strange in thy song almost to foolishness, that thou speakest in
it as I were a woman grown, and thou a grown man, whereas we be both
children. And look, heed it, what sunders us, this mighty Flood, which
hath been from the beginning and shall be to the end."
He answered not a while, and then he said: "I might not help it; the
words came into my mouth, and meseems they be better said than unsaid.
Look to it if I do not soon some deed such as bairns be not used to
doing." "That I deem is like to be," she said, "yet it shall be a long
time ere folk shall call us man and woman. But now, fair child, I must
needs go homeward, and thou must let me go or I shall be called in
question." "Yea," said Osberne, "yet I would give thee a gift if I
might, but I know not what to give thee save it were my Dwarf-wrought
whittle." She laughed and said: "That were a gift for a man but not
for me; keep it, dear and kind lad. I for my part were fain of giving
thee somewhat: but as for my pipe, I fear me that I could never throw
it across the water. I would I might reach thee with my gold and gem
necklace, but I fear for it lest the Sundering Flood devour it. What
shall I do then?"
"Nought at all, dear maiden," said the lad, "I would no wise take thy
pipe from thee, which saveth thee from blame and beating; and as to
thy necklace, that is woman's gear even as the whittle is man's. Keep
it safe till thou art become a great lady."
"Well," she said, "now, let me go; it almost seems to me as I might
not till thou hast given me leave."
"Yea," said he; "but first, when shall I come to see thee again, and
thou me? Shall it be tomorrow?" "O nay," she said, "it may not be,
lest they take note of me if I come down here over often. Let it be
after three days first: and then the next time it must be longer."
Quoth Osberne: "Let the next time take care of itself; but I will come
in three days. Now I bid thee depart, and I will go home; but I would
kiss thee were it not for the Sundering Flood." "That is kind and dear
of thee," said the maiden. "Farewell, and forget me not in three days,
since thou hast sung that song to me." "I shall not forget so soon,"
said he. "Farewell!"
She turned about and ran down the ness with the pipe in her hand, and
Osberne heard the sweet voice of the pipe thereafter, and the bleating
of the sheep and the paddling of their hoofs as they all ran toward
her, and he went his ways home with all that in his ears, and was well
content with his day's work; and he deemed that he understood the rede
which Steelhead had given him. Withal he had an inkling that Stephen
the Eater was somehow his friend in more special way than he was to
the rest of the household; so he came home to Wethermel in good case.
Chapter XI. Osberne Shoots a Gift Across the Flood
Now when the three days were over he went his ways to the Bight of the
Cloven Knoll, and Stephen smiled and nodded to him friendly as he went
out of the door, and once more he was clad in his red-scarlet raiment.
He had his bow in his hand, and besides the three arrows which the
hillman had given, he had two others out of the goodman's quiver.
Moreover he had thought over from time to time what he might give to
the maiden, and now he had in his pouch a fair gold piece which his
mother had given him when he was yet very young, and he thought that
this were a fair gift might he but get it over to the other side of
the Sundering Flood.
Now when he was within eyeshot of the ness, he looked thither, and saw
a little figure on the crest thereof, and knew that the maiden had
prevented him and was there already, so he hastened all he might to
his own vantage ground, and straightway he gave her the sele of the
day, and she greeted him kindly. Then he looks and sees that she is
somewhat decked out for this meeting, for not only did the Dwarfs'
gift, the necklace, gleam and glitter on her little flat child's
bosom, but also she had made her a wreath for her head of the spring
flowers, and another had she done about her loins. She stood there
saying nothing a while, and it seemed to him that she was waiting for
him to praise this new-wrought adornment. So he said: "Thou art in
fairer guise than when first I saw thee; is there any high-tide toward
at thy stead?"
"Nay," she said; "I did this because I looked to see thee today,
whereas the other time we happed on each other unawares. But hast thou
done any more great deeds?"
He laughed and said: "Nay, nay, let me grow a few days older yet.
Nevertheless there is this new thing, that this morning I have brought
thee a gift which I deem I may to flit to thee, and I shall give it to
thee with a good will if thou wilt promise that thou wilt not part
with it ever."
"With all my heart will I promise that," she said; "but tell me what
it is; show it to me."
He drew it forth and held it up between his finger and thumb, and
said: "It is a golden penny, very fair, and I deem it comes from some
far country. My mother gave it to me when I was very young; yet I
remember that she bade me part not with it, save I should give it to
one unto whom I wished all luck, for that she deemed that luck went
with it. Now thou art so fair and so dear, and my only fellow of like
age, that I wish luck to thee as much as luck can be found: so I will
flit it to thee this wise, that I will do it up in a piece of cloth
and tie it to the head of this arrow (which is of no account), and
shoot it over to thee." And therewith he knelt down and fell to
wrapping it up in the rag.
As for the maiden, she was all eager, and quivering with joy at the
getting of such a gift; yet she spake and said: "O how good thou art
to me: yet I deem not that thou shouldst give me thy mother's gift.
And moreover why shouldst thou shoot away thy luck? It may be that I
am not doomed to be lucky, as surely thou art; and it may well be that
thou mayst give me thy luck and make thee less lucky, without eking
mine, if unluck be my weird."
Now though he had set his heart on giving the gold to the fair child,
yet her words seemed wise to him, and he said: "What then shall we
do?" She said: "Abide a while till I think of it."
So they were silent a while, both of them, till the little maid looked
up and said: "Is it a round thing?" "Yea," said he. "What is there
upon it?" she said. Quoth Osberne: "On one side be two warriors, and
on the other the Rood and certain letters."
She thought again and said: "How much were it marred if it were
halved, one warrior and half a cross?" He said: "That hangs upon this,
who has one half and who the other." She said "How would it be, since
I can see that thou wishest that I should share thy gift, and belike
thy luck also, if thou wert to do it into two halves, and keep one
thyself and shoot me the other over the flood?" He leapt up and fell
a-dancing for joy as she spake, and cried out: "O, but thou art wise!
Now I can see that this is what my mother meant me to do, to share the
gold and the luck."
Therewith he took the penny out of its wrapping and drew forth his
whittle, and gat a big stone and set the gold on the steel and smote
it, deftly enough; for he was no ill smith for his years. Then he
stood up and cried out: "There, it is done, and neither of the
warriors is scathed, for there was a waste place betwixt them. Now
then for the shaft and the bow!" The maiden looked eagerly with
knitted brows, and soon saw Osberne take up the shaft and nock it on
the bowstring.
Then he said: "Take heed and stand still and the halfling shall be
thine. Look now, I will send the shaft so that it shall go in the
grass-grown cleft betwixt the two big stones behind thee to thy right
hand." He raised his bow therewith, and saw how she gathered her
skirts about her, as if she would not have them hinder the shaft. Then
he loosed, and the shaft flew, but she abode still a little; and he
laughed and said: "Go, maiden, and find the shaft and the gold." Then
she turned and ran to the cleft, and took out the arrow, and did off
the wrapping with trembling fingers, and gat the gold and looked on
it, and cried out: "O the fair warrior! such like shalt thou be on a
penny, dear child."
Then she came forward again and said: "Now this is strange, that
neither last time nor now have we told each other our names: now I
will tell thee that my name is Elfhild, of Hartshaw Knolls. What is
thine?"
"Elfhild my child," said he, "my name is Osberne Wulfgrim's son, and I
am of Wethermel, as I told thee. Yet belike it is not so strange that
we have not told our names hitherto, and I hope no ill-luck will go
with our telling them, for I suppose that people give each other names
when there are many of them, and they would know one from another. But
as to us, there be only two of us, so that if I call thee Maiden, and
thou call me Swain, it had been enough. Nevertheless I am fain of
calling thee Elfhild."
"And I am full fain of calling thee Osberne," she said. "Besides, if
at any time both thou and I were to depart from this country-side we
might chance to meet amongst folk of many names, and thus we might the
better know each other--But O!" she said, growing exceeding eager,
"dost thou know how good a gift thou has given me? For the halves of
the penny, we shall both keep them for ever, as thou knowest, and by
our having them we shall know each other if we meet in the world
without and our faces have become changed."
Said Osberne: "I deem not that my face will change very much, at least
not till I grow old--nor do I think that thine will either." She
laughed merrily: "O, bairn Osberne, when thou art become a man and a
great man, and art called maybe Earl Osberne Wulfgrimsson, will not
thy face have changed, and thou with the beard and the fierce eyes,
and the mouth that hath shouted in the battle? As for me, Allhallows
grant it that my face may change: look at me, a kind of red crow now,
all skinny and spindle-legged, and yet I may grow to be a fair woman;
and then indeed I should be fain for thee to see me. For somehow it
seems to be shown to me that thou wilt be loved of women & love them
somewhat over-much."
"For my part," said Osberne, "I seem to see of myself that I shall
have much to do slaying wolves and evil things, and standing before
kings and getting gifts of them, so that there will be little time for
me to go about loving women--yet thee I shall ever love, Elfhild."
And he reddened as he spake this, as though he were a youth before his
time. But Elfhild said: "In all ways thou art kind to me, and thee
shall I ever love. But now tell me, Osberne, what wouldst thou have me
do today to make game and play for thee?" Said he: "Call up the sheep
again to thee with the sweet little pipe, for therein is much game."
She nodded her head merrily, and drew forth her pipe and played, and
the sheep came bundling up as the day before; and she danced and
played a long while, and Osberne clapped his hands and laughed and
egged her on, and was full fain of her dancing, and forsooth it was a
wonder and delight to see her.
At last she was wearied out, and cast herself on the grass at the very
edge of the cliff, and said that she could no more. And Osberne
thanked her kindly.
So when she had gotten her breath again, she asked him what next she
should do for his disport. And he bade tell him of how she lived with
those two women, her aunts, and what she did from day to day. So she
sat down as on the other day, with her legs hanging down over the
grisly flood, and told him full sweetly of her joys and her work and
her troubles. And some of the tale was piteous enough, for the two
kinswomen, who were by no means old, for the eldest was only of thirty
summers, were somewhat hard with the child and right careless of her,
as shall be shown afterwards.
But after a little she broke off and said: "But Osberne, dear, these
be no fair tales for thee, though thou art kind to hearken to them. I
have better tales than that, of champions to wit, and ladies and
castles and dragons and the like, that I have heard; some of my
kinswomen, some of folk that come to our house at a pinch, for it is a
poor house; and some, yea and most and the best, from an old woman who
dwelleth in a cot not far from us. And she loveth me and hath learned
me much lore; and I will tell thee thereof if thou wilt hearken."
"I will well," said he, "and thanks thou shalt have of me; I would I
might give thee some other gift." She said: "My tale reward will be
that thou shalt tell me over and over the staves thou madest last time
we met, till I have them by heart. And other staves shalt thou make
for me if thou wilt." "Thus is the bargain struck," said the lad, "now
get thee to the work."
So the little maiden fell to telling him a tale of the Faery, and when
it was done he asked for another; but this was a long one, and wore
the day down, so that Elfhild must needs depart ere it was done. Then
was a talk of when the next meeting should be, and to Osberne nought
was near enough save tomorrow. But Elfhild said that it was nought
safe, lest aught should wake up her kinswomen to asking of her
whereabouts, and again the meeting was appointed for three days hence;
but had it not been for the tale, for which something must be risked,
Elfhild said that the time between must be a week. So each of the
children departed to their houses well pleased.
Chapter XII. Of a Guest Called Waywearer
Now hereafter all went the same way, that from time to time they met
on either side the Sundering Flood, save that Osberne came not ever in
his fair-dyed raiment, but was mostly clad in russet; but on Elfhild's
birthday he was clad in his best. Otherwise nought befel to tell of.
Whiles either of the children were ailing, whiles Elfhild was kept at
home by her kinswomen, and so they failed each other, but never by
their own will. The one who came to the trysting-place and missed the
other was sore grieved, and in special Osberne, whose child's heart
swelled nigh to bursting with sorrow mingled with wrath, and at such
times the Sundering Flood seemed to him like the coils of a deadly
serpent which was strangling the life out of him, and he would wend
home in all despair.
So wore the days through spring and summer and early autumn, and at
Wethermel all went smoothly, and the goodman there was better pleased
than ever with his new man, who, if he ate two men's victuals, did
three men's work; as for Osberne, he loved Stephen dearly, and Stephen
for his part was for ever doing something for his disport, and in two
ways in special. For first he was, like Elfhild, stuffed with all
kinds of tales and histories, and oft when they were out a-shepherding
he would tell these to Osberne day-long; and not unseldom when the
tale was underway the lad would cry out: "Fair is thy tale, but I have
heard it before, only it is different thus and thus." And in sooth, he
had heard it from Elfhild. The other matter was that Stephen was a
smith exceeding deft, and learned the craft to Osberne, so that by the
end of the year he bade fair to be a good smith himself. Moreover,
whiles would Stephen take a scrap of iron and a little deal of silver,
as a silver penny or florin, from out of his hoard, and would fashion
it into an ouch or chain or arm-ring, so quaintly and finely that it
was a joy to look on. And every one of those things would Stephen give
to Osberne with a friendly grin, and Osberne took them with a joyful
heart because now he had a new thing to give to Elfhild, and each one
he shot across the river unto her the soonest that he might. But
whiles, when his heart was full, Osberne would say to the smith: "Thou
givest me so much, and doest so well by me, that I know not how ever I
am to make it good to thee." And Stephen would say: "Fear not, master,
the time will come when thou mayst do such good to me as shall pay for
all at once."
Now befel tidings on a day of the beginning of October; for the wind,
which had been high and blustering all day, grew greater and greater
by then candles were lighted in the hall, till it was blowing a great
gale from the south-west, which seemed like to lift the house-roof.
Then befel a knocking on the house-door, and Stephen went thereto and
opened it, & came back with a man all dripping & towzelled with the
storm. He was a tall man, yellow-haired, and goodly both of face and
body, but his face much hidden with a beard untrimmed, and never a
shoe had he to his foot: yet was he bold and free of mien despite his
poor attire. He carried some long thing under his arm wrapped up in
cloth which was bound about with twine and sealed every here and there
with yellow wax.
The goodman started up when he came in, and made as if he would have
the newcomer put out, and he muttered: "We keep no house for the
harbouring of runagates." Yet he looked at Osberne withal, for he was
now grown so masterful that nought was done in the house without him;
and the lad stood up straightway and came to the newcomer and bade him
welcome from out the storm. Then he took him by the hand and led him
up to the hearth, and spake to his grandam: "Goodwife, this our guest
has been in rough weather without, and ere he sits down to meat with
us, it were well to take him into the inner chamber and wash his feet,
and find him dry raiment." The goodwife looked kindly on the guest and
bade him come with her, and he went; but ere his back was turned,
Osberne looked on him and caught a glance of his eye, and therewith he
was sure that despite his rags and wretchedness this was his friend
Steelhead. In a while he came back into the hall, clad and shod as
well as might be done in a hurry, and Osberne led him into his own
seat at the board, and gave him to drink; and Stephen withal served
him with all care, so that he was in an hospitable house, save that
the goodman cast somewhat grudging glances on him, but whereas he
might not gainsay all the rest of his household, there was little
scathe therein.
But when the guest sat down, he took that long bundle and gave it into
Osberne's hands, and said: "Thou art so friendly to a gangrel man,
that I make bold to ask this grace of thee also, to wit that thou wilt
heed this bundle, and let none other touch it, and give it back to me
tomorrow morning ere I depart." Osberne yeasaid to that, and took the
bundle and laid it at his bed-head. And therewith the meat was brought
in, and the meal was merry; for now the guest seemed so noble-looking
a man and so cheerful of countenance and so debonair, that none save
the goodman thought any longer of his rags wherewith he had come into
the hall out of the storm. But even the goodman was better with him
presently, when he saw that though he ate and drank like a tall man,
he needed no such abundance for the filling of his maw as did Stephen.
Ere they began drinking the guest said: "I may as well tell you folks
my name, since ye are so good to me, and have not asked for it, and ye
must know that I am called Waywearer, and that I wish increase of good
unto this house."
Then the cup went round and they drank late into the night, and when
they had drunk the voidee cup, Osberne led the newcomer to the
guest-chamber, and kissed him with good-night, but made no show of
knowing who he was.
Chapter XIII. Steelhead Gives Osberne the Sword Boardcleaver
When morning was, the guest came into the hall and found the household
there, and he spake to the goodwife and said: "Dame, I would have done
off this raiment which ye lent me last night and done on mine and left
thine lying there, but mine I might not find."
"Nor thou nor anyone else," she said, "shall find thy rags any more,
good guest, unless they come to life when thou risest from the dead on
the day of doom; for I have peaceably burned them in the garth this
hour ago. God help us if the stead of Wethermel cannot spare a yard or
two of homespun to a guest who cometh in stripped by the storm." The
guest nodded kindly to her; but Osberne said: "Which way ridest thou
this morning, guest, for I would fain lead thee a little way?" "I wend
south from thy door, fair master," said the newcomer; "but as to
riding, 't is Shanks' mare must be my way-beast, unless I go stealing
a horse."
"There is no need for that," said Osberne, "we can find thee a good
horse, and if thou bringest him not back, it will be no loss to us, as
the less hay-need we shall have through winter. Stephen, go thou and
see to it that the horses be ready saddled and bridled when we have
eaten a morsel." The guest laughed and looked to the carle-master, and
said: "How sayest thou, goodman, is the gift given?" The carle smiled
somewhat ruefully, and said: "The gift is given; and soothly it is for
the youngling to give since all will come to him, be it more or less."
"I will take it then," said the guest, "since good will goeth with it;
but look to it goodman, if I reward thee not therefor, for as ragged
as I came into thine house."
Now therewith they break their fast; and the last night's wind has
falled utterly, and the sky is blue and the sun bright, and it is warm
for that season. Then Osberne gives the sealed bundle to Waywearer,
and he took it and did it on to his saddle-bow, and he mounts, and
Osberne also, who is dight in his fair-hued raiment; and they set out
up the Dale, and ride swiftly, and are few-spoken together.
So they rode till they were past the last house, the cot to wit above
told of, and then they came into a fair little clough with a bright
stream running through it toward the Sundering Flood; and there were
bushes and small wood up and down the clough, and there Waywearer,
that is to say, Steelhead, drew rein, and said to Osberne: "Meseems
this is as far as thou needest lead me out, lad, so let us off horse
and go down and sit by the brook."
So they did, and tied their horses to a thorn-bush growing thereby;
and Waywearer took the bundle off his horse and said to Osberne: "Hast
thou any guess at what this good thing is?" Osberne reddened and said:
"That is the sword which thou didst promise me last spring." Waywearer
laughed and said: "Sharp are thine eyes to see a sword through all
this wrappage of cerecloth; surely they be of the warrior kin. But
sooth hast thou said; this is thy sword." And therewith he fell to
undoing the cloth, while the boy looked on eagerly.
At last the hilts and the sheath showed naked: the pommel and cross
were of gold of beauteous and wonderful fashion, such as no smith may
work now, and the grip was wrapped about with golden wire. And the
sheath wherein lay the deadly white edges was of brown leather of
oxhide, studded about with knops of gold and silver, and the
peace-strings were of scarlet silk with golden acorns at the ends.
Said Osberne: "O thou art kind to have brought this for me: and may I
handle it now and at once?"
"Yea," said Steelhead smiling; "but beware, beware!" for he saw the
lad lay his hand to the peace-strings; "do not away the peace-strings,
lest thou be tempted to draw forth the blade. For this sword is hight
Boardcleaver, and was fashioned by the fathers of long ago; and so
wise is he and so eager, that whensoever he cometh forth from the
sheath he will not go back again till he hath had a life. So beware
ever, for mickle scathe shall come of it if he see the heavens and the
earth for light cause."
Somewhat daunted was the bold lad; but he said: "Tell me, thou bright
lord, at what times I shall draw forth Boardcleaver?"
Said Steelhead: "Only then when thou hast the foe before thee: then
draw and be of good courage, for never shall point and edge be dulled
by the eye-shot of the wicked and wizards, as whiles it befals the
common blades of today. For a man of might hath breathed on the edges
amidst much craft of spells, so that nought may master that blade,
save one of its brethren fashioned by the same hands, if such there be
yet upon the earth, whereof I misdoubt me. Now then thou hast the
sword; but I lay this upon thee therewith, that thou be no brawler nor
make-bate, and that thou draw not Boardcleaver in any false quarrel,
or in behalf of any tyrant or evil-doer, or else shall thy luck fail
thee despite the blade that lieth hidden there. But meseemeth nought
shalt thou be of the kind of these wrong-doers. And I say of thee that
thou didst well with me last night. For though thou knewest me
presently, and that I was not without might, yet at first, when thou
tookest me by the hand and leddest me to the fire before all the
house, thou knewest me not, and I was to thee but the ragged gangrel
body whom thy grandsire would have thrust forth into the storm again;
but thou didst to me no worse than if I had been lord and earl."
Now it is to be told, that when Osberne heard these words then first
he knew what praise was, and the heart glowed within him, and his
valiancy grew up therein, and his face was bright and his eyes
glistened with tears; and he spake no word aloud, but he swore to
himself that he would be no worse than his friend Steelhead would have
him to be.
Then he took the sword and girt it to him; and he said: "Master, this
is no long sword, but it is great and heavy, and meseemeth my bairn's
might may never wield it. Shall I not lay it by till I become man?"
"That shall be seen to, fair youngling," said Steelhead. "In an hour
thou shalt have might enough to wield Boardcleaver, though doubtless
thy might shall be eked year by year and month by month thereafter."
Chapter XIV. The Gifts of Steelhead
Now by then it was high noon, and the sun very hot, and as they lay on
the grass after this converse the lad looked on the water, and he was
besweated, and longed for the bright pools of the stream after the
manner of boys; and he said at last: "I were fain to take to the water
this hot noon, if it please thee."
"It is well thought of, lad," said Steelhead, "and that the more, as I
must needs see thee naked if I am to strengthen thee as I am minded to
do." So they did off their raiment, both of them, and went into the
biggest of the pools hard by; and if Steelhead were a noble-looking
man clad, far nobler was he to look on naked, for he was both big and
well shapen, so that better might not be. As for Osberne, there looked
but little of him when he was unclad, as is the fashion of lads to be
lank, yet for his age he was full well shapen. So Steelhead came out
of the water presently, and clad himself, while Osberne yet played a
while. Then Steelhead called the lad to him all naked as he was, and
said: "Stand thou before me, youngling, and I will give thee a gift
which shall go well with Boardcleaver." And the lad stood still before
him, and Steelhead laid his hands on the head of him first, and let
them abide there a while; then he passed his hands over the shoulders
and arms of the boy, and his legs and thighs and breast, and all over
his body; and therewith he said: "In our days and the olden time it
was the wont of fathers to bless their children in this wise; but for
thee, thy father is dead, and thy nighest kinsman is little-hearted
and somewhat of a churl. Thus then have I done to thee to take the
place of a father to thee, I who am of the warriors of while agone.
And I think it will avail thee; and it is borne in upon me that before
very long thou wilt need this avail, if thou art to live and do the
deeds I would have thee. Now it is done, so cover thee in thy raiment
and rest a while; and then I will depart and leave thee to the might
which I have given thee, and the valiance which hath grown up in thine
heart."
So they lay down on the greensward and rested; and Osberne had
fetched along with him cakes and cheese and a keg of good drink, and
they took their bever there in all content. But for that time
Steelhead spake no more of his folk and the old days, but about the
fowl and fish and other wild things that haunted that clough, and of
shooting in the bow and so forth. Then they arose and went to their
horses, and Steelhead said to Osberne: "How is it with the might of
thy body, lad? Canst thou do better in wielding of Boardcleaver?" So
the youngling stretched himself and took the sword by the hilts and
shook it and waved it about, and tossed it in the air and caught it
again, and said: "Seest thou, master? Meseems my might is so much
eked, that I deem I could swim the stream of the Sundering Flood and
overcome it." Quoth the hillman, laughing: "Yea, and we know that that
would please the well; but let it be, my son, I bid thee; for no race
of folk who have ever dwelt in the Dale from the beginning of the
world have ever won across the Sundering Flood. So now we depart for
this present; but as for this way-beast I ride, thy grandsire shall
lose nothing and gain much by him; for I took him but to pleasure
thee, and I shall send him back to Wethermel ere many days are past.
Farewell, my son!"
So he kissed the youngling, and rode away south across the stream and
over the other side of the clough. Osberne stood beside his horse,
looking after him and the way he had taken, and then mounted and rode
his way homeward, somewhat downcast at first for the missing of this
new father. But after a while, what for his new gift and his
freshly-gained might, and the pride and pleasure of life, he became
all joyous again, as though the earth were new made for him.
Ye may well think that the very next time (which indeed was on the
morrow) that Osberne went to the Bight of the Cloven Knoll, he went
girt with Boardcleaver, and showed it to his friend; and she looked
somewhat sober at the sight of it, and said: "I pray thee, Osberne,
draw it not forth from the sheath." "In nowise may I draw it," said
he, "for I am told never to draw it till I have my foe before me; for
ever it will have a life betwixt the coming forth from the sheath and
its going back again." "I fear me," she said, "that thou wilt have to
draw it often, so that many a tale will be told of it, and perhaps at
last the death of thee." And therewith she put her hands up to her
face and wept. But he comforted her with kind words, till the tears
were gone.
Then she looked at him long and lovingly, and said at last: "I know
not how it is, but thou seemest to me changed and grown less like a
child, as though some new might had come to thee. Now I may not ask
thee who has done this to thee, and given thee the sword, for if thou
mightest thou wouldst have told me. But tell me this, hast thou all
this from a friend or a foe?" He said: "Dost thou indeed see that I
may not tell thee who is the giver; but I may tell thee that it is a
friend. But art thou not glad of my gain?" She smiled and said: "I
should be glad, and would be if I might; but somehow meseemeth that
thou growest older quicker than I do, and that it is ill for me, for
it will sunder us more than even now we be sundered."
And again he had to comfort her with sweet words; and he shot across
to her an ouch which Stephen had given him that morning, so soon she
was herself again, and sat and told him a tale of old times; and they
parted happily, and Osberne gat him home to Wethermel. But he had
scarce been at home a minute or two when there came one riding to the
door, a young man scarlet-clad and gay, and his horse was dight with
the goodliest of saddles and bridles, and the bit of silver, but for
all that, both Osberne and Stephen, who was standing in the door, knew
the horse for their own nag, on whom Waywearer had ridden off the
yestermorn.
Now the lad cries out: "Is this the stead of Wethermel?" "Yea," said
Osberne; "what wouldst thou?" "I would see the goodman," says the
swain. "He is yet afield," said Osberne, "but if thou wilt come in and
have the bite and the sup thou mayst abide him, for he will not be
long."
"I may not," said the swain, "for time fails me; so I will say to thee
what I was to say to him, which is no long spell, to wit that
Waywearer sendeth home the horse the goodman lent him, and bids him
keep the gear on him in his memory." Therewith is he off the horse in
a twinkling and out through the garth gate, and away so swiftly that
they lost sight of him in a moment. Stephen laughed and said to
Osberne: "Waywearer is nowise debt-tough; now will our goodman be glad
tonight. But see thou! Look to the nag's shoes! If ever I saw silver
to know it, they be shod therewith." And so it was as he said, and the
silver nigh an inch thick.
Soon cometh home the goodman, and they tell him the tidings, and he
grows wondrous glad, and says that luck has come to Wethermel at last.
But thereafter they found that horse much bettered, so that he was the
best nag in all the Wethermel pastures.
Chapter XV. Surly John Brings a Guest to Wethermel
Wear the days now till it is the beginning of winter, and there is
nought new to tell of, till on a day when it began to dusk, and all
the household were gathered in the hall, one knocked at the door, and
when Stephen went thereto, who should follow him in save Surly John,
and with him a stranger, a big tall man, dark-haired and red-bearded,
wide-visaged, brown-eyed and red-cheeked, blotch-faced and insolent of
bearing. He was girt with a sword, had a shield at his back and bore a
spear in his hand, and was clad in a long byrny down to his knees. He
spake at once in a loud voice, ere Surly John got out the word: "May
Hardcastle be here tonight, ye folk?" The goodman quaked at the look
and the voice of him, and said: "Yea, surely, lord, if thou wilt have
it so."
But Osberne turned his head over his shoulder, for his back was toward
the door, and said: "Meat and drink and an ingle in the hall are free
to every comer to this house, whether he be earl or churl." Hardcastle
scowled on the lad, and said: "I am neither earl nor churl, but a man
of mine own hand, and I take thy bidding, goodman, for this night, but
as to thereafter we will look to it; but as to they youngling, I will
look to him at once and teach him a little manners." And therewith he
went up to Osberne and smote him a cheek-slap from behind. Surly John
laughed, and made a mow at him, and said: "Ho! young wolf-slayer,
feelest thou that? Now is come the end of they mastery!" But neither
for slap nor for gibe did Osberne flinch one whit, or change
countenance.
Then Hardcastle said: "Hah! Is that the lad who slew the wolves ye ran
from, John? He will be a useful lad about the house." John held his
peace and reddened somewhat, and Hardcastle said: "Now show me where
to bestow this fighting-gear of mine; for meseems I shall not want it
yet awhile in this meek and friendly house." Quoth Osberne over his
shoulder: "Things boded will happen, and also things unboded."
Hardcastle scowled again, but this time smote him not, for he was busy
doing off his hawberk, which Stephen took from him presently, along
with his other armour and weapons, and hung them upon the pins at the
other end of the hall. Then he came back and stood before Hardcastle
as if waiting some commandment, but the warrior said: "What is this
big lubber here, and what is his name? What does the fool want?" Said
Stephen: "I want to serve thee, noble sir, and my name is Stephen the
Eater, but I can swallow most things better than hard words."
Hardcastle lifted up his right foot to kick his backside, but Stephen
deftly thrust out his right foot and gave the man a shove on his
breast, so that he tripped him and down went Hardcastle bundling. He
picked himself up in a mighty rage, and would have fallen on Stephen;
but he saw that the Eater had a broad and big knife in his girdle, so
he forbore, being now all unarmed; and Stephen said: "Our floor is
somewhat slippery for dancing, fair sir."
But therewith arose Osberne, and came before the guest, and louted to
him and said: "Noble sir, I pray thee pardon our man Stephen, for thou
seest how clumsy a man he is, and he knoweth not where to bestow his
long legs; he is ever in everyone's way." And as he spake the smiles
were all over his face, and he louted low again. Stephen stared
astonished at him and drew back, and as for Hardcastle, the wrath ran
off him, and he looked on Osberne and said: "Nay, thou art not so
unmannerly a lad as I deemed; belike I shall yet make something out of
thee."
Therewith the meat was borne in and they all sat to table, and
Hardcastle was well at ease; and the goodman, if he were not quite
happy, yet made a shift to seem as if he were. The guest sat at the
right hand of the goodman, and after he had eaten a while he said:
"Goodman, thy women here have doubtless once been fair, but now they
are somewhat stricken in years. Hast thou in hiding somewhere, or
belike lying out in the field or at some cot, anything prettier?
something with sleek sides and round arms and dainty legs and feet? It
would make us merrier, and belike kinder, if such there were."
The goodman turned pale, and stammered out that these were all the
women at Wethermel; and John cried out: "It is even as I told thee,
warrior. Heed it not; there be fair women up and down the Dale, and
thou shalt have one or two of these with little pains, either for love
or for fear." Hardcastle laughed and said: "Thou shalt go and fetch
them for me, Surly John, and see which shall serve thee best, love or
fear." All laughed thereat, for they well knew his ill temper and his
cowardice, and he turned red and blue for rage. But as for Osberne, he
could not help thinking of the pretty maid whose hand he had held at
the Cloven Mote last winter; and he thought that if Hardcastle did her
any wrong, Boardcleaver might well look on the sun in her behalf.
A little after Osberne turns to John and sees his knife lying on the
board, a goodly one, well carven on the heft. So he says: "Thy whittle
seems to me both good and strange, John, reach it into my hand." John
did so, and the youngling takes hold of it by the back near the point
with his thumb and finger, and twists it till it is like a ram's horn.
Then he gives it back to John and says: "Thy knife is now stranger
than it was, John, but 'tis not of so much use as erst." All marvelled
at this feat, all save the fool Surly John, who raises a great outcry
that his knife is marred. But Hardcastle, whose head was now pretty
much filled with drink, cried out: "Hold thy peace, John; doubtless
this youngling here hath enough craft to straighten thy whittle even
as he has crooked and winded it. By the mass he is a handy smith and
will be of much avail to me." Osberne reached out his hand for the
knife, and John gave it to him, and he took it by the point as
aforetime, and lo, in a moment it was once more straight again, so to
say. Then he hands it back to John, and says: "Let our man Stephen lay
his hammer on the blade tomorrow once or twice, and thy knife shall be
as good as ever it was." All wondered, but Hardcastle not much,
whereas by this time he could not see very straight out of his eyes.
So he bids lead him to bed, and the goodman took him by the hand and
brought him to the guest-chamber, and himself lies down in an ingle of
the hall. So all lay down, and there was rest in the house all night
long; save for the goodman, who slept but little, and that with dreams
of the cutting of throats and firing of roofs.
Chapter XVI. Hardcastle Would Seize Wethermel
When it was morning, and folk were afoot in the house, Hardcastle lay
long abed; but when the first meal was on the board, and they were
gathered in hall, he came thereto, and sat down and ate without a word
and was by seeming as surly as John. But when the boards were taken
up, and the women at least, though not the others, I deem, were
looking that he should call for his horses and depart, he leaned back
in his high-seat and spake slowly and lazily: "This stead of Wethermel
is much to my mind; it is a plenteous house and good land, and more
plenteous it might be made were I to cast a dyke and wall round about,
and have in here a sort of good fellows who should do my bidding, so
that we might help ourselves to what we lacked where plenty was to be
had. I will think of this hereafter, but at this present, and till
winter is done and spring is come, I will say no more of that. And to
you folk, even to the big lubber yonder, I will say this, that ye,
women and all, shall be free of meat and drink and bed if ye will but
be brisk about doing my will, and will serve me featly; but if not,
then shall ye pack and be off, and have no worse harm of me. Have ye
heard and will ye obey?"
The women were pale and trembled, and the goodman quaked exceedingly,
while Surly John stood by grinning. Osberne smiled pleasantly but
spake not. He was girt with the sword Boardcleaver and clad in
scarlet. As for Stephen, he stood before Hardcastle with a face
seeming solemn, save that he squinted fearfully, looking all down
along his long nose.
Now came forth the goodman and knelt before the ruffler, and said:
"Lord, we will even do thy will: but mightest thou tell us where ye
got licence and title to take all our wealth from us and make us thy
thralls?" The warrior laughed: "It is fairly asked, goodman, and I
will not spare to show thee my title." Therewith he drew forth his
sword, a great and heavy blade, and cast it rattling on the board
before him and said: "There is my title, goodman; wilt thou ask a
better?" The goodman groaned and said: "At least, lord, I pray thee
take not all I have, but leave me some little whereby to live, and
thereof I will pay somewhat year by year, if the seasons be good."
"My friend," quoth Hardcastle, "by the title that lieth yonder I have
gotten thy wealth, and every jot of it might I keep if I would. But
see how kind I am to thee and thine. For have I not told you that ye
shall live in this house, and eat the sweet and drink the strong and
lie warm a-nights, so long as ye do my will?"
"Yea," said the goodman, "but we must needs toil as thralls." "Great
fool," said Hardcastle, "what matters that to thee? It is like thou
shalt work no harder than erst, or no harder than may be enough to
keep me as thy guest. Nay, goodman, wilt thou turn me from thy door
and deny me guesting? What sayest thou to that, Fiddlebow, my sharp
dear?" said he, handling his sword. Now the goodman crept away, and
Surly John says that he wept.
But Osberne came forward as smiling and debonaire as erst, and he
said: "Fair sir, one thing I crave of thee to tell me, to wit, is
there no other way out of this thraldom, for well thou wottest that no
man would be a thrall might he help it?" "Well, my lad," quoth the
warrior smiling, for now after his talk with the goodman he was in
better humour, "when thou growest older thou wilt find that saw of
thine belied manywise, and that many there be who are not loth to be
thralls. But as to what way there may be out of this thraldom, I will
tell thee the way, as I was about to do with the goodman; though
whereas he is but little-hearted, and there is none else fight-worthy
in the house, save it were this lubber in front-- Well thou, why art
thou skellying, man, as if thou wouldst cast the eyes out of thine
head on either side?" Quoth Stephen: "I was grown so afraid of thee,
fair sir, that I wotted not where to look, so I thought my eyes would
do me least harm if they looked down along my nose." Quoth Hardcastle:
"I begin to see how it will go with thee, great lout, that in the
first days of my mastership thine hide will pay for thy folly."
Stephen squinted none the less, but his whittle was yet in his belt.
Now Hardcastle went on speaking to Osberne and said: "Well now, I will
tell thee the way out of this thraldom, as thou wilt call it; and the
more to thee, bairn, because thou wilt become my man and wilt be bold
and deft, I doubt not; therefore thou shouldst learn early the
fashions of great and bold men. Hearken! Ever when I offer to some man
a lot that seemeth hard unto him, then I bid him, if it likes him not,
to pitch me the hazelled field hard by his house, and we to go
thereinto and see what point and edge may say to it; and if he slay me
or hurt me so much I must be borne off the field within the four
corners, then is he quit, and hath gained mickle glory of my body.
Moreover if he may not fight himself, yet will I meet any champion
that he may choose to do battle with me. Now this is a good and noble
custom of the bold, and hath been seemed so from long time agone. And
indeed I deem pity of it that here today the goodman may not fight nor
hath found any champion to fight for him. But three days' frist will I
give him to find such a champion-- Thou wretch," said he to Stephen,
"why wilt thou still skelly at me?"
"Because the champion is found," said Stephen in a snuffling voice.
Hardcastle snorted and his lip-beard bristled, but forth stood
Osberne, and he still smiling; and he said: "Thou warrior, three
things I offer thee to choose from, and the first is that thou depart
hence, thou and thy man; because thou hast not dealt with us as a
guest should, but hast smitten me and threatened all of us, and
brazened out thy wrong-doing. This is the best way out of thy folly.
What sayest thou to it?" But such fury was in the ruffler's heart now,
that he had no words for it, but rolled about in the high-seat
snorting and blowing. Said Osberne: "I see thou wilt not take this way
and that is the worse for thee. Now the next is that we hazel a field
and fight therein. Wilt thou have this?" The champion roared out:
"Yea, that will I! But in such wise that thou take sword and shield
and I a bunch of birch twigs; and if I catch thee not and unbreech
thee and whip thee as a grammar-master his scholar, then will I lay
down sword and shield forever."
Said Osberne coldly: "Thou seest not that I am girt with a sword, and
I tell thee it is a good one. Or wilt thou take Surly John's knife
this morning and do as I did with it last night? And I did it for a
warning to thee, but belike thou wert drunk and noted it not."
Hardcastle's face fell somewhat, for now he did remember the feat of
the knife. But Osberne spake again: "I ask thee, warrior, wilt thou
enter the field that I shall hazel for thee?" Quoth the ruffler, but
in a lower voice: "I cannot fight with a boy; whether I slay him or am
slain I am shamed."
Spake Osberne: "Then depart from the house with as little shame as a
ruffler and a churl may have. But if thou wilt neither of these
things, then it will befal that I shall draw my blade and fall on thee
to slay thee, and make the most of it that here stands by me my man
Stephen, a true and fearless carle, with his whittle bare in his hand.
And this I may well do, whereas, by thine own telling, thou art not in
our house but in thine own."
Hardcastle lifted up his head, for he had hung it down a while, and
said in a hoarse voice: "Hazel the field for me then, and I will go
therein with thee and slay thee." "That may well be," said Osberne,
"--yet it may not be." Then he bade Stephen to go hazel the field in
the flat meadows toward the river: and therewith he bethought him of
his friend on the further side of the water, and how it might well be
that he should never see her again, but lie slain on the meadow of
Wethermel; and he wondered if tidings of the battle would go across
the water and come unto her. But amidst his musings the harsh voice of
Hardcastle reached his ears: he turned around with a start and heard
how the ruffler said to him: "Let me see the sword, lad, wherewith
thou wilt fight me." Osberne took the sheathed blade from his girdle
and handed it to Hardcastle without a word, and the warrior fell at
once to handling the peace-strings, but Osberne cried out: "Nay,
warrior, meddle not with the peace-strings, for who knoweth what
scathe may come of the baring of the blade within doors?" "Well,
well," said Hardcastle, "but the blade must be out presently, and what
harm if it be now?" Yet he took his hand from the weapon, and laid it
on the board before him.
Osberne looked about him and saw that they two were alone in the hall
now, for the others had gone down to look on the hazelling. So he
spake quietly and said: "Warrior, is it not so, that thou hast in
thine heart some foreboding of what shall befal?" Hardcastle answered
nought, and Osberne went on: "I see that so it is, and meseems it were
better for thee if this battle were unfought. Lo now, shall we not
make peace in such wise that thou abide here this day in all honour
holden, and in honour depart tomorrow morn, led out with such good
gifts as shall please thee? Thus shalt thou have no shame, and
everything untoward betwixt us shall be forgotten." Hardcastle shook
his head and said: "Nay, lad, nay, the tale would get about, and shame
would presently be on the wing towards me. We must stand within the
hazel-garth against each other." Then he spake again, and a somewhat
grim smile was on his face: "Awhile agone thou didst threaten to slay
me with the help of yonder squinting loon, but now thou standest
unarmed before me and I have thy sword under my hand. Hast thou no
fear of what I may do to thee, since so it is that forebodings weigh
on mine heart?"
"Nay, I am not afraid," said Osberne; "thou mayst be a bad man, yet
not so bad as that."
"Sooth it is," said Hardcastle; "but I say again, thou art a valiant
lad. Lo now, take thy sword again; but tell me, what armour of defence
hast thou for this battle?"
"Nought save my shield," said Osberne; "there is a rusty steel hood
stands yonder on the wall, but no byrny have we in the house."
Said Hardcastle: "Well, I may do so much as this for thee, I will
leave all my defences here and go down in the hazels with nought but
my sword in my fist, and thou shalt have thy shield; but I warn thee
that Fiddlebow is a good blade."
Said Osberne, and smiled: "Well I wot that if thou get in but one
downright stroke on me, little shall my shield avail me against
Fiddlebow. Yet I take thine offer and thank thee for it. But this
forthinketh me, that if thou live out this day thou wilt still betake
thee to the same insolency and greediness and wrong-doing as thou hast
shown yesterday and this morning."
Hardcastle laughed roughly and said: "Well, lad, I deem thou art
right; wherefore slay me hardily if thou mayst, and rid the world of
me. Yet hearken, of all my deeds I have no shame at all: though folk
say some of them were ugly--let it be."
Therewith came Stephen into the hall, and he did them to wit that the
hazels were pitched, and now he squinted no more.
Chapter XVII. The Slaying of Hardcastle
So they three went down together into the meadow, and there stood the
others by the hazel-garth: the goodman cowering and abject, Surly John
pale and anxious, and the two women clinging together in sore sorrow,
the grandam weeping sorely. But as they passed close by these last,
Stephen touched the grandam and said to her: "Sawest thou ever King
David the little?" "Nay," she said sobbing. "Look thou into the
hazel-garth presently then," said he, "and thou shalt see him with
eye."
So now they two stood in the hazelled field; it was two hours before
noon, the sky was overcast with a promise of the first snow of the
winter, but as yet none had fallen, and the field was dry and hard.
Now Hardcastle has Fiddlebow bare in his fist, but Osberne takes
Boardcleaver from his girdle and unwinds the peace-strings; then he
stands still for a moment and looks toward his foeman, who cries out
at him: "Haste thee, lad, I were fain done with it." Then Osberne
draws forth the blade, and it made a gleam of white in the grey day,
and as the folk say who stood thereby, as Boardcleaver came forth bare
there came a great humming sound all about. Then Osberne gets his
shield on his arm, and cries out: "Now thou warrior!" and straightway
Hardcastle comes leaping toward him, and Osberne abode him as he came
on with uplifted sword, leapt lightly to one side, and thrust forth
Boardcleaver and touched his side, so that all could see the blade had
drunk a little blood. Fiercely and fast turned Hardcastle about on the
lad, but therewith was he within the ruffler's stroke, and
Boardcleaver's point was steady before Osberne's breast, and met
Hardcastle's side and made a great wound with the point, and the
warrior staggered back, and his sword-point was lowered. Then cried
out Osberne: "What! Thou wouldst unbreech me, wouldst thou? But now art
thou unbreeched." For therewith Boardcleaver swept round backhanded
and came back as swift as lightning, and the edge clave all the right
flank and buttock of him, so that the blood ran freely; and then as
Hardcastle, still staggering, hove up his sword wildly, Osberne put
the slant stroke aside with his shield and thrust forth Boardcleaver
right at his breast, and the point went in, and the whole blade, as
there were nought but dough before it, and Hardcastle, nigh rent in
two, fell aback off the sword.
Osberne stood still a while looking on him, but Stephen ran up and
knelt beside him, and felt his wrist and laid his hand on the breast,
and then turned and looked up at Osberne, who knelt down beside him
also and wiped the blood off Boardcleaver with a lap of the dead man's
coat. Then he stood up and thrust the blade back into the sheath, and
wound the peace-strings about it all. Then came the word into his
mouth, and he sang:
Came sword and shield
To the hazelled field
Where the fey man fell
At Wethermel:
The grey blade grew glad
In the hands of a lad,
And the tall man and stark
Leapt into the dark.
For the cleaver of war-boards came forth from his door
And guided the hand of the lacking in lore.
But now is the blade
In the dark sheath laid,
And the peace-strings lull
His heart o'erfull.
Up dale and down
The hall-roofs brown
Hang over the peace
Of the year's increase.
No fear rendeth midnight and dieth the day
With no foe save the winter that weareth away.
Then he cried out: "Draw nigh, goodman and grandsire, and take again
the house and lands of Wethermel, as ye had them aforetime before
yesterday was a day." So the goodman came to him and kissed him and
thanked him kind and humbly, and the women came and embraced him and
hung about him. As for Surly John, he had slunk away so soon as he saw
the fall of his master, and now when they looked around for him, they
saw him but as a fleck going swiftly down the Dale. Thereat they all
laughed together, and the laughter eased their hearts, so that they
felt free and happy.
"Now," said Stephen, "what shall we do with this carcass, that was so
fierce and fell this morning?" Said Osberne: "We shall lay him in
earth here in his raiment as he fell, since he died in manly wise,
though belike he has lived as a beast. But his sword I will give to
thee in reward for thy trusty following both now and at other times."
So Stephen fetched mattock and pick, and dug a grave for that champion
amidwards of the hazel-garth, and there they laid him, and heaped up
mould and stones over his grave; and to this day it is called
Hardcastle's Howe there, or for short, and that the oftenest,
Hardcastle.
So they went all of them up to the house, and were merry and joyful.
Chapter XVIII. Elfhild Hears of the Slaying
But two days after this was the tryst-day for Osberne to see his
over-water friend, and he went soberly enough, and came to the
water-side and found her over against him; and she asked of him
tidings. "Tidings enough," said he, "for now have I done a deed beyond
my years, a deed unmeet for a child; to wit, I have slain a man."
"O," she said, "and didst thou sleep after the deed?" Said Osberne:
"Yea, and dreamed never a deal. But I must tell thee I was in my right."
Said Elfhild: "What did he to thee that thou must slay him?" Osberne
said: "He came swaggering into our house and would take all to him,
and put all of us to the road or hold us in thraldom." She said "But
tell me, how didst thou slay him? Was he drunk or asleep?" "Nay," said
he, "I was champion for my grandsire, and the robber had a sword in
his fist, and I another and we fought, and I overcame him." Said the
maiden: "But was he mannikin or a dastard, or unskilled in weapons?"
Spake Osberne, reddening: "He was a stark carle, a bold man, and was
said to be of all prowess."
She said nothing a while, but stood pale and downcast. And he said:
"What is this, playmate? I looked to have much praise from thee for my
deed. Dost thou know that this man was as the pest to all the
country-side, and that I have freed men of peace from a curse?" "Be
not wrath with me, Osberne," she said, "indeed I am somewhat downcast;
for I see that now thou wilt be no playmate for me, but wilt be a man
before thy time, and wilt be looking towards such things as men
desire; and that tall maidens come to womanhood will be for thee, not
quaint rags of children such as I be."
"Now, Elfhild," said he, "why wilt thou run to meet trouble half way?
Am I worser to thee than I was last time?" "Nay," she said, "and
indeed I deem thee glorious, and it is kind and kind of thee to come
to me ever, and not to miss one of our trysts."
"Now thou art dear," said Osberne; "and wilt thou do something for my
disport? wilt thou pipe thy sheep to thee?"
"Nay," said she, "I will not; I will not skip like an antic, and show
thee my poor little spindle legs. If I were a woman grown I should
scarce show so much as the ankle of my foot. Besides, thou laughest at
my hopping and jumping amongst these foolish woolly beasts, and I
would not have thee laughing at me."
"Elfhild my dear," said he, "thou art wrong. When I have laughed, it
was never in mockery of thee, but for pleasure of thy pretty ways and
the daintiness of thy dancing, which is like to the linden leaves on a
fresh summer morning."
"But how am I to know that?" she said. "Well, at any rate, ask me not
to dance today. But I will sit down and tell thee a very sweet tale of
old times, which thou hast never erst heard. It is about the sea and
ships, and of a sea-wife coming into the dwellings of men." Quoth
Osberne, "I were fain to look on the sea and to sail it." "Yea," said
Elfhild, "but thou wilt take me with thee, wilt thou not?" "O yea,"
said Osberne. And they both forgat the Sundering Flood, and how they
should never meet, as they sat each side of the fearful water, and the
tale and sweet speech sped to and fro betwixt them. So a fair ending
had that day of tryst.
Chapter XIX. The Winter Passes and Elfhild Tells of the Death of Her
Kinswoman
Now Osberne and Stephen both give rede to the goodman, and bid him
live somewhat less niggardly, since not only had they good store of
victual and clothes and the like, which had been hoarded a long time,
but also the gifts of Waywearer had stood them in good stead, and
furthermore, the goodman was much bettered by the spoil of Hardcastle.
For he had left much wealth behind him, and chiefly in silver and
gold; and all that he had left, save his weapons, had Osberne given to
his grandsire. So the goodman heeded their words and let himself be
talked over, and while winter was yet young and before there was any
snow to hinder, he rode with Osberne down the Dale, and looked into
many of the steads, and amongst others, were dwelt the damsel who had
been paired with Osberne on the day of the mid-winter Cloven Mote. And
he thought her fair and sweet, and she received him joyfully and
kissed him; but he was scarce so ready for that as he was aforetime,
for he deemed she kissed him as a child and not a man.
So by hook or by crook the goodman got him six hired folk; three men,
two of whom were young, and three women, all young and one comely, one
ill-favoured, and the other betwixt and between. It must be said by
the way, that if he had abided the spring for getting these new folk
he would scarce have hired them, for the repute of Wethermel for scant
housekeeping had gone wide about; but when folk heard that Master
Nicholas was hiring folk from mid-winter onwards, they were willing
enough to go, whereas they deemed he would be changing his mind and
becoming open-handed. So Nicholas rides back with his catch (for he
had brought nags to horse them), and henceforth is good house kept at
Wethermel, as good as anywhere in the Dale.
Again fared Osberne to the mid-winter Cloven Mote, and again was he
mated to the above-said damsel, who hight Gertrude; and forsooth this
time he deemed that she kissed him and caressed him not so wholly as a
mere boy, though of such things ye may well deem he knew little. For
she seemed to find it hard when they kissed, as paired folk are bound
to do, to let her lips leave his, and when their hands parted at the
end of the Mote she gave a great sigh, and put her cheek toward him
for a parting kiss, which forsooth he gave her somewhat unheedfully;
for he was looking hard toward the other shore to see if he could make
out the shape of Elfhild amongst the women there; as he had done
whenever he gat a chance of it all day long, but had failed wholly
therein.
Three days afterward he kept tryst with Elfhild, and asked her if she
had been at the Mote, and she told him No; that her aunts went every
time but always left her behind. Then she said smiling: "And this time
they have come back full of thy praises, for the tale of thee, and the
slaying of the robber, has come over to our side; and one of them, the
youngest, had thee shown to her by one of the folk, and she saith that
thou art the fairest lad that ever was seen: and therein she is not
far wrong."
He laughed and reddened, and told for tidings how he had fared at the
Mote, and Elfhild belike was not best pleased to hear of the fair
damsel who was so fond of kissing; but in all honesty she rejoiced
when Osberne told how hard he had looked for her on the other side of
the water. So they made the most of their short day, as indeed they
had need to do, for through the winter, when the snow was on the earth
and the grass grew not, the sheep were all shut up in the folds and
the cotes, and there was no shepherding toward; so that Elfhild was
hard put to it for some pretence for getting away from the house, and
their trysts had to be further between them than they had been; and
not seldom, moreover, Elfhild failed at the trysting-place, and
Osberne had to go sorrowfully away, though well he wotted it was by no
fault of his playmate.
So wore the winter tidingless, and spring came again, and again the
two met oftener; and great feast they made the first day, when Elfhild
came to the ness with her head and her loins wreathed with the winter
wolfsbane. It was a warm and very clear day of February, and Elfhild
of her own will piped to her sheep and danced amongst them; and
Osberne looked on her eagerly, and he deemed that she had grown bigger
and sleeker and fairer; and her feet and legs (for still she went
barefoot) since they had not the summer tan on them, looked so
dainty-white to him that sore he longed to stroke them and kiss them.
And this, belike was the beginning to him of the longing of a young
mad, which afterwards was so sore on him, to be with his friend and
embrace her and caress her.
So they met often that springtide, and oftener as the weather waxed
warmer. And nought worth telling befel to Osberne that while save
these meetings. But at last, when May was yet young, Osberne kept
tryst thrice and Elfhild came not, and the fourth time she came and
had tidings, to wit that one of her kinswomen had died of sickness.
Said she: "And it was the one who was least kind to me, and made most
occasion for chastising me. Well, she is gone; and often she was kind
to me, and before I saw thee I loved her somewhat. But now things will
go better, because the other aunt, who was kinder than the dead one,
hath taken into the house that old woman whereof I told thee, who hath
taught me lore and many ancient tales; and though she be old and
wrinkled, she is kind and loves me: and she is on our side, and I have
told her about thee; and she in turn told me strange things and unked,
which I will not and dare not tell again to thee. Wherefore now let us
be glad together."
Said Osberne: "Yea, we will try to be glad; but see thou, I want more
than this now, I want to come across to thee, and tell thee things
which I cannot shout across this accursed Flood; and I want to take
thee by the hand and put my arms about thee and kiss thee. Dost thou
not wish the like by me?"
"O yea," said the maiden reddening, "most soothly do I. But hearken,
Osberne; the carline sayeth that all this thou shalt do to me, and
that we shall meet body to body one day. Dost thou trow in this?"
"Nay, how can I tell," said he somewhat surlily, "when thou hast told
me so little of the tale?"
"Well," she said, "but I may not tell more; so now, I pray, let us be
glad with what we have got of meeting oftener, and a life better and
merrier for me. Bethink thou, my dear, that if I live easier and have
not to toil so much, and catch fewer stripes, and have better meat and
more, I shall grow sleeker and daintier, yea and bigger, so that I
shall look older and more womanlike sooner." And she wept a little
therewith; so he repented his surliness and set to comfort her, till
she laughed and he also, and they were merrier together.
So now time after time was their converse sweet and happy, and true it
was that Elfhild grew fairer and sleeker week by week; and she was
better clad now, and well shod, and wore her ouches and necklaces
openly, though she said she had not shown all to the carline, "not all
of thine I mean. But the Dwarf necklace, the glorious one, I have
shown her, and she saith that it is such a wonder that it forebodeth
my becoming a Queen; and that will be well, as thou shalt be a great
man." Thuswise they prattled.
Chapter XX. Osberne Fares to Eastcheaping and Brings Gifts for Elfhild
But when June was, Master Nicholas would ride to Eastcheaping, and he
took Osberne with him; and a great wonder it was to see so many houses
built of stone and lime all standing together, and so fair, as he
deemed them, though it was but a little cheaping. Howsoever, without
the walls was an abbey of monks, which was both fair and great, and
the church thereof as well fashioned as most; and when the lad went
thereinto he was all ravished with joy at the great pillars and arches
and the vault above, and the pictures on the walls and in the windows,
and the hangings and other braveries about the altars. And when he was
at high mass, and the monks and the minstrels fell to singing
together, he scarce knew whether he were in heaven or on earth. Yet
whether in one or the other, he longed to have his friend from over
the river with him, that she might see and hear it all, and tell him
what she thought of it. Wondrous also was the market wherein they did
their chaffer, and the chapmen in their fine coats of strange fashion
to him and their outland faces, and the carts and wains of the country
folk and their big sleek horses. And when it was all done he found
that he had more than a silver penny or two in his pouch; for a deal
of the wares sold were his own, to wit the peltries he had gotten by
his shooting and his valour. For a great bear had he slain with spear
and shield, he by himself, and two more with the help of Stephen the
Eater, and wolves and foxes and ermines and beavers a great many. But
when he had his money it burnt a hole in his pocket; for he must needs
go to the booths and buy for Elfhild, as far as his money went, such
things as he deemed he could shoot across the Flood to her, as fair
windowed shoon, and broidered hosen and dainty smocks and silken
kerchiefs, and a chaplet for her head. And when this was done, he was
along with his grandsire in the street, and there came down from the
Castle a company of riders, all in jack and sallet and long spears,
and two knights in white armour all gleaming in the sun, and the
banner of the good town with them. Then his heart rose so high at the
sight, and he yearned so for deeds of fame, that he smote his hands
together and called good luck on them, and some of them turned about
and laughed to each other, and praised the goodly boy, and knew not
that he had slain a stouter man than e'er a one of them.
Withal his eyes might be no longer while off the gay-clad young women
(for it was holy day, and they dressed out in their best), and he
stared so downrightly on them that his grandsire rebuked him aloud.
And that heard some of the women, and they who were fair amongst them
laughed and praised him, for they deemed him right welcome to look on
all he might see of them, so fair a boy as he was: and one of them, a
goodly woman of some thirty summers, came up to him and bade the old
carle hold his peace and not scold at the boy: "For," said she, "the
lad is so well-liking that he hath good right already to deal with any
woman as he will; and when he groweth older by a half-score years,
God-a-mercy, which of us shall be able to say him nay! Would I were
younger by that tale of years, that I might be able presently to
follow him all over the world." And therewith she kissed him betwixt
the eyes and went her ways. But as before, he was but half pleased to
be so kissed, as a mere child. Shortly to say, there they made great
feast for the joy of all these things, and rode back to the Dale in a
day or two and came safe and sound to Wethermel.
Now at the next meeting 'twixt the two children Osberne bore down all
those fair things; and he found Elfhild on the ness, and she looking
shy and dear, for he had told her that he was going to the cheaping.
And now was her hair no longer spread abroad but bound up close to her
head, and she was clad in a seemly gown of homespun, with black hosen
and skin shoes well laced.
Straightway after the first greetings was great ado about shooting
those fair things across the water; and when they were all across,
Elfhild undid them, and wept for sheer joy of them and for love of her
valiant friend, and at last she sat nigh the edge hugging them all to
her bosom, and said: "Now, sweetheart, is the tale on thy side; for
thou must tell me all that thou hast seen and done." So he fell to,
nought loth, and told everything at large, and the little maiden's
eyes sparkled and her face glowed; but when he had told last of all
about the women and of her who had kissed him, she said: "Ah, all that
is just what my carline saith of thee, that all women shall love thee;
and that is most like, and what shall I do then, I who shall be so far
away from thee?" Then he swore to her that whatever betid he would
always love her, and she made as if she were gladdened again thereby;
but in her heart she could not but deem that he made somewhat light of
it, and was nought so anxious as she was.
But ere they parted that day, she went aback a little, and did on her
all those fair things which he had brought, such as she might get upon
her body; and a green gown of fine cloth was one of them, which he had
made a shift to cast across bundled up, by dint of his new strength.
So dight, she stood for him to look at, and he was well pleased, and
praised her in such wise that it was clear he looked at her wisely and
closely. So they parted. But when he was gone, she sat down and wept,
she knew not why. And in a while, she arose and did on her everyday
raiment and went home.
Chapter XXI. Warriors from Eastcheaping Ride into the Dale
So the summer wears with nought to tell of, and autumn and winter in
like manner, and spring was come again, and it was hard on two years
since those twain had first met, and Osberne was fifteen years old and
Elfhild but a month and a half less, and still they met happily as
aforetime. Wethermel throve in all wise this while, and there was deep
peace on the Eastern Dale, and never had the edges of Boardcleaver
looked on the light of day since the fall of Hardcastle.
But in early May of this year came riders into the Dale, friends,
though they rode all-armed, to wit the men-at-arms of Eastcheaping,
even such as Osberne had seen riding down from the Castle the last
time of his going thither; and the errand they came on was this, that
war and strife were at hand for the good town, for the Baron of
Deepdale had sent the Porte his challenge for some matter of truage,
wherein the town deemed it had a clear right, and seeing that it was
nought feeble, it had a settled mind to fight it out. Wherefore it had
sent a knight of its service and a company of men-at-arms to see what
help its friends of the Dale would give it at the pinch: for it was
well known that the dalesmen were stalwarth carles if need were, both
a-foot and on horseback, though they were no stirrers up of strife.
With this errand on hand came the men into the Dale, and the very
first stead they came to was Wethermel, for it lay first on their
road. And now was Wethermel a well-manned stead, for besides Stephen
the Eater, there were twelve carles defensible dwelling there, whereof
five were sons of men of estate.
So when the said men-at-arms rode into the garth of a bright May
evening, and they all glittering like so many heaps of sunlit ice, all
folk came out a-doors, and Osberne stood before them all, clad in
scarlet raiment, for Nicholas the goodman hung back somewhat, as was
his wont when he deemed he saw peril at hand. Then Osberne hailed the
newcomers, and asked no questions of them, and made no words save to
welcome them and bid them in; and they got off their horses and
entered the house, one score and five all told. And there they unarmed
them, and all service was done them, and then meat and drink were set
on the board and all folk fared to supper, and it was soon seen that
both sides were friendly and sweet together. And Osberne set the
Knight who was their captain at his right hand, and they talked
merrily together. But when supper was done the Knight spake unto
Osberne and Nicholas and said: "Sirs, is it free for me to tell out
our errand into the Dale?" Osberne answered: "We should not have asked
it, fair sir, if ye had not offered to tell it, but would rather have
prayed ye to drink a cup or two; but so it is that we be eager to hear
your tale, whereas we see that ye are of our friends of Eastcheaping."
Then the Knight began, and told them of their quarrel from point to
point, and the right they deemed they had therein. And from time to
time Osberne put in a question when he would have the matter made
clearer to him, and the Knight deemed his questions handy and wise.
And at last he said: "Now so it is, neighbours, that we ask help of
you; and the help we need is not so much of money or beasts or weapons
as of the bodies and souls of stark & stout-hearted men. What say ye,
who be here, have ye will to ward your cheaping and the place where we
have done good to each other, or will ye let all go down the wind as
for you?"
"Fair sir," said Osberne, "we will first ask you one question: Ye bid
us to ride to battle with you in your quarrel; but do ye bid and
command us this service as of right, or do ye crave our help as
neighbours, and because there is love and dealings betwixt us? And
this I ask because we dalesmen deem that we be free men, owing no
service to any lord, or earl, or king."
Said the Knight: "We claim no service of you of right or by custom,
but crave your help as bold and free neighbours who for love's sake
may be fain of helping friends in need."
Spake Osberne: "Then there is no more to be said but this, that there
is one who will ride with you, and that is my own self. And though I
be but a lad I have a stroke of work in me, as some hereby can
witness; and if thou wilt, I will ride down the Dale with you and give
you my furtherance with the goodmen there. But as for these good
fellows--which of you will ride with this Knight against the good
town's foemen and ours?" They all cried aye to this and rose up and
shouted. But Osberne said: "Well, lads, but someone must be left
behind to look to the goodman and the women, and husband field and
fold. I will take with me but six and Stephen the Eater, my man." And
he named them one after the other.
Who were joyous now save the Knight and his men-at-arms, and they all
drank a cup to the young master; but sooth to say, some of them
wondered how so young a lad would bear him in the fight. But others
said, Let-a-be, no man so well beloved as this shall be a dastard.
So merry were they in the hall and drank a bout, but not for long,
whereas the captain would not have his men so drunk that they might
not ride fast and far upon the morrow. So the voidee cup was drunk,
and Osberne led the Knight to his bed and gave him good-night. But ere
he was asleep came Stephen to his bedside and asked was he fain of a
tale; and the Knight yeasaid it; so Stephen told much about the Dale
and its folk, and about the Dwarfs and the Land-wights. And at last he
fell to talk about his master, the young one, and told much of him and
his valiancy and kindness and prowess; and he told at length all the
tale how Hardcastle had sped at his hands. And the captain marvelled
and said: "I am in luck to see this lad and be his fellow then; for
such marvels come not to hand more than once or twice in a ten score
years, and this is one of them."
Chapter XXII. Osberne Takes Leave of Elfhild
So they rose on the morrow and dight them in their armour; and Osberne
did on him Hardcastle's long byrny and gilded basnet, and girded
Boardcleaver to him, and took his spear in hand and hung his shield at
his back. But his bow and wonder-shafts he gave to Stephen to bear
with him; and Stephen and the other men were fairly well bedight; and
the captain said that if there was any lack of weapons or armour to
any of them it mattered but little, as they had good stores of gear at
the cheaping.
So they ate a morsel and drank one cup and then rode their ways down
the Dale. And the longest tale that need be told of them is that, by
the furtherance of Osberne, they sped their errand well at most of the
steads of the mid and lower Dales. And they made stay for the night at
a stead hight Woodneb, which was some little way up the river from the
place where the East and West Dales held the Cloven Mote, and by
consequence not over far from the trysting-place of those twain.
At the said house that evening they were of one mind to gather a mote
there the next morning, and they sent folk that same night to bear the
war-arrow to the steads above and below, and all seemed like to go
well; and ever Osberne spake his mind without fear or favour to the
boldest and wisest that were there. But as he was laying himself down
to sleep a pang shot into his heart, for he called to mind that the
morrow was the very day of tryst at the Bight of the Cloven Knoll, and
longer it was ere he got to sleep that night than was his wont. But
when day came he was awake and few were stirring. So he arose and clad
him in his war-gear, and went out of the house and out of the garth
when it was not yet sunrise, and came down to the river and went up it
till he and the sunbeams came together to his place over against the
ness, and there he abided. But he had been there a scant half hour ere
he saw Elfhild coming up the slope, and she clad in all that fair weed
he had given her, wherein this time of spring and early summer she
mostly came to the trysting-place, and about her shoulders was a
garland of white May blossom. And when she saw him in his shifting
grey hawberk and gleaming helm, and Boardcleaver girt to his side and
the spear in his hand, she stretched out her hands to him and cried
out: "O if thou mightest but be here and thine arms about me! for now
I see that some evil hath befallen, and that thou art arrayed to go
away from me out of the Dale. And O thy war-coat and thine helm! thou
art going into peril of death, and thou so young! But I had an inkling
hereof, for there were two carles in our house last night, and they
said that there were weaponed men riding amidst the Eastdalers. Tell
me, what is it? Will ye fight in the Dale or go far from it? and then
how long dost thou look to be away?"
He spake, and his face was writhen with the coming tears, so sore his
heart was stung by her sorrow: "It is indeed true that I am come to
bid thee farewell for a while, and this is the manner of it." And
therewith he told her all as it was, and said withal: "Now I can do
nought save to bid thee gather thy valiance to thee and not to wound
my heart with the wildness of thy grief. And look thou, my dear; e'en
now thou wert saying thy yearning that mine arms were round about thy
body: now we are no longer altogether children, and I will tell thee
that it is many a day since I have longed for this; and now I know
that thou longest that our bodies might meet. Belike thou wilt deem me
hard and self-seeking if I tell thee that there is more joy in me for
the gain of that knowledge than there is sorrow in my heart for thy
pain."
"Nay, nay," she said, "but for that I deem thee the dearer and the
dearer."
"See then, sweetheart," said he, "how might it ever come about that we
might meed bodily if I abode ever at Wethermel and the Dale in peace
and quietness, while thou dwelt still with thy carlines on the other
side of this fierce stream? Must I not take chancehap and war by the
hand and follow where they lead, that I may learn the wideness of the
world, and compass earth and sea till I have gone about the Sundering
Flood and found thy little body somewhere in the said wide world? And
maybe this is the beginning thereof."
Now was the maiden a little comforted, and she said, smiling as well
as she might: "And belike thou art for the cheaping again? Dost thou
remember what a joy it was to thee to bring me those things and shoot
and cast them over the water unto me? Now this time when thou comest
back to the Dale I will ask thee to bring me one thing more, and then
I shall be satisfied."
"Yea, sweetheart, and what shall that be?" And sooth to say it went
against the grain with him that at the very moment of their parting
she should crave something, like a very child, for a fairing. But she
said: "O my dear, and what should it be but thou thyself?" And
therewith she could refrain her passion no longer, but brake out
a-weeping sorely again, so that her eyes could no longer behold him.
But she heard many caressing words come across the water, and many
farewells and words of grief, and yet she could not master her tears
so that she could see him clearly, neither could she speak one word in
answer. But at last she looked up and saw that he was gone from before
her, and dimly she saw him yet a little way gone down the water, and
he turned toward her and raised his hand and waved it to her. And
nought else she saw of him for that time save the gleam of his scarlet
surcoat and a flash of his helm in the May sunlight.
But for Osberne, sick at heart at first he was, and he strode hurrying
along if that might ease him a little, and after a while he took some
deal of courage, but still hastened on leaving the waterside; and then
in a while himseemed to hear the voice of a great horn afar off, and
he called to mind that the Mote had been summoned; and his mind turned
toward what was to do.
Chapter XXIII. Osberne Is Chosen Captain of the Dalesmen
So when he was come anigh the stead he saw the gathered folk and the
glittering of weapons about a knoll a bowshot without the garth, and
made the best of his way toward the Mote. And as he was drawing near,
there ran toward him divers men from the skirts of the throng, and
cried out for him to hasten, "For now," cried one of them, "the Mote
is dealing with thee." So he ran on with them; and when he entered the
throng, which for those parts was no small one, there went up a great
shout, and they shoved him along up to the foot of the knoll, on the
top whereof stood three of the best men of estate, and the Lawman of
the Dale, and the captain of the men of Eastcheaping. These called him
to come amongst them, and then the Lawman fell to speaking: "Osberne
Wulfgrimsson," said he, "thou art late to the Mote, and it is
well-nigh done, but this is the heart of the matter, that we have ten
score and six of good men pledged them to ride with these friends of
of Eastcheaping; but they have craved to have a captain to them chosen
from us Dalesmen. But whereas there hath been but little war or strife
in the Dale since the riding of the White Champion, which is a thirty
years ago, we be for the most part little skilled in battle; and we
all wot that thou hast a man's heart in thy lad's body, and that thou
hast slain a mighty man of war, a man deft in all prowess. Wherefore
some of the folk have spoken of thee to be the captain of our company;
and I tell thee that I shall presently call for the word of the whole
Mote, and if they yeasay it, then must thou needs go as captain of
these, will thou nill thou."
Osberne was as red as fire in the face by then the Lawman was done,
and he said: "Master, I pray thee consider my youth, and how I have
had no schooling herein, and know nought of ordering men or arraying a
battle. All this is nought like defending life and livelihood against
a robber when there was none to serve at a pinch, and using one's
mother-wit in dealing with it." The captain of the Eastcheapers smiled
upon him kindly and said: "My son, he who can use his mother-wit to
any purpose when the edges be aloft hath learned the more part of
battle-craft. Withal it is but a few hours agone that I saw thee
handling the men of thine household like to a ripe man. Fear not, my
son, but that thou shalt do well enough; and moreover I promise that I
will learn thee the craft all I may. And know that if thou deny this,
then shalt thou take the heart out of these good fellows, who be eager
enough to help the good town and be no mannikins, I warrant them.
Naysay it not, my lad, naysay it not."
Now was Osberne's heart thumping against his ribs, what for sudden
wonder, what for the hope of renown that flashed upon him as a sudden
flame of strange light. But withal he thought in himself, and that all
suddenly also: If the Sundering Flood is to be encompassed here is
indeed the beginning of it, if this good Knight shall be my friend and
shall learn me the craft of war, and thereby I become a man of might,
to be desired and waged by them who have not had either the craft or
the courage to fight for themselves face to face with their foemen.
Wherefore now he turned to the Lawman and said: "Master, it is enough;
if the Mote of the neighbours will have me captain I may not naysay
it: and may my luck be enough to overcome my childish years: and if
not, may I lie on the field and not come back again to hear the
mothers and maids curse me for having cast away the lives of their
sons and their dears."
Then spake the Lawman, after he had smiled on Osberne and laid his
hand on the lad's shoulder: "Men of the East Dale, ye be met together
to see if ye can in any wise help our friends and neighbours of
Eastcheaping, and ye have told off certain men to go in arms for their
avail, and will have a captain over them. Now it hath been said to me
that he who seems likeliest for the said captain is the young man
Osberne Wulfgrimsson of Wethermel, and if this be so, let me hear your
voices saying Yea. But even then there will be time for any man of you
to name another, if it seem good to him, and that name will also be
put to the Mote, and a dozen others if such there be. Now first, what
say ye to Osberne Wulfgrimsson?"
Straightway arose a great cheer and the clashing of weapons, and
well-nigh every man as it seemed cried out Yea. But when the noise and
cry was abated, the Lawman bade any man who would put forth another
name. No man spake for a little while, till at last Surly John pushes
forth to the front and says: "I name Erling Thomasson, a good man and
true!" Brake forth then great laughter and whooping, for the said
Erling was a manifest niggard, a dastard who sweated in his bed when
the mouse squeaked in the wall a nighttime. But one man sang out:
"Yea, Lawman, and I name Surly John." Thereat was great laughter, and
men shoved John to and fro till they had hustled him out to the skirts
of the throng, and there bid him go a wolf-hunting.
But now the Lawman takes Osberne by the hand and leads him to the edge
of the knoll, and stands there and says: "Men of the Dale, ye would go
to the war; ye would take a captain to you; ye would have Osberne
Wulfgrimsson for your captain. All this ye have done uncompelled, of
your own will; therefore take not the rue if it not turn out so well
as ye looked for. But now I bid all them that be going on this journey
to lift up their right hands and swear to be leal and true to your
captain, Osberne Wulfgrimsson, in all things for life or for death."
Even so they did with a hearty good will: thereupon Osberne spake and
said, after he had a word with [the Knight] Sir Medard, apart: "All ye
my men, I have but this to say to you: I hold you trusty and valiant,
and men unlike to fight soft. But this I know of you, as of all other
of us Dalesmen, that ye are most wont to go each after his own will,
and it is well-nigh enough to put a man off from doing a thing if
another man say to him, Do it. Now this manner ye must change, since
ye are become men-at-arms, and if I bid you go to the right or the
left, ye need think of nought but which is your right hand and which
the left; though forsooth I wot well that some of ye be so perverse
that even that debate may lead you into trouble and contention. Now
look to it that ye may not all be captains, and they that try it, so
long as I be over you, are like to wend into wild weather. Now
stouthearts, and my friends, it is now a little past high noon; and we
shall abide here no longer than tomorrow morn, and at daybreak we
shall be on our way to Eastcheaping, wherefore that time have yet got
to see to your weapons and array, and to say farewell, such of you as
be not too far off, to your kindred and wives and sweethearts. And now
let all we do our best when we come among the edges, so that hereafter
one man may say to another: Thou art as valiant as the Dalesmen when
they fought in the war of Eastcheaping."
Then all men gave a great shout, and were well-nigh weeping-ripe for
high heart and for love of him, though a minute before their faces
were all agrin, so wise and valiant and kind they deemed his words and
the manner of his speaking.
Therewith the Mote brake up, and the men were busy arraying them for
departure: and as for Osberne, he had his hands full of work, in
giving and taking commandments, and in learning from Sir Medard the
beginnings of the lore of battle; so that what hopes he had of making
his way to the trysting-place once more were speedily swept aside. And
the next morning betimes they set out together, the Dalesmen and the
Eastcheapers, in all good fellowship, and in two days' time came to
Eastcheaping; and they were lodged full well by the crafts-masters of
the good town. But Sir Medard took Osberne with him up into the Castle
and guested him there, that he might the closer teach him his new
craft, and an apt scholar he found. Also from the morrow after their
coming, the captain, by bidding of the Porte, furnished and arrayed
the Dalesmen with weapons, as long spears and good swords and bows and
arrows, and jacks and sallets and shields, and they went out into the
mead under the Castle to be better assured thereby, and fell to
learning how best to handle their weapons. And both their captains and
they themselves deemed it best that they should fight a-foot; for
though they were good horsemen after their fashion, they would have to
learn all in the craft of fighting a-horseback.
Chapter XXIV. A Skirmish with the Baron of Deepdale in the Marshes
Now I have nought to do to write a chronicle of the good town of
Eastcheaping, or a history of this war of them of the town with the
Baron of Deepdale, or else a long tale I might make of it. So here
follows all that shall be told of the said war.
In somewhat less than a month from their coming to Eastcheaping they
had sure news that the Baron was on the way to the town with a great
company of knights and men-at-arms; and thereafter it was known that
he was riding with a light heart and little heed. Wherefore Sir Medard
turned the matter over in his mind, and, whereas if any one knew well
the roads and the fields about Eastcheaping, he, Sir Medard, knew them
better, he deemed he might give this great lord a brush by the way. So
he rode out a-gates with but a small company of men-at-arms, five
score to wit, all in white armour, and rides with them along the
causeway. But early in the night, ere he had set out, he had bidden a
twelve score footmen make their way quietly in knots of five and ten
and thereabout to a certain place fifteen miles as the highway led
from Eastcheaping, where the said causeway, craftily made, went high
raised over a marish place much beset with willow and alder, an evil
place for the going of heavily-laded horses. But of these same
footmen, some half had bows, and the rest spears and swords; all the
Dalesmen went with these, and Osberne was the captain of the whole
company, but with him was an old grey-beard, a sergeant tried in many
wars, and a guileful man therein, and to him and Osberne Sir Medard
showed what should be done.
So now the Baron and his came riding along the causeway, ten hundreds
of men in all, lightly and in merry fashion, for they had said that
they would go knock at the door of Eastcheaping and see what the
carles were about there; and it was hard on noon. And first came
riding an hundred or so of tall men well armed in white armour, their
basnets new tinned; and they came to a certain place where on either
side was abundance of thick alder bush and the ground soft between,
and there was the causeway wider by a spear-length than its wont for
some two score yards. Well, this hundred passed by on their way, but
when they were clean out of sight, and the next company not yet come,
up rise a half dozen of men from out the alders on either side, and
come on to the causeway: they are clad in homespun coats and hoods,
though if any had looked closely he had seen hawberks and steel hoods
under the cloth. These men lay some things down on the causeway in the
very midst between the narrows, and then get them back into the marsh
again.
No sooner are they gone but there comes the sounds of weaponed men
going, and presently there is the head of a much bigger company coming
on to the wide space betwixt the narrows, three hundreds of men at
least. They were armed and mounted as well as they might be, but kept
not very good order. When the first of them came to the place where
the marsh-lurkers had been, they found lying athwart the causeway, one
on each side, two dead porkers, two dead dogs, two hares, and in the
very midst a fox, these also dead. The first men wonder at this, and
get off their horses and handle the carcasses; then they call others
to look at them; and some deem this the work of dwarfs or fairies or
such like; and others say this is a sign or token of the up-country
folk to rise upon them, and that they had best send men a-foot to
search the marsh; and others that they should send tidings to the
rearward folk. And some say one thing, some another, and all the while
their fellows are thronging into the wide place till they are all
crowded together, and not a third part of them know what has befallen,
and deem that something has gone amiss; and the rearward fall to
drawing their swords and crying out, To it, to it! Slay, Slay!
Deepdale, Deepdale! till scarce a man knew his right hand from his
left.
But amidst all this turmoil a great voice (and it was Stephen the
Eater) cried out from the marsh at the right hand: "Go back, ye swine,
to Deepdale." Then another sang out from the north: "If ye can, ye
dead dogs." Then Stephen again: "This time ye must run like hares."
"Learn lore of the fox next time, if ye can," cried the northern
voice. And even therewith was the twanging of bowstrings from ether
side, and the whistle of shafts and spears, for the foemen were near
enough, and men and horses fell huddling on the causeway, and the
shafts rained on without abatement, and the Deepdale riders were in
sorry case indeed; and many of them were good knights well tried in
the wars.
Then some gat off their horses and entered the marsh, and found no
better hap there, for they were speedily slain by axe and sword of the
Eastcheapers; or they squattered in the mire and yielded them to
whomsoever was before them, of whom Stephen gat a good knight
full-armed. But Osberne was otherwhere. For some of the Baron's men
spared not to turn their backs and ride all they might rearward; but
they went but a little way into the narrows ere they saw steel before
them, and there across the causeway stood the company of the Dalesmen,
even such as were not with the bowmen. Desperately they drave at them;
but it was all for nought, for the first four fell, they and their
horses, before the long spears of the Dalesmen, and the others were
cumbered with the wounded and the slain, so that they might not come
on a-horseback. Howbeit, some dismounted and fell on sword in hand.
Then forth from the ranks of the Dalesmen came a slim warrior in a
long hawberk and bright basnet and a shield on his arm, and he put his
hand to his left side and drew, and it was as if a beam of fell blue
flame flashed in the sun; and he cried out: "For the Dale! For the
Dale! Hasten, fellows, and follow on, for Boardcleaver crieth for a
life." And therewith he entered among the Deepdale folk and smote
right and left, and with each stroke hewed a man, and they fell back
before him; and then the Dalesmen were by his side instead of the
foes, and still he went forward and men fell before him, and still
came on the spears of the Dalesmen; and now all they of Deepdale,
whether a-foot or on horseback, turn and flee away toward the place of
the first slaughter.
Then Osberne cried to his men: "Off the causeway now, all ye Dalesmen;
these ye shall not chase, they shall fall in with chasing enough anon;
and now must the causeway be clear of all but foemen if I know aught
of Sir Medard's mind. Ye have done well." Therewith he gat him quietly
from off the causeway, and all they followed; they went but a little
way, and then about on the tussocks around the alder bushes, and
turned toward the causeway and awaited new tidings.
Speedily they befel; for anon they heard a confused noise of crying
and shouting and thundering of horse-hoofs, and clattering of weapons
and war-gear, and then burst out from a corner of the causeway all the
throng of fleers, spurring all they might, weaponless, many of them
jostling and shoving each other, so that every now and then man and
horse fell over into the marsh and wallowed there, till the Dalesmen
came up and gave them choice of death or rendering. And came great
cries of Eastcheaping! For the Porte! and A Medard, a Medard! and the
riders of Eastcheaping came thrusting amongst the fleers, and with the
first of the chasers was Medard himself bareheaded, so that all might
know him, and after him his banner of a Tower and an Eagle sitting
therein; and then came the banner of the good town, to wit, three
Wool-packs on a red ground; and then the rest of the riders. And all
that went by in a minute or two, and thereafter came the bowmen, all
bemired with the marish waters, but talking high and singing for joy.
Said Osberne: "Come we now, fellows, and join ourselves to these, for
they will not run away like to the horses. Now belike has Sir Medard
done the business, so we may follow him fair and softly." "He may have
yet somewhat to do," quoth a man who was of that country; "for in a
while this marish ends and the causeway comes out on to fair and soft
meadows, and there we may look yet again to come on the Baron and
his." "Sooth is that," quote the sergeant from amongst the bowmen on
the causeway; "yet is not the good Knight so harebrained as not to
abide ere he falls on, save he see no defence in what is left of the
Baron's array. Ye shall see; but come thou up, Master Osberne, with
thy Dalesmen, and let us get on to the said sunny meads out of this
frog-city."
So Osberne and his Dalesmen scrambled up, and they all went on
together at a pretty pace; and Osberne had not yet sheathed
Boardcleaver, but bore him on his shoulder all bloody as he was.
So in an half hour they saw the hard meads before them, and then they
set up a shout and ran all together, for they heard the noise of
battle, and saw some confused running and riding, and knew not what it
might mean. So on they ran till they had come up on to the crown of a
long but low ridge whence they might see the whole plain, and
straightway they set up the whoop of victory. Forsooth what they
beheld was the two banners of Sir Medard and the Porte following on
the last of the fleers, and beyond them the whole host of the Baron
flowing away as men discomfited; so they rested to catch their breath
on the top of the ridge, and of all of them that went out from
Eastcheaping the night before there was not one man lacking. Then they
set off again toward the battle, their weapons on their shoulders and
their horns blowing; and they went speedily, and presently they saw
that Sir Medard and his had slacked in the chase and were standing
together about the banners with their faces to the foe. Wherefore they
also went slower, and they met together with many glad cries; and then
Osberne came to Sir Medard and hailed him joyfully, and therewith
thrust Boardcleaver back into the sheath and said: "Meseemeth,
Captain, that the battle is done. But [how] came their whole host to
flee away?" Said Sir Medard: "We drave the rout along the causeway,
and they, when they came on to the hard meadow, might not stay them;
and the rest, who saw them coming on the spur and our banners in the
chase, knew not how many or how few were following on them, and they
turned also, deeming they were safest at home. And so now we will
gather the spoil together and wend fair and softly back to
Eastcheaping."
Even so they did, and great spoil they gathered, and all the footmen
gat them horses and rode with the others; so that they all came back
safe to the good town before sunset. Thus ended the first riding of
the Baron of Deepdale.
Chapter XXV. Stephen Tells of an Adventure in the Camp of the Foemen
Thereafter the Baron gathered his men again, and rode abroad divers
times in the summer and autumn, and was now gotten warier, so that he
gat no great overthrow. Yet was he often met by them of Eastcheaping,
and not seldom had the worse. Osberne and his were in the field as oft
as any, and gave and took, but ever showed them valiant. Osberne was
hurt twice, but not sorely, and ever he waxed in manhood, and was well
accounted of by all men; and the Dalesmen began to be well known to
them of Deepdale and were a terror to them.
Thus wore summer and autumn, and Osberne saw no face of the hope of
getting home to the Dale before spring. The winter came early, and was
with much frost and snow, and they of Eastcheaping kept them within
their walls perforce, but they held the Yule-feast merrily and with
good heart.
When winter was gone and the snow and the floods, and spring was come
again, there began again skirmishing and riding; and now one, now the
other prevailed; and Osberne fell to learning all the feats of
chivalry under Sir Medard. And in one fray he paid his master back for
the learning, and somewhat more; for the Knight thrust too far forth
amongst the foemen, and was unhorsed and set on by many; and had not
Osberne been [nigh], who bestrode him with Boardcleaver in his fist,
and thrust and hewed all around till some of theirs came up to help,
the good town had lost its captain. So he rehorsed Sir Medard, and
somewhat hardly they came forth of the throng, and were not ill beaten
that day.
But when May was, the Baron of Deepdale had waxed so mighty that he
gathered a great host together, and came therewith against
Eastcheaping, so that they had nought to do save draw within their
walls: and the Baron sent a herald, and bade thereby yield them, on
such terms, over and above paying their truage according to his will,
that they should batter down their walls, and take his men into their
castle and have his burgreve over them, and moreover that they give
over ten of their best to his mercy. This challenge they naysaid in
few words, for the town was well victualled and manned. Wherefore on
the morrow early the Baron assailed the walls with many men, but gat
nothing thereby save loss of good men; and the assault over, Medard
and his opened the gates and went forth on the foemen while they were
yet in disarray, and won much and lost little.
Thereafter the Baron assailed the walls no more, but cast a dyke
around the town and sat down before it; and he had abundance of
victual coming in to him from his countryside, so that his men lacked
nothing. But whereas his dyke and the towers of earth and timber which
he let build thereon were scarce manned so well as they should have
been because there was so much of them, the Eastcheapers did not leave
them wholly in quiet, but fell on oft and hard, and slew the Baron
many men and did him much scathe. And men in the town were in good
heart, and said one to the other, that if things went no worse than
this they might hold out merrily till winter should break up the
leaguer. But in the last of these skirmishes Osberne was hurt sorely,
and though he was brought off by his fellows, and lost not
Boardcleaver, as well-nigh betid, he must needs keep his bed somewhat
more than a month ere he was well healed.
But on a day in September, when he was much amended and was growing
strong again, came to him Stephen, whom he had not seen for some days,
and seeing that there was no man in the chamber save they two, spake
to him and said: "Captain, I would have a word with thee if I might."
Said Osberne: "Speech is free to thee, Stephen." And the Eater said:
"I have been out a-gates of late, for I deemed that if I might find
adventures it would be for thy health." Said Osberne, laughing: "Yet
maybe not for thine, Stephen. I were loth to come to Wethermel without
thee." Said Stephen: "At this rate it may be long ere we come to
Wethermel." "I would we might hasten the homecoming," said Osberne,
knitting his brows, "but I wot not how that may be since the Baron is
yet so strong." "Ah, but I have a deeming how it may be done," said
Stephen: "but there is peril in it." Osberne stood up and said: "What
hast thou been about, runagate?"
"Master," said he, "I will tell thee. Five nights ago I did on raiment
of the fashion of them beyond Deepdale, and I had with me a fiddle,
and was in the manner of a minstrel, and thou wottest that I am not so
evil a gut-scraper, and that I have many tales and old rhymes to hand,
though I am no scald as thou art. Well, I got out a-gates a night-tide
by the postern on the nook of the south-east tower, the warden whereof
is a friend of mine own, and then by night and cloud I contrived it to
skirt the dyke and get me about till I came north-west of our north
gate, and then somehow I got up over the dyke, which is low there and
was not guarded as then, and in a nook I lay still till morning came.
And there I let myself be found by one of the warders, and when he
kicked me and challenged me, I told him what I would as to myself, and
he trowed it, and he brought me to his fellows, who, a five of them,
were cooking their breakfast, and they gave me victual and bade me
play and sing for their disport, and I did so, and pleased them.
Thereafter one of them took me along with him toward the west side of
the dyke, and I played and sang; and so, to make a long story short, I
worked round the dyke that day till I was come to the south side of
the leaguer, and there I lay that night in good entertainment; but on
the morrow I went on my way, and before evening I had come back again
to the north-west, just where I had started from. There I fell in with
the man-at-arms who had kicked me up the morning before, and he fell
to speech with me, and showed me many things, and amongst the others
the great bastide wherein, said he, the Baron of Deepdale was lodged,
and that it was little guarded, which mattered nothing by day, but by
night he deemed it something rash of the Baron to suffer so few men of
his anigh him.
"Now while we spake together thus there was a stir about us, and we
and others rose up from the grass where we were lying, and lo it was
the Baron who was come amongst us, so we all did him reverence. He was
a dark man, rather little than big, but wiry and hard-bitten; keen and
eager of face, yet was there something lordly about his bearing. As
luck would have it he came straight to where we stood together, and
stayed to look upon me as something unwonted to him, for I was wholly
unarmed, save for a little knife in my girdle; and I was clad in a
black gown and a cotehardy of green sprigged with tinsel, and had my
fiddle and bow at my back. We louted low before him, and he spake to
my friend: 'Is this big fellow a minstrel?' 'Yea, lord,' said the
other. Said the Baron: 'Looking at his inches, 't is a pity of him
that he hath not jack and sallet and a spear over his shoulder. How
sayest thou, carle; what if I were to set thee in the forefront of the
press amongst the very knighthood?' 'Noble lord,' quoth I, 'I fear me
that if I came within push of spear thou wouldst presently see me
running, so long are my legs. I am a big man, so please you great
lord, but I have the heart of a hare in me.' He looked upon me
somewhat grimly, then he said: 'Meseems thou hast a fox's tongue in
thee, carle, and I promise thee I have half a mind to it to hand the
over to the provost-marshal's folk, to see what they could make of
whipping thee. Thou man-at-arms, hast thou heard him lay his bow over
the strings?' 'Yea, lord,' said the man; 'he playeth not ill for an
uplander.' 'Let him try it now before us, and do it well withal if he
would save the skin of his back.' Speedily I had my fiddle in my hand,
and fell to, and if I played not my best, I played at least something
better than my worst. And when I had done, the Baron said: 'Friend,
how many such tunes canst thou play? and canst thou sing aught?' 'It
would not be so easy to tell up the tunes I can play, lord,' said I;
'and sing I can withal, after a fashion.' Said the Baron to the
man-at-arms: 'Bring thou this man to my lodging tonight some two hours
before midnight, and he shall play and sing to us, and if we be not
sleep-eager he shall tell us some old tale also; and I will reward
him. And thou, I shall not make thee a man-at-arms this time, though
trust me, I misdoubt thy hare-heart. There is no such look in thine
eyes.' And he turned away and left us. So we wore the night merrily
enough till the time appointed, what with minstrelsy and some deal of
good wine.
"To the Baron's lodgings I went, which was not right great, but hung
goodly with arras of Troy. And I had the luck to please the lord; for
I both played and sang somewhat near my best. And he bade give me a
handful of silver pennies, though I must needs share them with my
soldier friend, unto whom the lord forgat to give aught, and bade me
come the next night at the same time, which I did, after I had spent
the day looking into everything about that side of the leaguer. But
when I came forth with my friend from the lord's lodging that second
night (and I the richer therefor), I did him to wit that the next
morning early I should take my soles out of the leaguer and make for
my own country, whatever might happen, so that no so many questions
might be asked if I were missed on the morrow, as belike I was. Well
the end of this long story is, that a little before midnight I crept
away and over the dyke and came to the postern and my friend, who let
me into the town, and here I am safe and sound. Now, Captain, canst
thou tell me why I took so much trouble in my disport, with no little
peril withal?"
Now for some time Osberne had been walking to and fro as he hearkened
to the tale, and now he turned about sharply to Stephen and said:
"Yea, I know; thou wilt mean it in a day or two that we should go, we
two, by night and cloud to the Great Bastide and carry off the Baron
of Deepdale, that we may give him guesting in the good town."
Stephen smote his palms together and said: "Wise art thou, child of
Wethermel; but not so wise as I be. We shall go, we two, but not
alone, but have with us four stout fellows, and of wisdom enough, not
Dalesmen, for too simple are they and lack guile. To say sooth I have
chosen them already, and told them how we fare, and they are all agog
for it."
"Well," said Osberne, "and when shall it be? Of a sooth thou lettest
no grass grow under thy feet. But hast thou told any one else?" Said
Stephen: "Tomorrow night is the time appointed, and I have bidden my
friend the warder of the postern to hold ready a score of men
well-armed against the hour we are to be looked for to knock at the
door with our guest, if so be that we should need them, but I have not
told him what we are about. Well now, what sayest thou? Have I done
anything to amend thine health?" "Thou hast made me whole and well,
friend," said Osberne; "and now I think we shall soon look upon
Wethermel, and I shall never be sick or sorry again."
The Eater smiled, and they fell to talking of other matters as folk
came into the chamber to them; and all that came in wondered to see
the captain looking so much mended in health.
Chapter XXVI. They Bring the Baron into Eastcheaping
So on the morrow just before midnight came Osberne and Stephen and the
four others to the postern above-said. Osberne and the four were clad,
over their armour, in frocks and hoods of up-country fashion; but
Stephen was in his minstrel's raiment, save that he bore no fiddle,
and had a heavy short-sword girt to him under his cotehardy. The night
was moonless, but there was little cloud, so that there was a glimmer
of starlight. As they opened the door, came forth from the ingle a
tall man, unarmed as it seemed, and clad as a gangrel carle, and
Stephen without more ado stretched out his long arm and caught him by
the breast of his coat. The man stirred not nor strove, but said
softly: "Dost thou not know me, Stephen the Eater? I come to see the
child of Wethermel; he shall know me by the token of the Imposition of
Hands. And I am come to help him and all you." That heard Osberne and
spake softly to the others: "This is a friend and a stout-heart; he
shall be of all avail to us."
"Speak not," said Stephen, "but hold we on, and go crouching till we
be under the lee of the dyke." Even so did they, and Stephen led the
way, but Osberne came next and Steelhead with him; they spake not
together, but Osberne felt the stronger for having him beside him, and
his heart was full of joy.
So they clomb the dyke, and as they topped it they saw a weaponed man
on his feet betwixt them and the sky. Stephen stood up straightway and
fell a-whistling a merry tune, but softly enough, while he made a sign
to the others to fetch a compass and go creeping past this man. So
they did, while Stephen and the warder walked toward one another; but
so soon as they met, the warder knew his friend, and hailed him and
said: "Well, minstrel, thou art back again pretty soon; what is
toward, man?" Said Stephen: "Sooth to say, I went not all the way
home; for it came into my mind that maybe the Baron might call for me
again; and when it rains florins I am fain to have my hat under the
spout." Said the warder: "Thou art come in time, for the Baron is
somewhat ailing, and whiles he sleeps not well a-nights; it was but
last night when it was so, and he sends for me and asks me of thee,
and biddeth me fetch thee; and St. Peter! the uproar when I told him
that thou wert gone; and it was hardly that I escaped a whipcord
supper. Howsoever, his wrath ran off him in a little, and then he bade
me look out for thee, and if I find thee I am to bring thee to him at
any hour of day or night wherein the armour is off him: wherefore, see
thou, in happy hour art thou come. So abide me till I go and fetch a
fellow to keep my watch, and then will I go on with thee to my lord."
"Wait a while," said Stephen; "to say sooth I have hereby an old
carle, my uncle, and his son, a young swain, and both they are good at
song, and the older man a very poke stuffed full of old tales: how
were it if I brought them along?"
"It were good," said the warder, "for it shall, see thou, make a
change of disport for our lord, and that will please him the more. So
go now, bring up hither thy kinsmen, and I will see to my watch and we
will meet here straightway."
So then Stephen went to his folk, who were creeping nigher and nigher
the Great Bastide, and were as now in broken ground somewhat bushed, a
good lurking-place to wit. There he finds them, and bids the four
abide their coming back with their prey, which now he nowise doubted
of, and takes Steelhead and Osberne along with him, and brings them to
the warder; who laughed when he saw Steelhead, for he went for that
time all bent and bowed, and, as he deemed by what he could see under
the dim sky, ragged and wretched. Said he: "Minstrel, thou wert scarce
in luck to happen on this rag of a kinsman of thine. Hast thou no
better, man?" Said Stephen, grinning in the dark: "Abide till ye have
proved him. Trust me, he hath something better than sour curds in his
belly." "Well," said the warder, "let-a-be! As for the young man, he
seems like enough. Now then, fellow, for a pull at the florin-tree."
So they went, the four of them, toward the Great Bastide, and none
hindered them, deeming that they were of the service of the Baron.
Even at the door of the Baron's lodging the warder (there was but one
and a chamberlain) nodded friendly to the soldier and let them pass
unquestioned. They entered the chamber, wherein now was no man, as the
Baron would have it whenas he listed to sleep. The soldier went
forward on tip-toe, but Stephen trod heavily, and Steelhead laughed
aloud, and went straight up to the great man's bedhead, and fared to
pass his hand over his face from his forehead to his chin, just
touching him, but the sleeping man waked not. As for Osberne, he stood
betwixt the door and the soldier, and drew his sword forth from under
his carter's frock, but it was not Boardcleaver, for he had left him
at home. The soldier looked from one to another, and stared astonished
at their demeanour. Straightway then he had both Stephen and Osberne
on him at once: nor had he any senses nor might to strive with them,
who stripped his coat off over his head, gagged him, and tied him hand
and foot. By then they had done this, Steelhead had taken up the naked
Baron and set some of the warder's raiment on him, and done on him the
said warder's coat and sallet over all; and there stood the man of
worship, waked up now, as it seemed, but looked before him as if he
saw naught, even as a man who walks in sleep. Stephen the meantime
unstrung his fiddle and began to play a slow sweet tune thereon, and
let his big but melodious voice go with it, and thus they brought the
lordship of Deepdale to the door, and still he seemed of no avail,
save to walk on as Steelhead would have him.
So out they fared, and none hindered them any more than when they went
in; and they came to the bushed ground where lay the four townsmen and
stirred them, and so went on all seven with their new fellow the
Baron, who still walked on like a man in his sleep.
They made a compass about the warder who had taken the place of
Stephen's friend, so that he might not challenge them, and came fair
and softly to the dyke, and thereafter to the postern. There Stephen
knocked after the manner appointed, and the door opened and showed the
passage all full of armed men. But Stephen cried out: "All's well,
friend Dickon, and there shall be no sally out tonight, only take us
in, and bring me and Captain Osberne to Sir Medard, for we have
somewhat to show him."
So they gat them into the town, they and their new guest; but ere the
door was shut, Steelhead took Osberne by the skirt and drew him a
little aside and said: "Lad of Wethermel, in all ways thou hast shown
thy valiance, and I am glad of thee. Now I have come from the
hill-sides and the crannies of the rocks to look upon thee, and I must
get me back at once; for within a builded town I may not be. But I can
see that it will not be long till we meet in the mountains. So I tell
thee, when thou deemest thy need and thy grief to be as great as it
may be, hie thee to the little dale where first we met, and call on me
by the token of the bow I gave thee then, and presently thou shalt
have tidings: now farewell."
"Yea, but hold," said Osberne, "wilt thou not enter, even if it be to
go forth at once by another gate with much company? Else wilt thou be
tangled amongst all these foemen."
"Trouble not thyself about me," said Steelhead; "it shall not be hard
for me to go where I will in despite of any foeman."
Chapter XXVII. They Parley from the Walls
Therewith he was gone and Osberne entered the town after his fellows,
and the Baron of Deepdale was brought to Sir Medard in the great
tower. There they would have served him with all honour, but he was
not yet come out of that trance; so they laid him to rest in Sir
Medard's own bed, and had warders both within the chamber and without;
and Osberne sat talking with Sir Medard in the said chamber till dawn
was, when the Baron awoke really and fairly, and called for drink. And
Sir Medard brought it unto him with his own hand, and the Baron stared
at him and said: "Art thou of the service tonight? I know thee not."
Quoth Sir Medard: "And yet we have been near enough together ere this,
Lord Baron; thou shouldst know me, meseems." The Baron looked hard on
him and then round about the chamber, and cried out: "Holy Mary! 't is
Medard the carle-leader. Where am I, and where is the evil beast of a
minstrel? Hath he beguiled me?" Said Medard: "Lord, at this present
thou art in a chamber of my poor house in Eastcheaping. Doubtless
tomorrow, after we have had some talk together, thou and I and the
Porte, thou mayst go back home to Deepdale, or abide here to see how
we can feast, we carle-warriors, and to be holden in all honour."
Now came forth Stephen the Eater and said: "Lord, lo here the evil
beast of a minstrel who hath verily beguiled thee; but, Baron, it is
to thy gain and not thy loss. For tomorrow shall the war be ended, and
thou shalt be free to go back again to the fair women of Deepdale whom
thou lovest so much, and shalt save they men-at-arms, and thy weapons
and tents and timber, and victuals and drink a great heap; and all
this I deem, and more maybe, wouldst thou have lost hadst thou gone on
sitting perversely before Eastcheaping all for nought. So I will not
say pardon me, but make friends with me rather for being good to me."
And therewith he reached out his great hand to the Baron; but Osberne
drew him back by the girdle, and chid him for mocking a captive, while
the Baron turned his face to the wall and covered up his head with the
bed-clothes.
But ye may judge if there were riding and running in the leaguer next
morning when they could find the Baron nowhere; and one said this and
the other that; and he cried Kill and slay, and he cried Flee ere we
all come to like end; and great was the doubt and the turmoil. Amidst
of which comes Sir Medard on to the battlement of the north-west
tower, and beside him a squire bearing a white banner, and a herald
with a trumpet, which herald presently blew a loud blast, but such an
one as sounded not of war but of parley. So when the captains and
leaders heard the said blast and saw the white banner of peace, they
deemed that new tidings were toward, and a half score of them crossed
over their dyke bearing a white banner with them, and came close under
the tower whereon stood Sir Medard; and the chiefest of them, an old
hoar man and very wise, hight Sir Degore, stood before the others all
unhelmed and said: "Is it Sir Medard that standeth up there?"
"Yea verily," said the Knight; "and what art thou? Art thou a leader
of the host that sitteth about us?" Said the other: "I am Sir Degore,
of whom thou wilt have heard; under my lord the Baron of Deepdale I am
the leader of this host, and I have come to ask what thou wouldst of
us." Said Sir Medard: "I would see the Baron of Deepdale."
"He is sick this morning," said Sir Degore, "and may not rise; but if
thou wouldst render the town and the castle unto him, it is all one,
thou mayst make me serve thy turn; I know his mind full well."
Sir Medard laughed: "Nay," said he, "we will wait for that till we may
see the Baron himself. But tell me, Sir Knight, what is all this stir
and hubbub in thine host this morning?"
Said Sir Degore, without tarrying the word one moment: "There is a
great aid and refreshment come to us out of the East country, both of
victual and men, and our folk be welcoming the men and sharing the
victual."
"There is nothing in this, then, that we have heard, that ye cannot
find your Duke, and are seeking him up and down?"
"Nay, nothing," said the greybeard, wagging his head. But the folk
that were with him look on each other and thought within themselves
how wise the old man was. And Sir Medard spake when he might for his
laughter: "Sir, thy lord did well to make thee captain under him, for
thou art a wise and ready liar. But so it is that thou speakest with
one who knoweth the tale better than thou. Ho ye, bring forward my
lord."
Straightway came two squires, who led a lean dark man between them,
unarmed and clad in a long furred black gown. He took off his hat, and
thereupon Sir Degore and all they below knew him for their lord. He
spake at once and said: "Sir Degore and ye others, my lords and
captains, can ye hear me?"
"Yea, lord," said Sir Degore.
Then said the Baron: "This then is my word and commandment, that ye
give leave to all our folk-in-arms to depart each one to his own
house, and to bear away with him his weapons and armour and three
horses if he be of the knighthood, and one if he be of the sergeantry;
but the others, archers and villeins, may take one horse between three
to bear their baggage and ease them on the journey. But the flour and
wheat and wine, and all the neat and sheep, ye shall leave behind; for
the folk of this country-side and the good town have occasion for
them. But as to mine own matters which are of mine own person, as arms
and raiment and jewels and the like, ye shall bring them unto me here
in the good town, where I am minded to abide two or three days that I
may hold counsel about weighty matters with the Porte and the
Burgreve. Moreover, I would have thee, Sir Degore, and a five of my
counsellors and a half score of my servants, come hither to me to
abide with me for my aid and service while I tarry in Eastcheaping.
Now this is my will and pleasure, and I shall be no wiser later on;
wherefore do thou, Sir Degore, go straightway and tell my will to the
captains and sergeants and the knights, so that the hosts may
presently break up."
Ye may deem how Sir Degore and the other Deepdalers were abashed when
they knew that their lord was a captive in the hands of the foemen;
yet they seemed to think that the terms of the good town were not so
hard as might have been looked for, since they had gotten this so
great advantage.
Now Sir Degore spake and said: "Sir Medard, wilt thou suffer me to
come to thee, so that I may speak with my lord privily?" "To what
end," said Sir Medard, "since thou hast heard thy lord's commandment?
wilt thou not obey him?" "Yea," said Degore, "if I have heard his last
word; nevertheless were I fain to come up and speak with him." "Come
up then," said Sir Medard; "yet I must warn thee that it may be easier
for thee to come in to Eastcheaping today than to go out therefrom.
Moreover, bethink ye if ye dally how it would be were we to open our
gates and fall upon you with all ours, and ye disarrayed and
leaderless."
Therewith he gave word to open the postern to Sir Degore, who entered
and was brought to the top of the tower, and there he went up to the
Baron and bent the knee to him and might not refrain his tears; but
the Baron laughed, yet somewhat hardly. So they two went aside into an
ingle of the tower toward the town, while sir Medard and his stood
aloof a while. Then turned back Sir Degore to them of Eastcheaping,
and said: "Sir Medard, I pray thee leave to depart to my host, that I
may do after the bidding of my lord."
"Yea, go," said Sir Medard; "yet I would have thee remember that I
pray for a long life for the Baron of Deepdale, since he hath become
so good a friend to our town, and that thou wilt be in the wrong if
thou do aught to shorten it."
So Degore went his ways, and he and those counsellors and leaders went
back sadly to the leaguer, and fell to work to undo all they had done
the six months past. And it was no long time ere the stout men-at-arms
of Deepdale began to flow away from before Eastcheaping, and the men
of the town held good watch all the while; and ere it was evening,
divers bands of them went out-of-gates in good order to see that none
of the Deepdalers abode in array in the leaguer, and found nothing
there which they had cause to dread. And they took much spoil of that
which the Baron's host must needs leave behind. Meanwhile, Sir Medard
and his made what cheer they might to the Baron; and Sir Medard showed
Osberne unto him, and told him all the tale of the wolves and the
slaying of Hardcastle, and did him to wit that much of the valiancy
which they of Eastcheaping had shown in the war came of this lad of
Wethermel. And the Baron marvelled, and looked upon Osberne and said:
"Well, lad, if ever thou art hard bestead, come thou to Deepdale, and
we shall find somewhat for thee to do; and I bid thee thrive hale and
well!"
Howbeit Sir Medard told not to the Baron that Osberne had been one of
them that bore him off the last night. Yet somehow he came to know it
in time to come; I wot not through whom or how.
Chapter XXVIII. The Baron of Deepdale Makes Peace
So now the war was over, for the next day the Baron of Deepdale signed
the deed of peace which gave up to the Porte of Eastcheaping all that
for which they had withstood him; and withal some deal of ransom he
had to pay for his own body, how much my tale-teller knoweth not, but
deemeth that they would scarce put the snepe upon him as to bid but a
squire's or knight-bachelor's ransom for a free baron, a lord of wide
lands, who had under him towns, tolls, and markets.
So the ransom being paid, or some deal of it, and pledges left for the
remnant, the Baron went his ways in no very evil mood, and it was soon
seen that they of Eastcheaping would no longer need the men they had
waged over and above those who were due to them for service, wherefore
leave was given to such waged men to depart, and the Dalesmen among
others. But gifts were given them largely, over and above their
war-pay, and to Osberne and Stephen the Eater in especial. Unto whom,
amongst other things, the Butchers' guild of the good town did on the
eve of his departure bring a great and fair ox, white of colour; and
they had gilded the horns of the beast, and done him about with
garlands: but on a scroll between the horns was fairly writ the words,
The Eater's Ox. Which gift Stephen received as it was given, very
lovingly, and many a cup they drank together over him; but Stephen
said ere his friends departed: "Yet look ye, lads of Eastcheaping,
though this ox be mine, yet shall he not be the ox of the Eater; for
slay him will I never, but let live on and on for love of our friends
of Eastcheaping so long as I may buy, beg, or steal a cow's grass for
him."
As for Osberne, though he bought in the booths a pretty many of such
things as were goodly and little, of goldsmiths' work and the like, to
flit to his friend across the Sundering Flood, yet no gift would he
take, save a very fair armour of the spoils of Deepdale: and this was
no gift, said Sir Medard, but what he had earned himself by hard toil
enough.
All loved him, but Sir Medard in especial, who had fain dubbed him
knight; but Osberne would not, and said that such had been no wont of
his fathers before him; and he looked never to go very far from the
Dale and for no long while. "And even if I may not live there," quoth
he, "I look to die there;" and he reddened therewith till the eyes
looked light in the face of him. But Medard said: "Wheresoever thou
livest or diest thou wilt live and die a great-heart. But this I bid
thee, whenso thou hast need of a friend who may show thee the road
into the world of deeds, when thou hast aught to hide or aught to
seek, come thou unto me, and be sure that I shall not fail thee."
Osberne thanked him from his whole heart, and they kissed and departed
with all love; and as the Dalesmen rode down the street toward the
western gate, it was full of folk shouting out praises and blessings;
and the windows were full of women who cast down flowers on them as
they went along, saying that but for these stout-hearts they might
have had neither town nor honour nor children, and that nought was
good enough for such friends as these. Thus rode the Dalesmen out of
Eastcheaping.
But of the ten score and six that had ridden out of the Dale, two
score and two were lacking, who had either been slain in battle or so
sorely hurt that they were no longer fightworthy; but sixteen had
dropped in by ones and twos and threes to fill the places of these, so
that they rode back but little fewer than they came.
Chapter XXIX. Osberne and His Men Return to Wethermel
Now on a fair evening a little ere sunset of the beginning of October,
came those Dalesmen amongst the black rocks and rough places that
crowned the bent which looked down west over the Dale. And now, though
they had been talking merrily and loud for the last three hours, their
hearts were so full within them that scarce a word might they say one
to another. And when at last they had won through that rocky tangle
and had opened Wethermel, and nought lay before them but the grassy
slopes and the wide-spread valley cleft by the line of the Sundering
Flood; now, when they saw in the clear air the grey houses of
Wethermel lying together, and the smoke of the evening cooking fires
going up to the heavens, and the sheep wending on, thick and huddling
before the driving of three tall men, and the kine moving toward the
byre and the women amongst them, then this befel: that whereas they
had been all of one mind that when they came to the crown of the bent,
they would spur on and race merrily toward Wethermel, yet now when it
lay before them, and there was so little a way betwixt them and its
hearth, they all of them with one consent drew rein and sat still on
their horses, as if they had suddenly come face to face with the host
of the foemen. Yea, some there were, and they rather of the oldest
than the youngest, who might not refrain them, but fell a-weeping and
sobbing, whether it were for joy or sorrow, or a blending of both, may
scarce be said.
Osberne wept not: sooth to say, the turmoil of hope and fear within
his heart ate up somewhat the softness that might else have mastered
him at this new sight of his fathers' house. He rode forth before the
others, and lifted up his voice and loudly and clearly cried a
blessing on the Dale and the dwellers therein, and then rode soberly
down the bent, and the others followed him still silently. But when
they were drawn anigh, and every soul, man, woman and child, ran forth
from the garth to meet and welcome them, then at last their joy brake
forth, and they gat off their horses and gave themselves up to the
caresses of the women and the embracing of the carles, and loud was
the speech and the laughter amongst them.
Osberne was first met by Nicholas his grandsire, who kissed and
embraced him, and then gave him up to his grandam and the
fostermother, and one or other of these twain would scarce let go of
him a long while.
But now was riding and running after victual for so big a company of
men; for nought would serve the folk of Wethermel but that the whole
fellowship must abide there that night. But all was got ready in a
while, and meanwhile the stay-at-homes might not have enough of
praising and caressing the folk returned, and everything they said or
did was a wonder.
At last the feast was arrayed, and the hall was thronged as much as
might be, and folk fell to meat, and now they were all exceeding
merry; and when they had done eating, the boards were drawn to make
more room, and they fell to the drink, and after the first cup to
Christ, and the second to Allhallows, the third was drunk to the
home-comers from the war. Yet were not the stay-at-homes to be put off
with so little, and they called a cup for Osberne the Captain of the
warriors; and when it had been drunk, then all folk looked toward the
captain to see what he would do; but he rose up and stood in his
place, his cheek flushed and his eyes sparkling: and the word came
into his mouth and he sang:
The War-god's gale
Drave down the Dale
And thrust us out
To the battle-shout;
We wended far
To the wall of war
And trod the way
Where the edges lay,
The rain of the string rattled rough on the field
Where the haysel was hoarded with sword-edge & shield.
Long lived the sun
When the play was begun,
And little but white
Was the moon all night;
But the days drew in
And work was to win,
And on the snow
Lay men alow,
And at Yule fared we feasting in war-warded wall
And the helm and the byrny were bright in the hall.
Then changed the year
And spring was dear,
But no maid went
On mead or bent,
For there grew on ground
New battle-round,
New war-wall ran
Round houses of man,
There tower to tower oft dark and dim grew
At noontide of summer with rain of the yew.
Neath point and edge
In the battle hedge
We dwelt till wore
Late summer o'er;
We steered aright
The wisdom-bark
Through the steel-thronged dark,
The warrior we wafted from out of the fray,
And he woke midst the worthy and hearkened their say.
Now peace is won
And all strife done,
And in our hands
The fame of lands
Aback we bear
To the dale the dear,
And the Fathers lie
Made glad thereby.
Now blossometh bliss in the howes of the old
At our tale growing green from their tale that is told.
Loud was the glee and the shouting at his song, and all men said that
every whit thereof was sooth, and that this was the best day that had
ever dawned on Wethermel; and great joy and bliss was on the hall till
they must needs go to their rest. So changed was Wethermel, the
niggard once, and that, it might be deemed, was but one youngling's
doing.
Chapter XXX. Osberne Goes to the Trysting-Place
But on the morrow ere the day was old, the guests departed in all
contentment each to his own folk, and Osberne and the Wethermel men
led them out with blessings.
When they were all gone and the unwonted stir was over, it seemed to
Osberne as if he were awaking from a dream, and his heart was in a
turmoil of hope and fear, so that he knew not what to do till he was
once more at the Bight of the Cloven Knoll. He tarried for nought save
to take up the gifts of Eastcheaping, and he had no weapon with him
save his bow and arrows wherewith to flit the said gifts across the
water, but he was gaily clad in a coat of green, flowered with gold,
which he had bought him at Eastcheaping; and a fair and lovely youth
he looked, as he strode along at his swiftest toward the
trysting-place, his face flushed, his brows a little knit with mingled
trouble and joy, his lips parted with his eager breathing. Whiles as
he went he said to himself, How many chances and changes there were,
and how might he expect to find Elfhild there again? And next, when he
had enough afflicted himself with thinking of her sick, or dead, or
wedded, his strong heart of a youth threw it off again, and he
thought, How could evil such as that befal him, the stalwarth and
joyous?
So he fared till he came within sight of the ness, and saw no figure
there on the top of it: yet he straightway fell to running, as though
he knew she had been waiting for him a long while; but as he ran he
kept his eyes down on the ground, so that he might not see her place
empty of her. But when he came to his place he lifted up his eyes, and
there to his great joy saw her coming up the ness; and when she saw
him she uttered a great cry and spread out her arms and reached out to
him. But as for him, he might make neither word nor sound a great
while, but stood looking on her. Then he said: "Is it well with thee?"
"O yea, yea," she said, "and over-well as now."
"Art thou wedded?" said he.
"Yea," she said, "unto thee."
"O would that we were, would that we were!" said Osberne.
"O!" she said, "be not sad this morning, or wish for aught so that it
grieve thee. Bethink thee how dear this moment is, now at last when
our eyes behold each other."
"Hast thou come here often to look for me?" said he. She said: "It was
the fourteenth of May was a year that we parted; now is this the
eighth day of October. That makes five hundred and eleven days: not
oftener than that have I come here to look for thee."
So piteous-kind she looked as she spake, that his bosom heaved and his
face changed, and he wept. She said: "I wish I had not said that to
make thee weep for me, my dear." He spake as his face cleared: "Nay,
my dear, it was not all for thee, but for me also; and it was not all
for grief, but for love." She said: "With this word thou givest me
leave to weep;" and she wept in good sooth.
Then in a while she said: "And now thou wilt sit down, wilt thou not?
and tell me all thy tale, and of thy great deeds, some wind whereof
hath been blown to us across the Sundering Flood. And sweet it will be
to hear thy voice going on and on, and telling me dear things of
thyself."
"Even so will I do," said Osberne, "if thou wilt; yet I were fain to
hear of thee and how thou hast fared; and thy words would I hear above
all things." The voice of him quavered as he spake, and he seemed to
find it hard to bring any words out: but his eyes were devouring her
as if he could never have enough of looking on her. Forsooth there was
cause, so fair she was, and he now come far into his eighteenth year.
She was that day clad all in black, without any adornment, and her
hair was knit up as a crown about her beauteous head, which sat upon
her shoulders as the swan upon the billow: her hair had darkened since
the days of her childhood, and was now brown mingled with gold, as
though the sun were within it; somewhat low it came down upon her
forehead, which was broad and white; her eyes were blue-grey and
lustrous, her cheeks a little hollow, but the jaw was truly wrought,
and fine and clear, and her chin firm and lovely carven; her lips not
very full, but red and lovely, her nose straight and fine. The colour
of her clear and sweet, but not blent with much red: rather it was as
if the gold of her hair had passed over her face and left some little
deal behind there. In all her face was a look half piteous, as though
she craved the love of folk; but yet both mirth and swift thought
brake through it at whiles, and sober wisdom shaded it into something
like sternness. Low-bosomed she was yet, and thin-flanked, and had
learned no tricks and graces of movement such as women of towns and
great houses use for the beguiling of men. But the dear simpleness of
her body in these days when the joy of childhood had left her, and a
high heart of good longing was ever before her, was an allurement of
love and far beyond any fooling such as that.
Now she said: "How thou lookest on me, dear Osberne, and thy face is
somewhat sober; is there aught that thou likest not in me? I will do
as thou biddest, and tell all the little there is to tell about me,
ere thou tellest me all the mickle thou hast to tell about thee."
He said, and still spake as if the words were somewhat hard to find:
"I look upon thee, Elfhild, because I love thee, and because thou hast
outgrown thy dearness of a year and a half agone and become a woman,
and I see thee so fair and lovely, that I fear for thee and me, that I
desire more than is my due, and that never shall we mend our
sundering; and that even what I have may be taken from me." She
smiled, yet somewhat faintly, and spake: "I call that ill said; yet
shalt thou not make me weep thereby, such joy as I have of the love in
thy words. But come, sit thou down, and I shall tell thee my tidings."
So they sat down as nigh unto the edge as they might; and Osberne
spake no more for that while, but looked and listened, and Elfhild
said: "Day by day I have come hither, sometimes sadder and sorrier
than at others, whiles with more hope, and whiles with less, whiles
also with none at all. Of that thou wottest already or may bethink
thee. Of tidings to call tidings the first is that my kinswoman, my
mother's sister, has changed her life: she died six months ago, and we
brought her to earth by the church of Allhallows the West, hard by the
place of the Cloven Mote. Needs must I say that, though she was the
last one of my kindred, the loss of her was no very grievous sorrow to
me, for ever she had heeded me little and loved me less, though she
used me not cruelly when I was little; and her burial was a stately
one as for a poor house in the West Dale. Now furthermore, as for the
carline who is the only one left to look after me, by my deeming she
doth love me, and moreover she hath belike more of a might than were
to be looked for of so old and frail-seeming a woman, and that besides
here mickle wisdom. Whereof hearken this, which is the second tidings
of note I have to tell thee. It is now some two months ago, when
summer was waning into autumn, that on an evening just after sunset we
were sitting after our wont in our house, which, though it be neither
grand nor great, is bigger than we need for us twain. Comes a knock on
the door, and the carline goes thereto, and is followed back into the
chamber by a tall man, clad neither as one of our country-side nor as
a warrior, but in a long black gown with furred edges. He had no
weapons save a short sword and a whittle in his girdle; he was not
ill-looked, black-bearded and ruddy-faced, and seemed strong-built, a
man of about five and forty winters. He hailed us courteously, and
asked if he might abide with us till morning, and we naysaid him not,
if he might do with such cheer as we might make him. He smiled and
said any cheer was better worth to him that the desert as at that
time: and he said withal that he had a way-beast without who was as
weary as was he; and, says he, there is a pair of saddle-bags on him,
which many would not deem overmuch of a burden, if they had not very
far to carry it.
"So I went out a-doors with him to see after his nag and saddle-bags;
and I led the horse into the same stall where was winter quarters for
our two horses; but this was a very big stark beast, grey of colour,
such as we have not in this land; and I gave him hay and barley, but
the saddle-bags he brought back with him into the chamber. And he kept
ever by my side on the way there and back, and looked at me oft in the
failing light, though I was but in my sorry old raiment with bare
feet, in such guise as thou hast not seen me for years, my dear.
Howsoever, I heeded it not at the time, and we both came back into the
chamber, where Dame Anna had now lighted the candles. Shortly to say,
we put what meat and drink we might before our guest, and he seemed
well content therewith; and he was merry with us, and showed himself a
man of many words deftly strung together, and spared not to tell us
many things about tidings of far and noble countries, and the ways of
men both great and small therein. And he said that he was a chapman
journeying after gain, and looked to buy wares in the Dale, and
therewith he asked us if we had aught to sell him, but Anna laughed
and said: 'Fair sir, were ye to buy all this and all that is in it,
from groundsell to roofridge, and all our kine and sheep and horses to
boot, little would the tide of gold ebb in thy bags yonder.' 'I wot
not,' said he; 'who may say what treasure ye have been hoarding here
this long while?' He looked on me as he spake, and I reddened and
looked down, for in my heart I was thinking of the pipe and the gemmed
necklace which the Dwarfs had given me. And yet more than all, of thy
gifts, Osberne, which have been so dear to me: for soothly to say, of
these matters I had never told Dame Anna, though she knoweth that I go
oft to look upon thee here and that I love thee. However, that talk
ran off, and presently the chapman got to asking Anna about the
matters of the Dale, and the ways of its folk, and amongst other
things as to how wealthy they were, and she answered him simply as she
could. He asked her also if they loved their bairns and children well,
and also if they had any custom thereabout of casting any of their
women-children forth, if it happened to be their fortune to have many
daughters and little meat, and that especially when the years were
bad. But thereat she cried out Haro! and said that such a deed was
unheard of, and that when times were bad and there was lack, then hand
helped foot and foot hand.
"'Well,' says he, smiling, 'that failed Hamdir's Sons once, and may do
others again.' Then he asked withal if it were not true that things
had run short in the Dale this last season; and she answered, as was
true of this west side of the Dale, where was no man called to war,
that so it was. And again that talk dropped. But the carline,
methought, looked keenly at him. After a while Anna asked the guest if
he had will to go to bed, and he answered, No, he would wake the meat
well into his belly. Then she bade me fare to bed, which I did, nought
loth, for when all was said, I scarce liked the looks of the man. As
for my bed, it was a shut-bed, and opened not out of the chamber
wherein we were, but out of an inner one, rather long than wide. There
I lay down and went to sleep before long, but deemed I heard no little
talk going on betwixt Anna and the guest ere I forgat it all. And
moreover Anna came to me and waved her hands over me before I went off
sound.
"But when I woke again it seemed to me that I had slept long, but I
slipped out of bed and laid hold of my smock to do it on, and even
therewith I shrank aback, for there before me, naked in his shirt and
holding the door of my shut-bed with one hand and his whittle in the
other, was the stranger. But therewithal came Dame Anna and said:
'Heed him not, for as yet he is asleep though his eyes be open. Do on
thy raiment speedily, my Elfhild, and come forth with me, and let him
wake up by himself.' Even so I did, not rightly understanding her
words. But when we were gotten into the garth and the mead Anna told
me all, to wit, how that this wretch, after I had gone to sleep, had
bidden her a price for me to bear me off safely and wholly with him.
And that may easily be done, says he, as I see of thee that thou art
wise in wizardry and canst throw the maiden into a sleep which she
will not awake from till due time is; for, says he, I want two things,
to have her in mine arms to do as I will with, and thereafter to bear
her home with me, will she nill she. 'Now,' said Anna, 'I would not
wholly gainsay him at once, for I would have my fox safe in my trap;
so I hemmed and hawed, and said that he might belike rue his bargain
unless he were full sure what it were worth; and to be short, I so
egged him on and drew him back, and drew him back and egged him on,
that at last he took off his outer raiment, gat his bare whittle in
one hand, and laid the other on the door. Now, my dear, I have long
known thy door that I may so do that it will do my will in many
matters; so when I saw the chapman's hand on the edge thereof, I spake
a few words to it and went to bed myself, whereas I wotted that
runagate could not move hand from door-board, or foot from
floor-board, till the time which I had appointed to him; and thee also
I had sent to sleep till the very time when thou didst awaken e'en
now.' 'But what shall we do now?' said I. Said Anna: 'We will abide
here in the shaw: there is meat on the board for the guest, and his
raiment will not be hard to find, and he knows where are his horse and
his gear and his saddle-bags. I doubt me he will not be eager to say
farewell either to thee or to me; for he is not man enough to take his
sword in his fist against even an old carline and a young maiden.' So
in the shaw we gat us; as I have told thee, it is at the back of our
houses but a furlong off. And there we lay till a little past noon,
when we heard a horse going not far off. So we crept to the very edge
of the wood and looked forth privily, and presently we saw our chapman
riding off west with his saddle-bags and all, and his face was worn
and doleful; at that Anna grinned spitefully, nor for my part might I
altogether refrain my laughter. But thou dost not laugh, Osberne?" He
sprang up and cried out fiercely: "I would I had been there to cleave
his skull! Many a better man I have slain for less cause."
Then they were silent a while, and she sat looking on him fondly, till
she spake at last: "Sweetheart, art thou angry with me for telling
this tale?"
"Nay, nay," he said; "how might I live save thou told me everything
that befel thee? Yet I must tell thee that I well-nigh wish I had not
heard this one; for there thou dwellest, with none other to ward thee
than a carline stricken in years; and though I wot well from all thou
hast said of her, and this last tale in special, that she has mickle
might in her, yet she cannot be always with thee, nor belike ever
thinking of thee. God forbid, sweetheart, that I should speak to thee
in the tongue of the courts and the great houses and lords' palaces,
whenas for a fashion of talking they say of their lemans, and they not
always nor often exceeding fair, that they be jewels beyond all price,
whom an host of men were not enough to ward. But this I will say," and
he blushed very red at the word, "that thou art so lovely and so dear
that thy man, thy love, and the stout and good friends who love him,
were not over many for thy guarding even in this lonely place. And
with all that I can be of no more use thereto than if I were a wooden
man."
She stood up also, and he saw that the tears ran over her cheeks, and
he stretched out his arms to her; but she said: "Grieve not too much,
my friend; and know, as thou saidst e'en now of thyself, that these
tears are not wholly for sorrow of thy grief, but O! so much and so
much for joy of thy kindness. And one thing I must tell thee, that if
I am alone in my house, I am at least alone with a friend, and one who
loves me. And this shall come of it, that now every day I shall come
down to the tryst, for the carline will hinder me in no way. But I
know that oft thou wilt come to meet me: yet belike often thou wilt
not, because I wot how thou hast work to do and things wherein folk
call for thee to serve them. So any day if thou come not it shall be
well, and if thou come it shall be better."
Now at last he seemed to be learning the full sweetness of her. But
she held up her band and said: "Now I bid thee tarry no longer, but
fail to and tell me the tale of thy deeds; for soon shall the short
autumn day be waning, and the moment of parting shall steal upon us
ere we be ware." Even so he did now; but at first, to say sooth, he
made but a poor minstrel, so much his mind was turned unto what she
had been telling him; but after a while his scaldship quickened him,
and he told her much in a manner like life, so that she might see the
tidings going on before her. And he held her enwrapped in his tale
till the dark and the dusk began to rise up over the earth, and then
for that time they parted, and there was to be more of the war of
Eastcheaping on the day after tomorrow.
So went Osberne home to Wethermel, and at first it seemed to him as if
this first meeting after so long a while had scarce been so good as he
had looked for; for both his longing to be close to his love, and the
fear which had arisen in him as to the stealing of her, were somewhat
of a weight on his heart. But after a little, when he had first been
among folk and then alone, all that doubt and trouble melted away in
the remembrance of her, as she had been really standing before his
eyes, and there was now little pain and much sweetness in the longing
wherewith he longed for her.
So on the said day appointed he went to meet her, smiling and happy
and fresh as a rose; and she was of like mien, and when they faced
each other she smote her palms together as in the old childish time,
and cried out: "Ah! now the warrior is all ready, and the minstrel is
stuffed full of his tale, and happy shall be the hour." And even so it
was.
Chapter XXXI. They Meet Through Autumn and Winter
So many a time they met that autumn, and Elfhild would ever be asking
him some boon; as the next time after this, it was the gifts which he
had brought for her from the Cheaping; for in thinking of her he had
clean forgotten them. So then was the merry time in talking of them,
and shooting and hurling of them over, and the donning of them, and
the talking of them again. Another time she prayed him to come clad in
that goodly armour of the spoils of Deepdale, and he could no less
than yeasay her, and there he was on the trysting-day, striding by the
river-bank in the sun, like an heap of glittering ice hurrying before
the river when the thaw is warm and the sun shining bright at
Candlemas. And over that also went many pretty plays, as taking the
pieces off, and naming them, and doing them on again, and the like.
So wore the days into winter, and yet the two saw each other full
often even through the frost and snow and ill weather. And when the
spring came, then it was dear to them indeed. And by that time had
Osberne's fears about the stealing of Elfhild much worn off; though it
is to be said that exceeding oft his heart was weary and sore with the
longing to hold her in his arms. Yet the most of these times he kept
his grief in his own heart; so much as Elfhild was moved when it brake
forth from him, and she might, so to say, see the torments of him
before her very eyes. Indeed on one time, when for a long while she
might not comfort him, she told him that this was almost as bad as
seeing him laid a-dying before her.
But kind and dear they were to each other, and there was nought in
them that was not lovely in those first days of their manhood.
Chapter XXXII. Foemen Among the West Dalers
But when the spring was worn into April there fell new tidings: for on
a morning early came Stephen the Eater hurrying into the hall at
Wethermel and cried aloud: "Bows, bows! Come afield all ye of this
hall, and thou chiefly Osberne the Captain!"
Out then tumbled the stout men of Wethermel from shut-bed and hutch,
and were presently armed, and Osberne was in his byrny and steel hood
straightway, his bow in his hand and his quiver at his back.
They gathered about him and Stephen amidst of the hall, and then
Osberne asks what is toward. "Great matter enough," says Stephen. "Yet
how is to help therein? There is unpeace in the Dale, but it has
fallen on the Westerlings."
Quoth Osberne, short and sharp: "Ye, Otter, Simon, Longdeer, Alison,
take horse and ride straightway down the Dale and round to every
stead, and bid men gather to the side of the Flood with bows and
sling-spears and shot-weapons of all kinds, and that they stand not in
knots and clumps, but drawn out in line, and space enough between each
shooter. Bid them to leave not a shaft at home--we may speedily make
more--but not to loose once till they have marked their man. Now
hasten ye four! But ye others come after me at once, for we will go
afoot for the saving of time and the steadying of the shooting."
So they went toward the water, a dozen men all told, and all had bows
and good store of shafts. And as they went, Osberne spake to those
about him and said: "Spread out, and make little show of force, and
show not your bows to the foemen, so that they may contemn us and
venture the nearer to the bank. But shoot not till they defy us, lest
we smite a peaceful man." Now they were presently nigh enough to see
the going of men on the further shore, and they were all riders. It
was clear to see that they were aliens, men upon big horses clad in
outlandish armour with bright steel headpieces; they bore long spears
with light shafts, and a many of them had short horseman's bows and
quivers at their backs along with their targes.
Now as the men of Wethermel drew up to the water's edge, a knot of the
said aliens, about a score, came to them shouting and yelling, and
there were within sight scattered about the fields some two hundreds
in all. When they reined up by the Flood-side one of them, who seemed
by the gold on his armour and weapons to be a chief, hove his spear
aloft and brandished it, and fell to crying out in what seemed to be
words; but since they knew not his Latin they gat no meaning from
them, but he spake in a masterful and threatening voice. Then by
Osberne's bidding, Stephen, who stood anigh him, drew a white clout
from his scrip, made it fast to his spear and held it aloft, to show
that they would have parley. But for all answer the chieftain and his
brake out a-laughing; and then the chieftain gat his spear by the
midmost, and made as if he would cast at them; but the Flood there was
overwide for spear-shot. Then one of his folk unslung his shortbow and
nocked a shaft, and turned to the chief as if asking leave, and the
chief nodded him yeasay. Quoth Osberne hastily: "Stephen, cover thee!
It will be thou. Then if he looses, we loose, for this is a foeman."
Even therewith the shaft flew, and Stephen turned it with his shield.
Then the Wethermelers set up a shout and bent their bows, and Osberne
loosed first, and the shaft smote the chieftain in the eye, and he
fell dead off his horse: Stephen also put a shaft into the man who had
shot at him, and three others of them fell withal at the first loose,
besides three that were hurt. And the aliens liked the Wethermel
breakfast so ill, that they turned their backs to the river at once
and scuttled away into the field out of shot, yet not before they had
lost two more men and three horses.
Osberne stayed his men there a little while to see if the foe would
bring up others to go on with the game; but the aliens were over-wily
for that, as it seemed; for they but gathered together, and turning
all their heads down-dale fared on in one body.
As yet the Dalesmen had seen nought of any onset of their neighbours
of the West, and sore troubled was Osberne when he fell to thinking
that, as the robbers were wending, they must needs chop upon Hartshaw
Knolls; so the best he could hope was that Elfhild might flee from her
house to some other, or even, it might be, hide her in the wood, which
she knew so inwardly.
Meanwhile he bade his men go quietly down-stream on the river's edge.
Saith he: "If aught is to be done from this side, we shall presently
have the folk from the lower steads drifting into us, and we should
make a good band were it not for yonder wet dyke which the thieves
have gotten them for a defence."
So they fared on, and now and again some man of the lifters turned
somewhat toward them to look on their demeanour, and whiles one would
speed an arrow to them, but did no harm; at last, as they began to
draw nigh the narrows above the Bight of the Cloven Knoll, a whole
sort of the foemen came riverwards, but somewhat more than half held
on the straight way down the Dale. Even therewith came to join the
Wethermelers a many of the folk from the downward steads, stout
fellows all, and well armed with shot-weapons.
And now there was nought for it but on both sides men were drifting
toward the Bight of the Cloven Knoll, nor needeth words to tell of the
anguish of Osberne's heart and the fierce wrath of his spirit. When
the aliens, who were thronging to the river-bank, saw how narrow the
stream was growing, they set up a whoop and drew closer to the
Eastdalers, and the more part of them got off their horses and marched
along foot by foot with them, and they were now within shot of each
other, so that the foemen stayed at whiles and shot them a shaft; and
now they hurt divers of the Dalesmen, but Osberne would not suffer
them to shoot back as yet.
So came they within sight of the Dwarfs' cave, and there were not a
few of the Dalesmen who feared the place even in the turmoil of
battle; and some deemed it might be unlucky to them; but others said
that most like Osberne's good luck would prevail over the evil will of
the Dwarf-kind.
So when Osberne came to the trysting-place, he and his were fully two
score men, and they of the stoutest; and he stood before them all on
the very place where his feet had so often stayed for the comforting
of his heart and the caressing of his love: there he stood, handling a
heavy cast-spear.
Even therewith the aliens poured on to the ness, howling like dogs,
and on to Elfhild's very standing-place. Before all his men came a
chieftain of them, clad in armour wrought gaudily and decked all with
gold and silver, and with a great red horse-tail streaming from his
helm. He hove up his hand and poised a great spear, but in that nick
of time Osberne cast his weapon suddenly, with a fierce shout, and all
about him and behind him he heard the loose of the Dalesmen's bows.
Sooth to say, as he cast, he almost looked to see all that turmoil
clear away as a dream, and that he should see Elfhild falling with the
spear in her breast. But nought it befel: the gold-decked chieftain
took the spear under his arm, and he and his spear fell over clashing
and clattering down into the gulfs of the green water, and many of the
strong-thieves fell before the shaft-storm of the Dalesmen; but
therewith the foemen shot also, and some of the Dalesmen were slain
and divers hurt, but that abated their hearts no jot. But Osberne took
twelve shafts from out his quiver and nocked them one after the other,
and every time he loosed a man's life went away on the arrow-point;
but bitter was his wrath and his grief that he might not slay them all
and deliver his love. Many a shaft smote him, but the more part of
them fell off scatheless from the rings of Hardcastle's loom. Now were
many of the thieves slain; yet so fierce and eager were they, that the
more part would not draw aback, nay, some were so hungry for that
cruel slaughter of them that they heeded not the sundering of the
Flood, but rushed on as if there were nought between them, and fell
over into the boil of waters and were lost in the bottomless depths.
So fared the battle, and the ranks of the Dalesmen began to thin; but
Osberne had no thought of going back a foot's length, and his men were
so valiant that they deemed nought evil save the sundering of the
Flood. Osberne was hurt in three places, but not sorely; but Stephen
bore a shaft in his side, yet he stood upon his feet and shot no less
valiantly than erst.
But now all of a sudden the raging throng before them had some new
goings-on in it and began to sidle landward, and therewithal beyond
them rose a great shout, and therein the Eastdalers knew the voice of
their kinsmen, and they shouted all together in answer as they plied
the bow, and the strong-thieves turned about and ran yelling and
cursing toward the landward and the south-west, for the Westdalers
were upon them with spear and axe and sword.
That was the end of the shot-stour, and the aliens came never again
that tide under the shafts of the Eastdalers. But betwixt the kenning
of their dead and the tending of their hurt folk, they stood gazing
out anxiously over the field, if they might but see how the battle of
handy-strokes had gone, and by seeming right hard it had been; but in
a while they saw the aliens thrust back and edging away towards their
horses, which they had left standing out of bow-shot not far from the
Bight of the Cloven Knoll. The Westdalers were following on, smiting
great strokes, but not so as to be mingled up with them; nor did they
seem as if they would will to hinder them if they should get on their
horses and ride away; and even they did so presently, and the Dalesmen
saw them never again.
Chapter XXXIII. Osberne Seeks Tidings of Elfhild
Now when this stour was all over, and the men of the East Dale were
still standing together (not very triumphantly, because of their
slain) on the east side of the Cloven Knoll, the Westdalers came
toward them treading the field of dead from which the Flood sundered
them. As aforesaid, neither the East nor the West had heretofore been
much wont to resort to that place because of their dread of the Dwarfs
who dwelt in the cave above the whirlpool; but now the passion of
battle, and the sorrow for the dead, and the perplexity of the
harrying had swept all that out of their minds a while. So the chiefs
of the Westdalers stood among the corpses of the aliens on the crown
of the ness where Elfhild was wont to stand, and fell to talking with
their brethren of the East; and the man who took up the word for them
all was Wulfstan of Coldburne, a stead of the lower West Dale. And he
fell to praising the good help which the Eastdalers had given them by
cleaving so manfully to the shot-stour, which he said had been their
deliverance; for delivered they looked to be. "Albeit," says he, "they
whom ye dealt with so manfully, and whom ye have now put to the road,
be not the whole host of them, whereas while one moiety turned aside
to the shooting, the other went on down the Dale and somewhat away
from the Flood; and we left our brethren marching against them, and
must turn presently to their helping lest they be outnumbered by the
strong-thieves. Yea, and already we fear lest these devils have wasted
certain of our steads which would lie on their road, before our folk
might fall in with them. And now give us leave! but we pray that ye
may live hale and happy for the help ye have given us; and thou in
special, Osberne Wulfgrimsson, whom we know, and the tales of thee."
But as he was on the point of turning away, Osberne said in a loud
shrill voice: "Abide, master, and tell me one thing, to wit, the names
of the steads which the thieves have wasted." Said Wulfstan: "I may
not, because I know not: hereabout it is thin of dwellings; 't is a
five miles ere ye shall happen on a good homestead, Longryggs to wit:
here is nought but a little stead, fallen to be a cot, wherein dwell
none save two women, one old and one young. It is not like that the
thieves would have stayed for so little a thing. Farewell; if the
battle goes handily with us ye shall have tidings thereof tomorrow if
ye will come down hither; or a little lower down maybe, lest the
Dwarfs begrudge us."
And therewith he turned and went toward the place where they deemed
they should find the battle. As for the Eastdalers, they might tarry
no more in looking to their wounded folk; and a many were hurt so
grievously, that they had to be borne home in the four corners; of
whom was Stephen the Eater, and he lay long sick, but in the long
last, and it was a two months, was healed as well as ever he was. A
half score were sore hurt like to this; but of them who might carry
their grief home on their own legs were at least a score and six; but
thirteen were slain outright. And these it was deemed good, after due
thought taken, to lay them in earth in the field but a little way from
the Bight of the Cloven Knoll; and the place where they are laid, with
plenteous earth heaped over them, has ever since been called Shooters'
Knowe.
Chapter XXXIV. Osberne Sorrows for the Loss of Elfhild
Now some while before men were boun to depart to their own homes, the
sound of fresh battle was borne to them on the south-west; so, saving
those who must needs go tend the hurt on their way home, they might
not tear themselves away from that field of deed; and in special
Osberne, who had been busy enough in kenning the dead and wounded of
his folk while need was, came back to the verge of the Flood, where so
oft he had stood in love and joy, and stood there a long while, scarce
moving, with a shaft in his fingers and his bended bow in his fist,
his brows knit, his eyes staring out over the western field. It was
two hours after noon when the Westdalers turned to stir up the battle
again. And then was an hour ere the clamour of the fight came down
thither, and two hours yet it endured and was in all men's ears; and
then it died away, and the East men began to wander off from the
watching-place, wending this way and that, and the autumn day fell to
wane, and soon there were none left save Osberne and a half dozen of
the men of Wethermel. And one or another of them plucked him by the
sleeve and bade him come home with them, since the day was done, and
the battle would not quicken again, and the Westdalers had overmuch on
their hands to bear them any tidings till the morrow was a new day. At
first he heeded them nought, but in the end he turned on them with an
angry eye, yet spake mildly, and bade them get them home and eat and
sleep. "But leave me here," quoth he, "that I may watch a while lest
aught of new befalleth; and I will come to Wethermel when my heart
will suffer me." So they departed and left him; and there he stood,
till himseemed he had been there a long, long time. Night grew black
about him, and silence fell on the cloven plain of the Dale, save that
below him the speech of the eddies seemed to grow greater as other
voices failed. Then arose the wind, and went through the long grass
and talked in the crannies of the rock-wall of the Flood as the waters
spake below; and none came anear, nor might he hearken any foot of
man, only far-off voices from the steads of a barking dog or crowing
cock or lowing cow.
At last, when the night was beginning to change amidst the depth of
the darkness, himseemed he heard somewhat drawing anigh and coming up
the bent on the western side, and he wotted not but it might be the
unshod feed of men, and he lightly asked himself if the ghosts of the
dead made any sound with their feet as they trod the puddled earth
where a many had trodden before them; and so wild was his heart grown
now, that he thought it no great marvel if those that they had laid to
earth there should stand up and come before him in the night watches.
Then he nocked an arrow on his bow-string and handled his weapon, but
could not make up his mind to shoot lest the bow-draft should pierce
the quiet and rouse up inextinguishable shrieks and moans; and even
therewith, over those paddling feet, he seemed to hear a voice
beginning to cry, and he thought within himself: Now, now it is on the
way, and presently the air shall be full of it; and will it kindle
fire in the air?
But at that point of time the voice sounded louder and was in two or
three places, and even amidst its wildness the familiar sound smote to
his heart, for it was but the bleating of sheep, and now all the bent
over against him was alive with it. And of a sudden he was come to
himself and wotted what it was, that it was Elfhild's sheep, and that
they had been loosed or thrust out from their folds and had wandered
up there in the dark where so oft she had led them before. And now the
mere bitterness of grief took the place of his wildness, and he let
his bow and arrow drop to earth, and cast himself down on to the
trodden ground & buried his face in his hands and moaned, and speedily
the images of his life to come and the sorrow he must face passed
through his soul, for he knew that she was gone, and either slain or
carried away to where he should never hear of her or see her again.
At last, that his grief and wanhope might not rend his heart and slay
him then and there, and lest all the deeds whereto he was fated should
be spoiled and undone, self-pity fell upon him with the sweet
remembrance of his love, and loosed the well of his tears, and he wept
and wept, and might not be satiated of his mourning a long while. But
when the night was yet dark and no sign of dawn in the sky, and, might
he have seen it, the south-west was driving the rack low adown along
the earth, he rose up slowly and gat his bow and arrows into his
hands, and weakly and stiffly, like a man who hath been long sick, he
fell to going along the riverside toward Wethermel, and his feet knew
the way though his eyes might see it not. And as he went, with the
wind whistling about his ears and the picture of Wethermel before his
eyes, he found that life was come again to him, and he was beginning
to think about what he should be doing to win some way back to the
love that had been rent from him. Ever and anon, forsooth, as he was
amidst such thoughts, the tears brake out from his eyes again, but
still now he could refrain them better and better after each outburst,
and he had no more wildness as erst, as if he were out of the world
and drifting he knew not whither or why; but now he knew which was
himself, and which was grief and pain.
It was but just the grey of the morning when he crept into the hall at
Wethermel, and found his bed and cast himself thereon, and, all undone
by weariness, fell asleep at once.
He awoke with the house astir about him, and arose and sat down to eat
with the others, and was no harsher of speech than his wont, albeit he
looked stark and stern; and to some it seemed as if he had aged ten
years since yestermorn, and they deemed that the death of the folk lay
heavy on him, as was like to be, and they said as few words to him as
might be, for his grief seemed aweful to them. But when they had eaten
he bade three of his men come with him down the water to seek tidings
of the Westdalers. So they went together, and a little below the Bight
of the Cloven Knoll, out of earshot of the Dwarf-folk, they met with
others from the lower steads come upon the same errand; and the
Westdalers were just come to the water-side with Wulfstan for their
spokesman, who forsooth had gotten some scratches from the war-beast,
so that his head and his arm were bandaged. Now he spake: "Hail to
you, stout-hearts of the East! Ye may deem that we prevailed in the
second battle yesterday, or ye would scarce have seen us here this
morn. Now the battle was foughten all about the garth and the house of
Longryggs, which the strong-thieves had fallen on to waste, but the
women-folk of the stead had saved their lives by flight, and the
carles thereof were in our company fighting valiantly. So whatever is
lost was lost in open battle, wherein two score and six of our best
men have changed their lives; but as for the strong-thieves, besides
them who fell in your shot-stour, we have buried over seven-score; and
the rest are fled away, many of them grievously hurt. Wherefore,
friends, we have won a great victory: God and his hallows keep us for
any more such!" And it seemed as if the goodman were weeping-ripe,
whereof none marvelled. But Osberne spake, and the sound of his own
voice seemed strange unto him: "Tell me, goodman, have ye lost nought
by the murder of men whenas the strong-thieves fell on some stead?"
"Nay," said Wulfstan, "the thieves have wasted no other stead save
Longryggs, whereas, as I have said, the folks escaped the murder, and
this little house which is hard hereby of Hartshaw Knolls. There
forsooth the two women be missing, but no slain body of carle or quean
have we found, nought of slaughter save the slaughter of kine and
sheep. And I must tell you that this morning our folk sought all about
heedfully, yea, and looked into every thicket and nook of the wood."
"Belike," quoth Osberne, "they will have carried off the two women?"
Said Wulfstan: "I fear it may well be so."
Said Osberne: "Well, this loss of two women, whom maybe ye shall find
again, is but little: but grievous is the manfall of the battles. Yet
not soon meseem shall reivers fall upon West Dale now they have
learned the valour of the folk thereof. Heried be the Lord God that
the folk yet liveth and shall live!"
He spake measuredly and in a loud voice, so that all heard, and they
cheered his speech with deep and strong voice; but they who stood
nighest unto Osberne say that his face was stern and very pale as he
spake; and it seemed to them that had Boardcleaver been naked on the
West side in that stour yet more of the strong-thieves had fallen.
Now they parted, and Osberne and his Wethermelers went home, and the
other Eastdalers also, each to his place. But as to the Westdalers,
they fell to, and drew away the slain thieves from the field of deed,
for that they feared the begrudging of the Dwarfs, and they laid them
in earth hard by where they had stood to have that converse with them
of the East; and they raised a great howe over them, and it is called
Thieves' Howe unto this day. And the tale of the said thieves who were
slain by the Eastdalers in the shot-stour is three score and ten and
seven.
Chapter XXXV. Osberne Seeks Counsel of Steelhead
Wear the days hereafter into summer, and Osberne is at Wethermel, and
doth what work cometh to hand no worser than heretofore; yet folk
marvel that his sorrow over the man-fall of the Cloven battle seemeth
to wear off him but little, though he is mild and kind in speech to
all men. Much he sat talking with Stephen the Eater, who in these days
was growing whole of his hurts, and it is thought he learned some
hidden lore from him, for many deemed that Stephen was wise therein.
Every third day he went all alone to the Bight of the Cloven Knoll,
and sat there long through the day; but never had he any tidings of
Elfhild, nor forsooth did he look for any such. He learned from over
the water that there was no newcomer at Hartshaw Knolls, and that the
house and garth lay waste, and so was like to abide.
Now when it lacked but three nights of Midsummer, Osberne, after he
had spoken long with Stephen, set some victual in his scrip, and went
afoot in the evening-tide up the bent and over it among the
mountain-necks, and so into that same little dale where he had first
met Steelhead. There he sat him down on the grass by the brook-side
and ate his meat, and then, when it darkened so much as it would that
June night, he laid him down and slept in all trust of safekeeping. He
awoke at the end of dawn and washed him in the brook, and then clad
him and sat down to abide sunrise. Then even as the sun arose it smote
a beam of light from some bright thing overtopping the crown of the
hillside before him, and Osberne knew that there was come his friend
Steelhead, in such guise as he had first beheld him there: which was
in sooth the very thing which he desired.
So Osberne stood up to greet him and Steelhead came to him and put his
arms about him and kissed and embraced him, and Osberne wept for pity
and hope of his life. Then said Steelhead: "I know why thou art come
to me; a while agone I laid my hands upon thee that I might make thy
body stark for all adventure, and now thou wouldst have me do the like
for the soul of thee. Herein will I do what I may, but first we will
eat of the increase of Wethermel, that thou mayest see how much I love
thee and the land that bred thee."
So Osberne bestirred him, and kindled the cooking-fire and made ready
the meat, and they ate together in all content and friendliness. But
when they were full Steelhead spake: "Now whether wouldst thou be
silent thereof, knowing that I know it without words spoken?"
Quoth Osberne: "I would tell it."
"There is yet time," said Steelhead, smiling kindly on him, "so make
no tarrying."
The Osberne began straightway, and spared not words overmuch, but
herein he used the most when he told of Elfhild, what she was like in
those latter days, and how his heart enfolded her, and how sweet was
her converse with him; and when he was done Steelhead said: "What is
in thy mind concerning dwelling in the Dale amidst thine own folk?"
Said Osberne: "My mind it is to live and die here, and do all that is
due to the folk of my fathers." Said Steelhead: "Then thou must be
healed of this trouble; that is, thou must forget thy love and thy
longing, or at the least thou must think more of other matters than of
this. For I will not have it that thou my fosterling shouldst be a
kill-joy among men of the kindred; wherefore ill-luck will come of
it."
Said Osberne, knitting his brows: "I will not be healed in this way.
For do I not know that she also is wrapped in sorrow and tormented by
longing. Shall I leave her, therefore, as the dastard leaves a wounded
friend before the oncoming foeman?"
Steelhead smiled on him. Quoth he: "Thou wilt not be healed? So be it;
then mayst thou not abide in the Dale amongst the kindred, but carry
thy trouble to the lands of the aliens, where there is none to
remember the joyous face of thee before the trouble was."
"This may I do," said Osberne, "and even so it shall be since it is
thy will. But hast nought else to say to enhearten me in my travel?"
"This I have thereto," quoth Steelhead, "that though the world be wide
there are many ways about it, and meseemeth that there is somewhere a
way whereon thy feet and Elfhild's may draw toward one another." Said
Osberne: "May all good hap go with thee for thy word. Dost thou not
see how my face is already gladdened thereby?"
Said Steelhead: "This is hope, my son, that flareth up swiftly and
fadeth soon; but no this I shall give to thee, as I deem I may, that
never shalt thou lack hope so long as thou hast deeds to to. Call to
mind what thou thyself saidst unto Elfhild, that the only way to
bridge the Sundering Flood is for one of you, or both, to wander wide
in the world. But now tell me, what hast thou in thy mind to do in
these days that pass?" Said Osberne: "I have been thinking of it, that
when the Midsummer Feast is over I shall say farewell to my folk and
to ride to Eastcheaping to find Sir Medard; for meseems he is the man
whom I know out in the world who will put me in the way of deeds."
Said Steelhead: "And wilt thou go alone, or hast thou a mind to take
any with thee? Suppose it were Stephen the Eater, who is a man of
lore, and as I do thee to wit moreover, a friend of our own?" "Dost
thou command me to have him with me, lord?" said Osberne. "Nay," said
Steelhead, "I but ask thee of thy mind in the matter."
Said Osberne: "Then I shall tell the that my mind is to go all
birdalone. I would take no part of Wethermel with me, lest I soften
towards the Dale, and turn back some fair day of summer and fall to
nursing my sorrow therein. Moreover I know of Stephen that he is both
a wise man and a champion, and I deem it were well to leave such an
one to uphold the good days of Wethermel; so that whether I do that
which I would, and come back in joy and honour; or do it not, and die
away from my place, not without honour it may be, I shall yet know of
the thriving of my kindred and the pleasures of Wethermel, which shall
yet be glorious on the earth, even as it were a very living creature
and mine own true friend. Many a time shall I think of it, in good hap
and in ill hap, in grief and in joy."
"Hail to thy word, son and stout-heart!" said Steelhead, "for herein
thou thinkest of it as my very heart would that thou shouldst. Now I
see that I have indeed sown the seed of hope in thee, and I call it
the lack of fear."
And now he brought the talk on other matters, and was as kind and
friendly as might be, and Osberne deemed it was a great thing for him
that he had so won the love of this noble wight and great-heart. So in
all pleasure the day sped, and when it was hard on sunset Steelhead
spake: "Now must I get me back to my house and home of old time, and
thou shalt go home to Wethermel the dear; and now I see of thee that
thou shalt hold a cheerful countenance there, and depart when needs
must in honour and well-liking of all men."
So they stood up, but ere Osberne turned his face to the west he said:
"And when shall I see thee again, lord?"
"Who knows?" said Steelhead; "maybe when thou lookest least for me: on
the lonely marsh maybe, or in the thick of the forest; or in the midst
of the fierce battle, or on thy very death-bed; or it may not be at
all in thine earthly life."
"And that house whereto thou art now going, shall I ever see thee
there?" said Osberne.
"Surely I deem that thou shalt; and yet most surely not till thine
earthly days are over. But now farewell, and my heart goes with thee."
Therewith he turned and was gone, and Osberne went his ways to
Wethermel without looking after him. And now it seemed to him as if he
had been fain not to have gone back to that well-beloved stead, but to
have gone on east at all adventure; and he looked toward the day when
he must depart at last as a sad and sore time, when hope would be
dimmed by mere sorrow and trouble.
Chapter XXXVI. The Staves which Osberne Taught to the Dalesmen
Now all folk at Wethermel when they looked upon Osberne's face deemed
that he was bettering of the drearihood which had weighed on him ever
since the battle with the strong-thieves, and of that bettering they
were right glad, for they were wont to have much joy of his
fellowship. Came on therewith the Midsummer Feast of the Cloven Mote,
which, as aforesaid, was the greatest of all the feasts of the
Dalesmen, and Osberne was there with a countenance of good cheer no
worser than the best. Now at this feast not only did they do in the
heedfullest and solemnest wise all that belonged to Midsummer, as the
Trundling of the Fiery Wheel, and the Kindling of the Bale, and the
Leaping through the Fire; but also before noon, and ere these plays
were begun, was high mass sung in the goodliest fashion in each of the
two churches of Allhallows for the good rest of them who had fallen
manfully in battle with the thieves. And last of all, when the summer
night was as dark as it would be before the dawn, and the folk of the
two sides were all ranged each in a line on their own shore of the
river, they sang these staves from side to side across the Sundering
Flood, the Westdalers beginning, and then the Eastdalers taking it up:
Tis Summer and night,
Little dusk and long light,
Little loss and much gain
When the day must needs wane,
Little bitter, much sweet
From the weed to the wheat;
Little moan, mickle praise
Of the Midsummer days,
When the love of the sleeping sun lieth along
And broodeth the acres abiding the song.
Were the spring to come o'er
And again as before,
What then would ye crave
From the summer to have?
Sweeter grass would ye pray,
And more lea-lading hay?
For more wheat would ye cry,
Thicker swathe of the rye?
Stouter sons would ye ask for, and daughters more dear?
Well-willers more trusty than them ye have here?
O the wheat is yet green
But full fair beseen,
And the rye groweth tall
By the turfen wall.
Thick and sweet was the hay
On the lealand that lay;
Dear daughters had we,
Sons goodly to see,
And of all the well-willers ere trusted for true
The least have ye failed us to deal and to do.
What then is this,
That the summer's bliss
Somewhat ye fail
In your treasure's tale?
What then have ye lost,
And what call ye the cost
Of the months of life
Since winter's strife?
For unseldom the summer sun curseth the Dale
With the tears thrust aback and the unuttered wail.
Forsooth o'er-well
The tale may we tell:
Tis the spear and the sword
And the House of the Sward.
The bright and the best
Have gone to their rest,
And our eyes are blind
Their eyes to find.
In mead and house wend we because they were stayed,
And we stand up because in the earth they were laid.
Would ye call them aback
Then, to look on your lack?
Nay, we would that their tale
From our hearts ne'er should fail.
This then maketh you sad,
That such dear death they had?
This night are we sad
For the joy that we had,
And their memory's beginning
Great grief would be winning.
But while weareth away,
And e'en woe waxeth gay.
In fair words is it told,
Weighed e'en as fine gold;
Sweet as wind of the south
Grows the speech in the mouth.
And from father to son speeds the tale of the true,
Of the brave that forbore that the brethren might do.
When this was sung then each man went home to his house. But it is
said that these staves were made by Osberne, and that he taught them
to the Western men as well as to the Eastern.
Chapter XXXVII. Osberne Takes Leave of Wethermel
The next day at even, when all the folk were gathered before the porch
of the hall at Wethermel, making the most of that fair time, Osberne
craved silence a while, and when men were hushed he spake: "Kinsmen
and friends, I make it known to you that I must needs depart from you
tomorrow morning, though wheresoever I may be I shall ever hold in my
heart the hope of coming back to Wethermel; for it will be well enough
known to most of you that I love the Dale with great love, and this
stead in especial. But now I may not abide here longer, to such a pass
are things come with me.
"The story of the wherefore of this were long to tell if I had the
heart to tell it, which I have not. But this much may I say, that I go
to seek a life which will lead me back to Wethermel, it may be in joy,
it may be in sorrow, but in either case with such a heart in me as I
may live the rest of my days in the Dale, doing all that is due to the
kindred and the folk. Now it will be of no avail for any to strive to
put me from this mind, or to hinder me in my purpose, for go I must
and will. But this even, as we sit amidst the summer, and our hearts
are softened by beholding the peace and abundance of the Dale, and
thinking of all days that have been, and our fathers that have lived
and died here, I will ask you all and each one of you to say
straightway if in any wise I have wronged or hurt you; and if I have,
then will I make atonement to my power: so that since I may not bear
away with me Wethermel and its folk, I may at least bear away the love
of it."
When they heard these words of his they were mostly exceeding
downcast, for in sooth to every one of them his fellowship seemed both
a joy and a safeguard; and of the women, some were moved to tears, let
alone his grandam and his foster-mother. Albeit he had told his mind
beforehand to Stephen the Eater, who had dight him all things ready
for departure.
Now there was neither carle nor quean amongst them all who had a word
to say against him, or might call to mind aught but kindness at his
hands; and one after another they all said so much. But when they were
done, and there was silence again, Osberne spake: "Thou, grandsire,
art the master of Wethermel, but of late years hast thou suffered me
to share in thy mastership; nay, thou hast laid many charges on me
which I have taken, and done with them according to my might. Now
therefore meseemeth that thou wouldst scarce have it otherwise but
that somewhat of my redes and my will and my might should be left
after me when I am gone; but if I err in this my thought, I pray thee
say as much, and I will leave the matter where it stands, and thou to
be sole and only master of Wethermel whiles I am away."
Spake Nicholas thereat, and said that freely would he grant it that
Osberne's redes and well-doing should still be felt at Wethermel, and
that for his own part the governance of an house so great and lordly
as Wethermel had now become was overmuch of a burden to him, and that
gladly would he take to any man whom Osberne would put in his place;
and in good sooth he deemed he wotted who it would be.
Then turned Osberne to Stephen and said: "Thou, Stephen, art more in
the heart of my redes than any man else, and thou art both a wise man
as I deem, and a proven champion: so if I leave thee here in my skin,
wilt thou do the best for me, and be debonnaire with Master Nicholas
here and with my grandam, and kind to all the folk?" Said Stephen: "I
will do my best thereto, and will pray this of the folk, that they
will not hate me because I am not thou." At that word all they gave
him a welcome cheer, whereas their hearts burned within them for love
of Osberne and for praise of his words and for sorrow of losing him
and hope of his return; so that at that point of time themseemed they
might promise anything.
But Osberne said: "Stephen, my friend and fellow, reach out thine hand
that I give thee hansel before all of these of what mastership there
is in me." Even so did Stephen, and they clasped hands thereon.
After this Osberne looked about him and said: "Lo friends, how the
dusk has been creeping in on us amidst all this talk. So now do ye
women dight the board and light the candles within the hall, that we
may eat and drink together this last time for a long while."
Even so it was done, and all folk sat to meat, and thereafter was the
drink brought in, and they drank all a cup to Osberne, and he to them;
and then was the cup filled for Wethermel, and then again for the
Dale; and the last cup was for Osberne's luck.
Then came a word into his mouth, and he stood up and sang:
From the Wethermel reek
I set me to seek
The world-ways unkenned
And the first of the end.
For when out there I be
Each way unto me
Shall seem nought save it lead
Back to Wethermel's need,
And many a twilight twixt dawning and day
Shall the feet of the waker dream wending the way.
When the war-gale speeds
Point-bitter reeds,
And the edges flash
O'er the war-board's clash,
Through the battle's rent
Shall I see the bent,
And the gable's peace
Midst the Dale's increase,
And the victory-whooping shall seem to me oft
As the Dale shepherd's cry where the reek wends aloft.
When to right and left
The ranks are cleft,
And the edges wan
Mate master and man,
It shall be as the fall
Of a hindering wall
Twixt my blade and me
And the garth on the lea;
So shall day unto day tell the hope of the year,
And season on season shall draw the Dale near.
This they deemed kindly sung and well; and now so high rose their
hearts, that it was to them as if they saw the day of his returning
and the gladness of fellowship renewed.
Chapter XXXVIII. Osberne Parts from Stephen the Eater
The next morning Osberne went his way riding on a good horse, and not
without treasure in his scrip. He was girt to Boardcleaver and had the
wonder-bow and shafts with him; but the byrny, Hardcastle's Loom, he
left behind, and had but a white basnet on his head, for he deemed
that his friend Sir Medard would purvey him of armour. All the
household were without in the garth to see him off, but none went
further with him save Stephen the Eater, who rode with him as far as
the bent, and closely and lovingly they spake together on the way. But
when they were come to the crown of the bent Osberne drew rein and
said: "Now, my friend, shalt thou turn about and let me go my ways."
And they turned about both and looked down on Wethermel, and Stephen
cast his arm abroad and spake: "Best-beloved of all men, how long
deemest thou it shall be ere thou seest this again?"
"I wot not," said Osberne; "I am in the hands of Weird, to wend as she
will have me: but I will tell thee that I have hoped and prayed that
it might be in no longer space than five years; then shall I be of
twenty years and three, and she but a few weeks younger, and manhood
and womanhood and due service of the kindred shall lie before us both
if I find her alive; but if I find her dead, or have sure witness that
so she is, that moment shall I turn my face and come back to you, to
live and die with you as I may. There is the third thing left, to wit,
that I may wander about the world and find her not till I am exceeding
old; but even then shall I come back with her, or the memory of her.
Now I will not say Remember me, for therein I trust thee, but I will
bid thee live hale and merry, that when I see thee again thy face may
be as little changed as may be."
Therewith they parted, and Osberne looked not back again.
Chapter XXXIX. Osberne Gets Him a New Master
On the second day thereafter he rode through the gate of Eastcheaping,
and so up the street to the Castle; and many of the townsmen knew him,
and cried out good welcome unto him, but he stayed not for any, but
came his ways to the Castle, and lighted down in the forecourt and
asked for Sir Medard. Here also was he well known, and men were joyful
of his coming, and asked him many things of his doings and his
welfare; but he answered as shortly as he might and still asked for
Sir Medard; and they said that he might see him straightway, for that
he was sitting in the solar, and albeit he had a guest with him, they
doubted not but that the good knight would be fain of seeing his
fellow-in-arms.
So they led him in, and Sir Medard arose at once and greeted Osberne
with great joy, and embraced and kissed him. Then he turned to the
other man who was in the solar with him, and said: "Lo thou, Sir
Godrick, here is a champion whom thou wilt be glad to talk to,
meseemeth, when we have drunk a cup." Therewith he called for wine and
spices, for it was the time of the morning bever. Sir Godrick hailed
Osberne, who looked on him and saw that he was a tall man, long-armed
and very strong-looking, a man swart of visage, long-nosed and
long-chinned, with light grey eyes; but though he was somewhat sober
of aspect, there was nought evil-looking in his face. He looked
downright and hard at Osberne, and said: "If Sir Medard speaketh not
by way of jest, thou hast begun early, young man, and I wish thee joy
thereof." Osberne reddened and held his peace, but Medard said: "There
be of our foemen no few, who ever if they jested at the lad have done
with it now forever." Osberne reddened yet more if it might be, but
the long man took him by the hand and spake kindly to him, and said:
"Be not troubled at a light word of mine; at the first thou didst seem
so young and fair that it was not easy to think of thee grim amongst
the edges; but many a man lines hid within himself."
So now they were served of the wine, and Sir Medard spake to Osberne:
"Well, Dalesman, thou art come amongst us again, grown in manliness,
as was like to be. Now if thou be come but to see us and make us merry
with thy fellowship, it is well; but if thou have an errand, and would
ask something of us, it is better yet; since forsooth we deem that we
owe thee somewhat." Said Osberne: "Well then, true it is that I have
an errand and crave something, and that is soon told; for I would have
thee put me in the way of deeds to do, since I have left the Dale and
am seeking adventures."
"That will be the least of things to do for thee, my friend," said
Medard; "and in good time comest thou hither; for though the good town
is in all peace and lacks not men, yet here is Sir Godrick of
Longshaw, who is here with me partly for the gathering of men. But
good must they be who ride with him, and all without fear, whereas I
shall tell thee that he is the hardiest knight and most fearless rider
of these days. Now do ye two talk it over together."
Osberne looked Sir Godrick in the face, and ever the more he beheld
him the better he liked the looks of his eyes and his visage. So now
spake the Knight: "How sayest thou, young man? After all I have heard
of thee I may well ask thee to be of mine. Only I must tell thee that
the work may be both hard and rough; and though there may be somewhat
to be won, yet on the other hand the pay may be little more than leave
to do the work." Said Osberne: "So far as that goes, I am well willing
to take my chance of it; but there is one thing which might stand in
the way of service with thee." "What is that?" said Sir Godrick. Said
Osberne: "It is in my mind that from henceforth for a while my days
should pass in some land that is far hence, that is, from mine own
place, and rather to the south than the north."
"Where dwelleth thy kindred then?" said Godrick. "In the Dale, which
is cleft by the Sundering Flood," said Osberne, "up under the great
mountains; and I am of the East Dale, else scarce had I been here."
"Well," said the Knight, "my chiefest house, which hight Longshaw,
lieth a long way south of this; but I shall tell thee that it is no
great way from the Sundering Flood; but betwixt it and the Flood is a
great waste and forest. As to the Flood, it is there, where it runs
through this forest which is called the Masterless Wood, a mighty
great river, whereon are barges and cutters and seagoing dromonds
even, so that it sunders nought, but joins rather. Now besides my
house of Longshaw, which is as it were the knop and ouch of my manors,
I have other houses and strongholds, some of which be in the very
forest itself, and none of them more than a little way thence. For,
sooth to say, the said forest is a shield and a refuge to me, and I
had been overcome long ago save for its warding. I must tell thee
further, that the southernmost skirts of the said forest come down
within a score of miles of the great city by the sea which men call
the City of the Sundering Flood; and that the city-folk love the
forest little, save they might master it and make it their own,
wherein they have failed hitherto, praise be to Allhallows! For then
were I their very outlaw; whereas now there be others of the
knighthood who dwell anigh me who deem that I have the right of it in
warding my lands and theirs from these king-ruled chapmen. More by
token that the day may come when the folk of their own town, as the
gilds of the Lesser Crafts and the husbandmen and simple mariners, may
rise against them, deeming them, as the truth is, hard masters and
tyrants; wherefore, despite all their mastership, when I will and have
occasion thereto, I may ride their streets in safety, for they wot
that if they laid a hand on me or mine, it would be Bills and bows!
bills and bows! up one street and down another. Wherefore they meddle
not with me themselves, but set two or three of the barons who hold of
them on the east side of the Wood Masterless to harry me from time to
time. Lo thou, lad, now thou knowest not only whereabouts thou mayest
go to serve me, but also some deal of the quarrel wherein thou shalt
draw sword, if it come to that. How sayest thou?"
"Wait a while, Sir Knight," said Osberne, "and tell me first: if the
King of the city overcome thee, will he take from thee that which is
thine own of right, or that which thou hast taken from some other?"
"He will take nothing more than my life," said Sir Godrick; "but ye
may add thereto some small matter of the remnants of houses and land
which erst my fathers owned, well-beloved of all folk. Forsooth here
and there I hold some tower or strength which I have taken from my
foemen, who dared me thereto."
"Good is that," said Osberne; "now would I ask of another thing: when
thou hast been so pushed to it that thou must needs burn men in their
house, has it been the wont of thee and thine to let the old men and
women and children come out safe, or to burn them in with the rest?"
The Knight looked grimly on him, and said: "Friend of the Dale, if
thou comest to be my man, and thou dost such evil deeds as to burn in
them that may make no defence, then if thou escapest hanging at my
hands thou mayst call me thy dastard thenceforward."
Quoth Osberne: "One more thing I would ask yet: if these gilds of
craft aforesaid should rise up against their King and the tyrants of
the Porte, and they sent to thee for help, wouldst thou give them so
much help as not to be against them, but let them fight it out and the
mightiest to prevail? Or how much more wouldst thou give?"
Stood up Sir Godrick therewith and was very wroth. Said he: "If these
good fellows of the Lesser Crafts rise against their lords and send to
me, then if they have gotten to them so much as the littlest of the
city gates, of if it be but a dromond on the river, then will I go to
them with all mine and leave house and lands behind, that we may
battle it out side by side to live or die together. Or if they may not
do so much as that, yet if all or any of them may win out a-gates and
turn their heads toward Longshaw, then will I ride to meet them with
everything that may bear spear or axe, and I will have them home with
me and arm them and clothe them and feed them and house them, and my
lands shall be their lands, and bite and drop shall we share together,
so long as it holds out: and a noble host shall we gather, and harry
the King and his dastards till we prevail at last, and we will have a
new rule of the City and a new Porte, and I will be the captain
thereof if they will have it so: or else to die in the pain. Now I say
this is the least that I shall do. And if any man be so bold as to
tell me to my face that I will do less, I say that he lies in his
throat; and that shall I prove on him, body to body."
Now Sir Medard fell a-laughing, and he said: "There there! here is no
champion so hardy as to gainsay thee; for I know thee well, old
friend, that thou art preux above all men. And as for the Dalesman,
look on him and see how his eyes are glittering and his cheeks
flushing. Trust me, thou shalt have a man after thine own heart, young
though he be."
Sir Godrick sat down and passed his hand over his brow, and he smiled
a little, and said: "Well, man of the East Dale, hast thou perchance
yet another question to ask? for meseems for a man who would take
wages of me thou hast already asked a few."
Quoth Osberne: "Lord, be not wroth, but one more question have I to
ask. And as to my wages, let that be; for to ask these questions and
to have them thus answered, is better than wages to me. But now this
is verily my last question. That Masterless Wood which thou hast said
is a shield and refuge to thee, is it not also a refuge for rufflers
and runagates and strong-thieves? and what dost thou do in dealing
with such ill-doers?"
Now Sir Godrick spake quietly and said: "My lad, true it is that there
is a sort of folk who haunt the said wood, who live by taking from
others. But thou shalt wot that they do but little harm to husbandmen
and other poor folk, because such have little to be robbed of. And
forsooth many of those from whom they rob are worthy to lose that
which they have gotten from poor folk by fraud and covin, and may as
duly be called thieves as those that waylay them. Nevertheless we
suffer not the said runagates to live and rob wholly in peace; and if
we take them, they have the choice of a high gallows or somewhat hard
service under my captains. Nay, if it be proven of them that they have
been murderous and cruel, they may not forego the dance in the air,
even as I said afore. Now then, deemest thou me so evil a lord? Or
dost thou deem thee meet for nought save the host of heaven and to be
a sergeant of the blessed Michael himself? May he help and save us!"
Said Osberne: "That may come to pass, lord, one day, but meanwhile I
pray thee receive me as thy man, and thou shalt find that I am not so
ill at obeying a commandment as ye may deem."
And therewith he knelt before the Knight and put his hands between his
hands, and swore by Allhallows to be true to him.
Sir Godrick was well pleased, and said to Sir Medard: "Hath he done
aught hitherto for which I might dub him a knight?" "Many deeds," said
Sir Medard, "hath he done whereby he might be made a knight; but he
will not have it because his kindred are not and were not of the
knighthood, albeit men of honour."
"Well," said Sir Godrick, "in these matters let each man go his own
way, so let it be as it will; yet some name shall I give him that he
may be known by it. And lo thou, he is clad all in red, and ruddy of
countenance is he, and his sprouting beard shall be red when it hath
grown greater, though his hair is yellow and shiny as glass. Wherefore
now I shall call him the Red Lad; and by that name meseemeth he shall
be known far and wide."
Then they laughed all three, and the two knights drank, both of them,
to the Red Lad, and Osberne thanked them and pledged them in turn. And
well content was he with the way that things had gone.
Chapter XL. Osberne Rides with Sir Godrick
Osberne tarried at Eastcheaping for half a month while Sir Godrick was
doing his business, which was, in short, gathering good men for his
fellowship; at the end of that time he had gotten him one score and
five besides Osberne, of whom a half score were well known to Osberne
from the war of Deepdale: and he was fain of them.
At last they departed, and Sir Medard took a kind leave of Osberne.
And Sir Godrick rode oftenest beside the Red Lad and talked much with
him. They had a let-pass through the lands of the Baron of Deepdale,
but he would not suffer Sir Godrick to take any men from his country.
So they came to Deepham, which was the Baron's chief town, in a very
fair and fertile dale, well watered. And there was nought for it but
that the Baron would see the Red Lad, for Sir Godrick must needs speak
of him to the lord; and it must be said that there was now no enmity
between the Baron and Eastcheaping. So the Baron feasted them well
amongst his folk in his great hall; and when he saw Osberne he knew
him, and had been told as aforesaid that the Red Lad had been at the
carrying him away from the midst of his warriors; but the Baron hailed
him merrily, and cried out to Sir Godrick: "Sir Knight, if thou
wouldst have any man-stealing done thou art in the luck of it, for
this youngling is a past-master in the craft." And before the feast
was over, he sent for Osberne to talk to him, and asked many things
concerning the war as Osberne saw it from his side; and he showed that
he owed him no grudge for the stealing, for he gave Osberne gifts, a
fair gown of crimson cloth of gold, and a ruby ring. So all went well:
nevertheless Osberne was nought loth to leave Deepham, and thought it
not ill that his life lay not overnigh to the lord thereof.
Now when they had left the lands of Deepdale they turned away toward
the south, and rode two days through a fair country and peaceful, of
much tillage, besprinkled with goodly thorps, where they had
entertainment for their money and none seemed to fear them; and there
they saw no men-at-arms, and but few carles that bore any weapons save
whittle or boar-spear. At the end of that land they came to a good
town walled and warded; and there none hindered them, for the Knight
had acquaintance with the captain of the Porte, who had gathered him a
half dozen of stout carles, and there they rested three days. Thence
they rode one day amidst the same fair country, and they entered a
forest through which was a way which led them a little west of south.
The said forest gave out in three days, and then they came into a wide
valley watered by a fair river running due west. The said valley was
more for pasture than tillage, so that it was not thickly housed,
albeit when they had crossed the river they came on to a big stead of
many houses (and it was evening) much peopled, and the folk, who had
seen their riding, were standing with weapons outside the houses.
But when Sir Godrick had ridden forward alone and given out his name
and errand, to wit, that he was riding to Longshaw with some good
fellows who were fain to be of his folk, they all cried out a fair
welcome to him and his; for they knew of his deeds and his fame, and
were well-willers to him, and were fain of seeing him this first time.
Then stood forth an old long-hoary man, but tall and stark, and gave
himself out for the master of the stead, which hight Riverlease, and
he named him David and said: "Sir Knight, I am father of ten of these
men and the grandsire of one score and five, and other good fellows I
have with me to the tale of ten score and ten, and all these thou wilt
make merry by thy presence here tonight."
So he brought the Knight and his into the hall, and fair greeting he
gave them; and to Osberne, though the land were other and the houses
far bigger, for this David was as it were a king of the meadows, it
was almost as if he were back at Wethermel, so yeomanly and free
seemed all about him. And the folk were a fair folk, the women goodly
and the men free and bold. So all men were merry and thought but
little of the morrow. But ere the feast was over the old David spake
to the good Knight and said: "Sir Godrick, meseems thou shalt have
many a foeman on thy back these coming seasons, wherefore if any of my
grandsons or the swains here have a longing to ride with thee and
become thy men, I will spare them to the number of a half score. How
say ye lads," cried he down the hall, "be there any here who desire to
see how the Lord of Longshaw arrayeth his battles, and would bring
back some fair stories to the maidens' ears?"
Now it was soon seen that no few there were that would be fain to ride
with the Knight, who soon had his choice of ten tall men, stout, and
deft in weapons, and the end of the feast was merrier than the
beginning.
Next morning they were away early, and the old man led them out over
his meadows, which were exceeding rich of neat and sheep; and at
parting he said: "Fair Knight of Longshaw, I have gone as far as I may
this day, and must turn again; but this I say to thee, If ever the
world goes amiss with thee, as it yet may for all thy valiancy, or
forsooth because of it, come hither to me, or if I be dead, to my sons
and my grandsons, and abide here as merrily as thou mayst. And spare
not to bring whomso of thine thou wilt, as maybe this goodly youngling
here," laying his hand on Osberne's shoulder, "of whom some of thy men
were telling tales to some of mine last night. And now I bid farewell
to thee and thine."
So Sir Godrick and his went their ways, and the new fellows led them
by the shortest road, when they knew whither Sir Godrick will to wend.
And when they were out of that valley they came up on to the
down-country, which ran along the edge of the plain like a wall; and
thereby they went due south for three days, seeing but few folk and no
houses, save here and there the cot of a shepherd, and that often
builded on a wain. The three days ended, they come on a dale in the
downs where a little river cleft them, running about south-west, and
by the rede of their shepherd-fellows they turned and followed it out
of the down-country, and were presently in a land of mingled tillage
and pasture, well builded, but more with single homesteads than
thorps, though these were not lacking: albeit the folk of them were
not very free with their guesting, but yet for money, and as if half
compelled, they yielded up such good as the riders would have of them.
The next day, riding the samelike country, they saw on a bent a fair
town with white walls, and many goodly gables and slim spires rising
above them. But when they drew nigh thereto, an hour before sunset,
they found that the said walls were of other uses than to be looked
at, to wit to keep them out of their night's lodging; for the gates
were shut, and there were spears and basnets glittering over the
battlements. So Sir Godrick rode forward toward the gate, taking
Osberne and a trumpet with him, and there bade blow a point of peace
and crave speech of the captain of the guard.
Then stood up a tall man on the gate, armed at all points in white
armour, and by him were two or three men-at-arms and one with a
cross-bow ready bent. Cried out the tall man: "Go ye, trumpet and all,
and let us see the last of you! For we know you, outlaws of Longshaw.
The better luck for you if we come not to your house speedily. Go ye,
make ready for us!" Sir Godrick burst out a-laughing and turned his
horses head; but even therewith Osberne, who was exceeding
keen-sighted, saw the cross-bowman raise his engine; but the Red Lad
had his dwarf-wrought bow bended in his hand, so that ere the
cross-bow stock came to the man's shoulder he fell clattering down
with a shaft through his throat, and Osberne rode back speedily after
his lord with a half dozen shafts and quarrels whistling about him,
but none touched him, and great was the cry and yell that came from
the town gate.
Now when Osberne was with his captain again, that one spake to him and
said: "Red Lad, Red Lad, a sharp shaft is somewhat of a fierce answer
to a rough word. Next time let them shoot ere ye shoot."
"Nay, lord," said Osberne, "had I waited this time thou might'st have
come by a knock from yonder carle's quarrel." And he told him what he
had seen. Then said Sir Godrick: "Then I am wrong and thou right, and
I thank thee for the shaft. I might have known that thou wouldst be
wise."
So they fetched a compass about that surly town, and rode a two hours
ere they took harbour in a little wood, and held good watch and ward
all that night. But none meddled with them.
The day after, by the rede of the shepherd-folk, they turned up into
the hills again, for they had no wish to raise the country against
them; and to say sooth, Sir Godrick was somewhat pensive that he found
enmity so far off his own land. So they rode the hills for five days,
falling in with few folk, and going slowly because of the rough ways.
Thereafter they needed victual, and had been fain of better lodging
might they get it; and whereas they saw a fair plain well builded and
tilled, with good roads through the same, and knew that this was the
nighest way to the Wood Masterless, they turned down thither at all
adventure, and found no evil haps there, but that the folk were well
enough pleased to make their market of the riders, and had neither
fear of them nor harboured enmity against them. Thus then they rode
for two days, and at the end of the second day entered a good
cheaping-town, unfenced save by timber pales. There they abode a whole
day, yet warily, since, though there were not waged men-at-arms in the
stead, there went about many stout carles, who all bore long whittles,
and looked as if their bills and bows had not been far to seek. But no
strife betid.
Chapter XLI. They Joust with the Knight of the Fish
Thence they rode through the fields and the thorps two days, and on
the third day in the morning they saw a fair white castle on a hill,
and on the plain underneath a little plump of men-at-arms under a
banner. So the Knight arrayed his folk and went forward warily,
although that folk seemed to be not above a score; for he knew not
what might be behind them; and they were hard on the baily of the said
castle. But when they were come within half a bow-shot, and Osberne
could see the banner that it bore two silver Fish addorsed on a blue
ground, a herald pricked forth from the castle-folk, and when he drew
nigh to Sir Godrick and his he said: "If I knew which were the captain
of the riders I would give him the greeting of my lord, Sir Raynold
Fisher of the Castle of the Fish." "Here then is the captain," said
Sir Godrick; "what would Sir Raynold with him?"
"This," said the herald, "that whensoever my lord seeth the riding of
any weaponed men over a half score by tale, they must tarry and joust
with him, two of theirs against two of his, and must run with sharp
spears of war till one side is overthrown or sorely hurt. This is the
custom of the Castle of the Fish, and hath been these hundred years.
Wherefore now declare thy name, Sir Knight."
"This is an evil custom," said Sir Godrick, "and sorts but little with
mine errand, for I have overmuch bitter earnest on hand to play at
battle. But since thy lord besetteth the way I must needs defend
myself against him, as I would against any other ruffler or
strong-thief. Go tell him that the Knight of the Weary-Strife will
come presently with a good man of his and deliver him of his jousts."
And Sir Godrick was very wroth.
So when the herald was gone Sir Godrick turned to Osberne and said:
"How sayest thou, Red Lad, is this any of thy business?" "All of my
business, lord," said Osberne, "albeit I am none so wroth as thou
art." Said the Knight, looking on him kindly: "Thou art not bound to
run, Red Lad; the sharp spear is an unhappy beast, and these men are
doubtless of the deftest." Said Osberne: "It all comes in the day's
work, lord; I pray thee turn me not back."
"Well, do we on our basnets and make we speedy end of it," quoth Sir
Godrick; "a wise man must ever wait upon a fool's pleasure."
So the two of them went forth, and found the others ready over against
them, the Knight of the Fish against Sir Godrick, and a very tall,
stark man-at-arms against Osberne. Short is the story of this course;
for Sir Godrick and the Fish brake their spears, but in such wise that
the Castle-knight lost his stirrups, and it went but a little but that
he fell to field. As for Osberne, he played so warily that he set his
spear-point in the default of the long man's defence just where arm
joins shoulder, and the spear went through and through him, and he
fell to the earth most grievously hurt. Therewith Osberne, who must
needs let his spear fall, took a short ax from his saddle-bow (for he
would not draw Boardcleaver) and abode what was to do. But the Knight
of the Fish cried out for fresh spears for him and Sir Godrick, and
must needs run again, and this time the Knight's spear brake on Sir
Godrick, whose shaft held that he drave the Knight of the Fish clean
over the arson of his saddle, and but for the goodness of his shield
and double jazerant the spear-head had been in his breast withal.
Then Sir Godrick cast up his spear-head, and lifted the visor of his
basnet and looked around, and saw Osberne sitting still upon his horse
and the long man in the arms of his fellows, and he cried out: "Now
this comes of fools! Here is our journey tarried, and one man or two,
who be not of our foes, slain or sore hurt, and all for naught. Ho ye!
give my man his spear. And thou, Red Lad, come up before they make us
do more hurt."
But therewith the Knight of the Fish sat up and had come to his wit,
and laughed and said: "Here is a surly one! Why, thou might'st
complain more if ye had come to the worse as we have. Come now, all
the sort of you, into my house, and drink a cup with us for the
washing away of all grudge against the honorable custom of the Fish."
Sir Godrick shook his head, but the wrath ran off him and he said:
"Sir Knight, thou art debonnaire in thy folly, and I thank thee; this
thy bidding might we have taken with a good will hadst thou not
compelled us to waste our time in knocking you off your horses. And I
am sorry we have hurt thy champion, and well I hope that he will be
clean healed."
"Dost thou?" said he of the Fish; "now will I tell thee that if he be
healed, I will send him on to thee to be thy man, that is if he will
go. For well I know thee that thou art the Lord of Longshaw: and as to
my champion, he will suit thee to a turn, for he is well-nigh as surly
as thou, and as stiff in stour as may be."
Hereat all laughed, and they bade each other farewell, and so departed
with good will. So they rode on, and nought more befel that day, and
they guested in a fair thorp in good enough welcome.
Chapter XLII. They Deliver the Thorp-Dwellers from the Black Skinners
Now they rode that fair well-peopled land, and nought befel them to
tell of till the fourth day thence, and then, as they were riding a
good highway with a somewhat steep bank or little hill on their left
hands, as they turned about the said hill and had all the plain to
their right hands before them, they saw new tidings, and it was just
about high noon. For there lay in their road, a mile and a half ahead,
a thorp so big that it was well-nigh a little town, but quite
unfenced, though many of the houses were were goodly and great as for
such a place. But now all was going ill there, for they saw smoke and
flames coming forth from the windows and roofs of many of the houses,
and a confused crying and shrieking came down the wind to them, and
Osberne the keen-eyed deemed he could see folk, some a-horseback,
fleeing down the highway toward them. Then Sir Godrick cried out:
"Prick on, good men of mine! This is no case for tarrying, these be
the Black Skinners, and if we make not the more haste, all will be
under fire and steel."
And he spurred withal, and Osberne after him. But now as they drew
nigher there was no naysaying but that folk were fleeing desperately
along the highway, and some with their hands spread out to the
newcomers as if praying for help, young men and old, women and
children; and after them came howling and smiting men-at-arms in wild
armour, and though they were not in all ways like to those with whom
the Dalesmen had fought by the Sundering Flood, yet somehow they
called those wretches to Osberne's remembrance, and he knew at once
what had befallen, and wrath flamed up in his heart, for it well-nigh
seemed to him as if Elfhild must have been borne off again. And he
unknit the peace-strings from about Boardcleaver, and drew him forth
so that a clear humming noise went forth into the sunlit air, and
spurred on so hard that he outwent every man there.
But when the Skinners saw those riders coming on, they stayed the
chase, and some few tarried while they shot from their short-bows,
which did but little harm, and so they hustled back into the thorp;
and some few, the first of them, gat through and off into the fields;
but the fleers drew aside to the right hand and the left, calling
blessings on the good Knight and his, and, when the torrent of them
was past, followed after timidly towards their wasted dwelling. And as
Sir Godrick and his were within the thorp they found a many of the
Skinners there (two hundreds of their carcases were buried afterwards)
and all about by the houses lay mangled bodies of the country-folk,
some few with weapons in their hands, but more of women and children.
But when Godrick and his had slain the first plump that they had
driven in from the road, the Knight cried out: "Ye thorp-dwellers,
look to quenching the fires, while we slay you these wolf-swine."
Thereon the countrymen began to run together with buckets wherever the
riders were before them. And there was a pretty stream running down
the mid-most of the street, and though it were dyed with blood that
day, it was no worse for the quenching of the flames. Meanwhile Sir
Godrick and his set themselves to the work, and it was not right
perilous, for the thieves were all about scattermeal in twos and
threes, and most afoot robbing and murdering and fire-raising, so that
they made but such defence, when they made any, as the rat makes to
the terrier. Shortly to say it, in half an hour there was not one of
them left alive, save some few who gat to their horses and fled,
having cast away their weapons and armour. Then the riders turned to
help the thorp-dwellers in quenching their fires, and in some two
hours they had got all under wherein was any hope, and the rest they
must let burn away.
Then would Sir Godrick have gone his ways, but the poor folk of the
thorp prayed him so piteously to abide till the morrow that he had no
heart to naysay them. So they brought him and his what things they
might get together after the ravage, and begrudged them nought.
Moreover in the morning five stout fellows of the younger sort prayed
him to take them with him to serve him in war, since they knew not now
how to live; so he yeasaid them, nothing loth, and horsed them on the
Skinners' way-beasts, which were good, and armed them with such of
their armour as was not too filthy for decent men to use. The rest of
the horses and gear they left to the thorp-abiders, to better their
hard case withal.
So they departed, and that same day they came on two other thorps, but
not so big as this, which had been utterly ravaged, so that there was
neither dog nor cat therein, save in one house two little men-children
of two and three years old, whom they brought away with them for
pity's sake.
The next day they came to a cheaping-town, walled and defensible,
whose gates were shut for fear of the Skinners. But when Sir Godrick
had spoken to the captain of the guard at the gate, and had told him
how they had fared of late, and of the slaughter of the Skinners, they
opened to them joyfully, and made them kindly welcome, and there they
rested a three days, of which rest their way-beasts had great need.
Chapter XLIII. They Come to the Edge of the Wood Masterless
Now when they went on thence, they came within two days into a country
all broken up into little hills and ridges, and beset with scraggy
shaws, wherein were but few men and fewer dwellings, and the men
either hunters or herders of neat, well-nigh wild, and this lasted
them for three days more; but they knew hereof beforehand, and had
made provision therefor at that last cheaping.
But at the end of the three days they came to a place where was a
narrow stretch of green mead and a few acres in the wilderness, and a
little river ran through all that, and above it on a height, steep and
wellnigh sheer on all sides save one, was a castle high and strong,
and as they drew nigh thereto Osberne saw a banner thrust out from the
highest tower, and the Knight said to him: "Red Lad, whose banner is
that?"
"I wot not," said Osberne.
"Canst thou see the blazon of it?" said Sir Godrick.
"Yea," said the other; "it hath a White Hart collared and chained with
gold and emparked on a green ground."
"Sooth is that," said Sir Godrick. "Now look behind thee over thy
shoulder." Even so did Osberne, and saw a banner borne by one of
theirs, and the selfsame blazon on it; and now he called to mind that
never erst had he seen Sir Godrick's banner displayed. And he laughed
and wondered, and was some little deal abashed, and he said: "Lord, is
this Longshaw?" Laughed the Knight in his turn, and said: "What, thou
deemest this no very lordly castle for him who hath to withstand
barons and portes and kings? Nay lad, look again and tell me if thou
seest the Long Shaw; this is called Woodneb, and therein is a captain
of mine who hight Edward the Brown, and therein shall we rest a while
ere we enter the Wood Masterless. And hence onward to the Long Shaw is
a twelve days' journey if all go well."
Now when Osberne heard that he was the better content, for in good
sooth that desert-hold seemed all too strait to keep within its walls
the valiancy of Sir Godrick and his host.
So presently the gates were thrown open, and folk gaily clad and armed
came forth to meet their lord and his new men, and before them went
Edward the Brown, a short thick man, but very sturdy-looking, his hair
cut short to his head; small brown eyes [had he] and short nose, so
that he looked somewhat like a bear; but a valiant man he was, and a
trusty.
There then they had good entertainment, as men who were at home again,
and they abode there seven days [ere] they departed, and had good
disport of hunting and hawking; and there was much minstrelsy and
tale-telling in the hall a-nights: and there must Osberne tell what
stories he knew of the war of Eastcheaping and the matters of the
Dale, both the tidings of his own day and of the days of his fathers;
and therewith were men well content, for a good tale-teller he was.
No little also he talked with Sir Godrick, and especially on one
matter: for his mind dwelt much on those same Skinners whom they had
overthrown, and he kept weighing them against those evil aliens with
whom he had fought across the Sundering Flood, and who, he deemed full
surely, had borne away Elfhild. And on a day he asked Sir Godrick
concerning it, and if these two sorts of wretches had aught to do with
it; and he told him all the story of that battle, and what like his
foemen were in body and array, and of their horses and armour and
weapons, and of their shrieks and the gibbering of their Latin.
Then said Sir Godrick: "I will tell thee what meseemeth of thy foemen
of that day, that they be of the kindred of these Black Skinners,
though of another tribe, so that men call them the Red Skinners,
though ye shall know that neither the Red nor the Black call
themselves Skinners, which is but a name of terror which the
country-folk have fixed on them for their evil deeds. Now further,
although the Red Skinners be worse than any man else, they are not so
bad as the Black. That is, they are more like men and less like wolves
standing upright: to wit, they waste not and destroy not everything
forthright, but keep it to make some gain thereof. As for example,
they slay not and rip not up all their captives whatsoever they may
be, but keep such as they may deem likely to sell to the
thrall-cheapers. Now as to thy foes being of this ill folk, I deem it
more like the more I think thereof, for not only hast thou given me a
true picture of their aspect, but it is mostly the other side of the
Sundering Flood which they haunt, though whiles we meet them about the
borders of the Wood Masterless nigh unto the Flood. Withal I must tell
thee, that though I speak of both the Black and the Red Skinners as of
nations or tribes, I say not but they be mingled with runagates of
divers folks; for whatever is worst or evillest or cruellest will
drift toward them; and I wot not but that these men be worse than they
of the blood, having in them more malice and grudging. But this I know
for sure, that these are they who set them to work on such a business,
and spy for them, and sell them their plunder, as they may well do
since they are of aspect like other folk and know their tongues--But
what aileth thee, Red Lad, to look so wan and so perturbed of
countenance? Hast thou aught on thine heart which you wouldst tell
me?"
"That have I," said Osberne: and so shortly as he might he told his
lord the whole tale of his dealings with Elfhild, and how she had
vanished away before hand might [touch] hand or face face; and how he
deemed that she had been borne off by these same Red Skinners. And
when he had done Sir Godrick said: "Poor lad, and this was the cause
then that made thee so eager to take service along with me! Well, thou
hast done wisely; for first, thou hast got thee a faithful friend; and
next, if thou never amendest it nor settest eyes on the maiden again,
yet surely the doing of deeds shall ease thy sorrow, till at last it
shall be scarce a sorrow to thee, but a tale of the past. And
moreover, in coming to my house thou shalt have come to the only place
where thou mayst perchance happen on tidings of her; since with these
men we have to do, and also at whiles with those who deal with them by
way of chaffer. And if we fall in with any of the Red ones, thou shalt
make what captives thou wilt, and for the saving of their lives they
may tell thee somewhat to further thy search. Hold up thine head then!
for surely even now thou art doing all that thou mayst in the matter."
Herewith must Osberne be content perforce, and in sooth his heart was
the lighter that he had told his trouble to so good a friend as was
Sir Godrick.
Chapter XLIV. They Reach Longshaw and Osberne Gets Him a New Name
But the seven days over, they departed on their ways to the house of
Longshaw, which well they knew; and they rode first for two days
through rough land pretty much as it had been before Woodneb, and they
saw all that way but three little houses of hunters or fowlers; and
this, they told Osberne, right on from Woodneb was the beginning of
the Wood Masterless. Thereafter they came amongst great timber-trees
with wood lawns betwixt, and but little underwood, and a goodly piece
of the world that seemed unto Osberne. Three days it held so, and then
came broken ground, whiles with much tangled thicket and whiles
treeless, and this was a two days' ride; and many were the wild deer
therein, so that their cheer was greatly amended. Thereafter was the
wood thinner and more plain, and there was a clear road through it;
and on the first day of their riding this way they came upon a sort of
folk who were sitting on the greensward eating their dinner. They were
fifteen all told, all of them with weapons, but Sir Godrick and his
came upon them so suddenly that they had no time to rise and flee, so
sat still abiding haps. They had a good few of sumpter-horses with
them, and it as soon clear to see that, though they were weaponed,
they were not men-at-arms, but chapmen. Sir Godrick entreated them
courteously, and asked them whence and whither, and prayed them of
tidings. They said they were come from the City of the Sundering
Flood, and had ridden the Wood instead of taking ship on the river,
which was far safer, because they were bound for some of the cheaping
towns to which Sir Godrick and his had given the go-by. They said that
all was at peace in the City and the Frank thereof, and there was
little of strife anywhere anigh. In the end they bade the Knight and
his men sit with them and share their feast under the green-wood tree.
Sir Godrick yeasaid that with a good will, and they were presently all
very merry. Sooth to say, though they made as if they knew him not,
and never named his name, they knew him well enough, and were a little
afeard of him, and only too well content if he named himself not, for
they were of the gilds who were scarce good friends with Longshaw: so
that it had been little more than a fair deed of war if he had made
them unbuckle and open.
When dinner was over and they were drinking a cup, he called three of
the wisest of them apart along with Osberne, and asked them
straightway if they knew of any fair maid who had been bought of late
by any chapman from the Red Skinners, and he bade Osberne tell closely
what like was Elfhild: even so he did, sore abashed the while. But
when he was done, the chapmen laid their heads together, and asked one
or two others of their company, but could give no tidings of any such.
So therewith they parted, and Sir Godrick and his rode the wood, which
was diverse of kind, for six days more; and at last, on a bright sunny
afternoon, when after riding a plain not much be-timbered they had
made their way through a thick and close wood for some five hours,
they came out of the said wood on to a plain of greensward cleft by a
fair river, which winded about the foot of a long low ridge where were
orchards and gardens a many, and all above them so many buildings and
towers and walls of stone, that to Osberne it seemed as if they had
before them a very fair town. But even therewith all the company by
Sir Godrick's bidding stayed, and drew up in a line, and the banner of
the Hart impaled was displayed; and Sir Godrick spake to Osberne and
said: "Lo, Red Lad, my House of Longshaw, and this is the Shaw which
we have come through: now how likest thou the house?"
"Well, and exceeding well," said Osberne; "it is as a town."
"Yea," said Sir Godrick; "and therefore if I can but keep it well
victualled, and have with me a host big enough of stout men, it shall
never be taken."
Now Osberne looked again, and he saw that midmost of the towers and
walls was a very great hall exceeding fair, with lovely pinnacles and
spires and windows like to carven ivory, and beside it a church fairer
yet; and then before it and lower down the hill and on either side
were huge towers, stern and stout, all without fretwork or ornament;
and there were many of these and one to help the other, all about the
hill, and down by the river-side a baily such as never was a stronger or
a wiser. And Sir Godrick said: "See thou, lad, those fair and
beauteous buildings were the work of peace, when we sat well beloved
on our own lands: it is an hundred of years ago since they were done.
Then came the beginning of strife, and needs must we build yonder
stark and grim towers and walls in little leisure by the labour of
many hands. Now may peace come again, and give us time to cast wreaths
and garlands of fretwork round the sternness of the war-walls, or let
them abide and crumble in their due time. But little avails to talk of
peace as now. Come thou, Red Lad, and join the host of war that
dwelleth within those walls even as peaceful craftsmen and chapmen
dwell in a good town. Lo thou, they fling abroad the White Hart from
the topmost tower: Blow, music, and salute it."
Then all their horns blew up, and they set forward toward the baily of
the castle. And it is said indeed that five thousand men-at-arms,
besides the women and other folk that waited on them, dwelt for the
most part in the House of Longshaw.
So that even was high feast holden in the great hall of Longshaw,
where by Osberne's deeming all was fairer and daintier within even
than without. There was the Red Lad shown to a good place and all
honour done to him, and his lord looked to it that the tales of his
valiancy should be known, so that all thought well of him.
There was but little doing in those months which followed the
home-coming of Sir Godrick, as he was at peace with his neighbours so
to say. But he made Osberne captain over a band of good men, and sent
him on divers errands wherein was some little peril; and in all of
these he did wisely and sped well. Amongst others he went down with
ten tens of men through the Wood and right down to a certain haven on
the Sundering Flood, with the errand of warding chapmen and others who
were bringing many loads of wares for the service of the house. There
then he beheld the great water for the first time since he had left
the Dale, and wondered at its hugeness and majesty; and the sorrow of
his heart stirred within him when he thought how far they two had come
from the Bight of the Cloven Knoll, he and the Sundering Flood. But he
had no leisure to grieve overmuch, and his grief was but as the pain
of a hurt which a man feels even amidst of his deep sleep. Of those
chapmen and others he asked much concerning Elfhild; and they could
tell him many tales of the Red Skinners and their misdeeds, but nought
that seemed to have aught to do with his love. On the way back with
the train of goods, which was great and long-spun-out, a band of the
waylayers laid an ambushment against it, hearing that the leader of
its guard was but a young man new to war. But they were best to have
left it alone, for Osberne was well aware of them; and to be short, he
so ambushed the ambushers that he had them in the trap, and slew them
every one: small harm it was of the death of them. Now this was the
first time in his warfare that his men fell on with the name of him in
their mouths, and cried, The Red Lad! the Red Lad! Terrible indeed
became that cry in no very long time.
Chapter XLV. The Red Lad Scatters the Host of the Barons
So wore the seasons into winter, and all was tidingless at Longshaw.
Long were it indeed to tell the whole tale of the warfare of the House
of Longshaw, even for those years while Osberne abode with Sir
Godrick. For the Knight was not only a fearless heart in the field and
of all deftness in the handling of weapons, but he was also the wisest
of host-leaders of his day and his land, so that with him to lead them
an hundred was as good as five hundred, take one time with another.
But of all this warfare must only so much be told as is needful to
understand the story of Osberne and his friend of the west side of the
Sundering Flood.
But first it must be said that Osberne throughout that autumn and
winter spared not to question every wight whom he deemed anywise
likely to have heard aught of Elfhild; and heavy and grievous became
the words of his questioning, and ever his heart sickened before the
answer came. But of one man he gat an answer that was not mere naysay,
to wit, that months ago (and it must have been when Osberne first met
Sir Godrick at Eastcheaping) he and two fellows were journeying on the
other side of the Sundering Flood, but much higher up, and they came
across a thrall-cheapener who said that he had a choice piece of goods
if he could but get a price for it, and thereon showed them a damsel
as fair as an image, and she was like to what Osberne had told of her.
And then the thrall-cheapener said that he had bought her of the Red
Skinners, who had borne her off from a countryside far and far away,
but somewhere anigh the Sundering Flood. That man said that they
bought her not of the carle, whereas the price was high and it was not
much in their way of business.
Now this story was told a little after Yule, and the chapman who told
it was going back again presently through the Wood and across the
Flood, since the season was mild; and Osberne asked would he take him
with him, in case he might hit upon anything in those parts. The
chapman was nought loth, as may be deemed, to have such a doughty
champion to his fellow farer; so Osberne asked leave of his lord, who
would not gainsay him since nought was stirring, but bade him take
three good men of his friends with him. So they went, and crossed the
Flood a few days before Candlemass; and when they were on the other
side they fell to asking questions at the houses of religion and of
the chapmen whom they met there. Also they gat them into castles and
great houses where many servants are wont to be, and not a few bought
at a price; and there they used both tongue and eyes. Thus fared they
a twenty days' journey up the water, keeping ever somewhat nigh; but
woe worth, if they gat them no great scathe (though they had some
rough passages forsooth, which time suffereth us not to tell of), yet
also they gat no good, and were no nearer to hearing a true word of
Elfhild than ever.
So back comes Osberne, cast down and somewhat moody, but straightway
finds tidings that drive all other things out of his head for a while.
It was a little after Marymass that he comes home to Longshaw, and
hears tell how war, and big war, has arisen. For the Barons who lay
mostly to the east and north of Longshaw (though some help they had
from the west and the south) both hated Sir Godrick sorely because he
withheld them from the worst deeds of tyranny, and also, though they
owed not service to the King of the Great City or the Porte thereof,
yet were they somewhat under their power; at least each one of them
was. These then had met together and made a great league, and had
sworn the undoing of Sir Godrick and the House of Longshaw for ever.
And all the world knew that they were but the catspaw of the King and
the City and the tyrannous Porte, though neither of them would let
themselves be seen therein.
Now Godrick sends for Osberne, and talks long with him, and the end of
that talk is that he sends him on the errand to go seek the hosting of
them of the Barons' League who dwelt furthest north, and to fall on
them as fast and fierce as he may, so as to break up the said hosting,
so that he may not have these men on his flank when he marches against
the main host, which he will do with all speed. All of which he deems
may be done, because he wotteth that the Barons deem of him that he
will abide their coming to Longshaw, and that when they have shut him
up there, they shall then have the open help of all the strength of
the King and the Porte.
Now Osberne heard and understood all, and the men are all ready for
him, a thousand and three hundred by tale; so he makes no delay and
leads them by ways unkenned so diligently that he breaks forth on them
before they be duly ordered, though they be all out in the fields
drawing together. Shortly to say it, his thirteen hundred men are more
by a great deal than their six thousand, and they scatter them to the
winds so that they can never come together again, and all their
munitions of war and matters for feeding and wending are destroyed.
Then turns the Red Lad and wendeth, not back again to Longshaw, but
thither whereas he wots the great battle shall be, and on the very eve
thereof he rideth into Sir Godrick's camp; and such an outcry of joy
there was when he bears in the taken banners and such spoil as was not
over-heavy to ride with, as that no man there was of Sir Godrick's but
he knew full surely that the victory would be theirs on the morrow. As
for Osberne, all men praised him, and the good Knight embraced him
before all the host and the leaders thereof, and said, "Here is one
shall lead you when I am slain."
Even so it went. Of a sooth stiff was the stour, for the Barons and
theirs were hardy men and of great prowess, and were three to Sir
Godrick's one. But they knew that they should not have the help they
looked for, for they had seen, ere the battle was joined, those taken
banners, and the others had mocked them and bade them come across to
serve under such and such a banner. So it was not long ere a many of
them fell a-thinking: What do we to perish here, when at our backs are
those so mighty castles and strengths of ours? Let us draw away little
by little and get behind our walls, and there gather force again
little by little. But soon they found that they would have no such
leave to depart but as broken men fleeing at all adventure, for their
foemen had entered too far in to them, and had cleft their array in
many places. And their banners where thrown down and their captains
unheeded, and at last there was no face of them against the foe;
nought but heaps of huddled men, who knew not where to turn or whom to
smite at: and the overthrow might be no greater, for at noon-tide
there was no host left that at matins had been as great and goodly an
host as ever was seen in those parts.
And now was the purpose of the King and the Porte broken, and they
must sit still and do nothing; nay, have got to be well content if the
Small Crafts take not the occasion to rise against them. But to say
sooth these knew their own opportunity and took it, as ye shall find
hereafter.
That great battle was fully foughten on the first of May, and ere a
half month was fully worn the Barons' League sent a herald to Longshaw
praying for peace; but Sir Godrick straightway sent back answer that
he would grant the Barons peace when they had delivered up all their
strengths into his hands, then and not before. Such answer the herald
bore back. But their proud stomachs had not yet come down so far, and
they but sent back their defiance renewed: for they though that,
though there were not strong enough to meet Longshaw in the field, yet
they might hold their strengths in despite of it, and so dally out the
time until the King and the Porte were strong enough to come to their
help. Now was this put to the test; for straightway, when Sir Godrick
had their answer, he rose up and led a host against the castle of the
greatest of these Barons, and took it in ten days, after much loss of
his men. Then went he against the next greatest and took that, with
less pain. And meanwhile the Red Lad to the north, and another captain
to the south, had the business of riding here and there and making
nought of any gathering if they heard of the beginnings thereof. And
this they did, with much labour and no little battle; but thoroughly
they did it, so as Sir Godrick might carry on his sieges of the
strongholds without let or hindrance, so that before the winter came
he had all he wanted, and most of the Barons captive at Longshaw. As
to the strongholds, into some he put his own men, and some he threw
down.
So noble Yule they kept at Longshaw that year, with all those great
men feasting at the table. But a day or two after Yule came a herald
riding through the snow (for that season was hard), on behalf of the
Barons' League, what was left of it, craving for peace, and Sir
Godrick said that peace they might have if they would, or not as they
would, but the terms were that he should keep what he had got, but
ransom his captives duly; or else they might dwell at Longshaw all
their lives long if they would. Now there was no help for it but such
terms they must take, and be glad that it was no worse.
So peace was made, and all was quiet till after Marymass. Osberne had
somewhat of a mind to get him into the Wood, and seek through the
strengths and other houses that were scattered about in the Wood
itself, and the edge thereof toward the Sundering Flood; but partly he
was sick at heart of for ever asking questions to which came evermore
but one answer, and partly there was very much work come to his hand
that he might scarce turn over to another, of visiting the captured
strongholds, and seeing to the men-at-arms therein and their captains,
and suchlike matters; for now he was closer to the rede and mind of
Sir Godrick than any other.
Chapter XLVI. Osberne Enters the City of the Sundering Flood
So, as aforesaid, the time wore till Marymass was over, and then came
fresh tidings, to wit that the men of the Small Crafts and the lesser
commons were risen against the Porte and the King, and had gotten to
them the North Gate of the City, and were holding it against their
foemen, together with that quarter of the city which lay round about
it. The news hereof was sure, for it was brought to Longshaw one night
by three of the weavers who had ridden on the spur to tell it to Sir
Godrick, and these three men he knew well, and that they were trusty.
Now so it was both that it had not been easy at any time that war
should find Longshaw not duly prepared, and also that at this time
there was no tidings which Sir Godrick looked for more that this.
Speedy therefore was his rede. For he gave into Osberne's hands
fifteen hundreds of his best men, and bade him ride to the City and
the North Gate and see what the fields without the City looked like;
and the very next morning the Red Lad and his rode out of Longshaw,
having with them two of the said weaver-carles, but the third abode
with Sir Godrick.
Now so good were the Red Lad's wayleaders and knew all the passages
and roads so inly, and so diligent was the Red Lad himself and his men
so good and trusty, that by the second day about sunset he was but
five miles from the North Gate, and he and his covered by some
scattering woodland that lay thereabout.
Straightway Osberne sends a half score of spies to get them to the
City and see what was toward, and come back, they that were not slain,
and tell him thereof. Straightway they went, and had such hap that all
they came back unscathed, and this was their story: That the men of
the Small Crafts were not by seeming hard pressed, for still their
banners hung out of the North Gate and the wall and towers thereabout;
but that both within the City had been bitter battle against them all
day long, and also a host of men of their foes had come out from the
East Gate, and were now lying round the North Gate in no very good
order, because they looked for no peril save from them within the
North Gate, and deemed that as for them they had enough on their hands
to keep them within their walls, and least of all things did they look
for any onfall from without.
Thereon the Red Lad called to him his captains and hostleaders and
asked them of rede, and to be short therewith. Some said one thing,
some another, as to send back news hereof to Sir Godrick, or to array
them in the best wise to fall on these men on the morrow. Nay, some
were for hanging about till they should have news of Sir Godrick.
But when they were done, spake the Red Lad: "Sirs, many of these
things are good to be done, and some not; for sure am I that we be not
sent hither to do nothing. But now if ye will, hearken my rede: it is
now well-nigh dark, and in two hours or somewhat more it will be
pit-mirk, and these men outside the walls will be going to their rest
with no watch and ward set outward toward the upland. Wherefore I say,
let us leave our horses here and do off so much of our armour as we
may go afoot lightly; for if we win we shall soon get other horses and
gear, and if we lose, we shall need them not. But meseemeth if we do
deftly and swiftly, all these men we shall have at our will."
Now they all saw that it would do; so there was no more said, but they
fell to arraying their men on foot, and in an hour they were on the
way; and going wisely and with little noise, in two hours thence they
were amidst the foe and doing their will upon them; and when they were
well entered in amongst them and had slain many, they fell to the
blowing of horns and crying out, The Red Lad! the Red Lad! Longshaw
for the Small Crafts! Then both there was no aid to come to the men of
the Porte, whereas they were far away from the East Gate, and also
they of the North Gate heard the horns and the cries, and guessed what
was toward; so they issued out with torches and cressets and fell upon
the foe crying their cries, and so it befel that none of that host of
the Porte escaped save they who might make the night their cloak. Then
was the gate thrown open, and the Red Lad and his entered, and ye may
think whether the townsmen were joyous and made much of them. But when
the tale of his men was told, Osberne found that but three of his were
missing. And so soon as it was light, he sent back a band of his men
to bring on their horses and armour. Thuswise first came Osberne to
the City of the Sundering Flood.
Chapter XLVII. The Battle in the Square
On the morrow's morn, the leaders of the town met Osberne and his
captains in council, and their rede was that they should do warily and
not throw the helve after the hatchet. This they deemed best, that
they should now, while they might, make strong with mound and wall
their quarter of the town, since, until Sir Godrick was come to them,
they might even now look to it to have much might against them. This
reded the Red Lad nowise gainsaid, knowing well how valiant and stout
these men would be behind walls; but he said: "Yet, my masters, the
more leisure you have for this spade and mattock work, the better it
shall be for you and the work. Wherefore my rede is that some of your
chosen men go with the best of mine, and that we issue out of our
quarter and fall upon the others, and make a good space clear of foes
of the streets and carfaxes that march unto your quarter, which
forsooth shall serve you as an outwork to your castle until Sir
Godrick comes with a great host and fills up all that and more. And,
sooth to say, now at once is the best time to do this, while the foe
is all astonied at what befel last night."
That seemed good to one and all; so when they had eaten and were duly
arrayed they issued forth into the streets, and at first indeed wended
those that were truly of their quarter, only on the day before they
deemed them not big enough to hold all that; but now it was their mind
to bring it within their defences. So the Red Lad and his rode on
warily, taking heed that they should not be cut off by any at their
backs. So at last they came unto a great carfax with a wide square
round about it. There they drew up their folk in a long line with a
wide face to the foe, well furnished of bows and other shot-weapons;
for the townsmen were archers exceeding good.
There was nought in the square or on the carfax at first but
themselves; but after a little there entered by the east way and the
west a rout of archers, and fell to shooting at Osberne's, and they
back again. The archers of the Porte did not dare to show much face to
the Red Lad, but were gathered together in plumps at each incoming
into the square. Said the Red Lad to himself: Let us make an end of
this folly. And he bade his men leave shooting, and then gave the
word, and they rode at the carles right and left with spear and sword.
Straightway the archers ran all they might, yet not so fast but that
the Red Lad and his captains got amidst them ere they could take to
the narrow byways, so that a many were slain. And this was a matter of
but ten minutes. But when the horsemen had been along with the bowmen
a little while, they heard great horns blowing from the south, and
therewith great noise of horse, and presently a great rout of
men-at-arms in the best of armour began to come in by the southern
road, and the Red Lad's men were all agog to fall on them straightway,
but he made them forbear till they had filled the square over-full.
They were not long about it, but meanwhile the townsmen shot all they
might; and so nigh they were that, despite their armour, not a few
fell, both of men and horses; yet did they fall not on till the square
was full of them, so that it looked far bigger than might have been
deemed. Then they thrust on, but so close that they might scarce
handle their arms, and the Red Lad and his cried their cry, The Red
Lad for Longshaw! and rushed forward, smiting and thrusting, till the
front of the foemen began to try to turn about if they might; but
scarce they could, though if they might not flee they might not fall.
And they behind strove to get forward to smite, for they said they
were many more than the others; but they could get but little done,
for their forward men who had been overthrown were hindering them. Now
also the carles of the town laid aside their bows and entered among
them with short swords and axes, and hewed and slew and took none to
mercy, and it seemed hard to know how that would end, save by all
those men-at-arms falling in the place.
Now, as ye may deem, Osberne was more thrust forward than any other,
and somewhat of a space he had cleared before him, and his yellow hair
came down from under his basnet, and his long red surcoat streamed all
rent and tattered in the wind, and Boardcleaver was bare and bloody in
his fist, and his face was stern but not exceeding fierce; for he
would the slaughter of the day were over. Now he hove up Boardcleaver,
and before him was a tall man in gilded armour and a gay yellow
surcoat of silk, and his armour was little rent and his sword
unscathed in his hand; a stark man he was of aspect, but terror was
come into his soul because of the slaughter of the press and that
there was no escape therefrom. So when he saw Boardcleaver arising he
cried out, "O Red Lad, Red Lad, O thou seeker, let me live, that I may
tell thee what thou wouldst give many lives to know!"
Then Osberne restrained Boardcleaver and let him fall to his wrist,
and stretched out his hand to the gilded man. But even therewith his
hand was thrust aside, for many a man there was mad and drunk with the
slaying: and a short, dark, long-armed man of the weavers' craft,
armed with nought else save a heavy short-sword cutting on the inner
edge, drew him on to the gilded man's horse, and brought his sword
back-handed across his face and neck, and fell with him as he fell,
and mangled him that he was more than dead, and then got up again
amidst the horses and fell to work again. Then Osberne, when he saw
the tale was done, groaned aloud; but none heeded him, for it was to
them but as a cry of the wounded. Then he uphove Boardcleaver again
and cried out shrilly: "The Red Lad, the Red Lad for Longshaw and the
Crafts! On, on at them!" And that all heard, both his and theirs. And
now they of the foemen began to cease pressing forward, and many fled
without a stroke stricken, till there was somewhat more room for the
rest to flee, but little leave, for even so was more room for the
pursuers, and soon was the square clear of all but dead and sore hurt;
and the chase endured all up and along the carfax, and mad-fierce it
was, and that mostly at the hands of the townsmen, who deemed that
they had much to pay back to the men of the King and the Porte.
Now after this Osberne and his drew not back from the carfax, but by
the rede of him the townsmen made trenches and walls to strengthen
them right up to the said carfax. And for three days the King's men
durst not fall upon them there, save that they tried a little
arrow-shot from afar, but did not much hurt thereby.
But the next day thereafter comes Sir Godrick with his host to the
help of the townsmen, and rides into the North Gate amidst the joy of
all men. And the next day they push on to their outworks and fall on.
Three days of battle they have thereafter, wherein Sir Godrick will
not suffer the Red Lad to deal: "For," saith he, "it is thou that hath
won, and now we have little to do, but as it were the woodwright's and
the carpenter's work. Wherefore now I bid thee to rest." Laughed
Osberne, and tarried in the North quarter, while Sir Godrick and his
with all deliberation set to work on clearing the quarters on that
side of the river; and they were four days about the business albeit
the men of the Porte and the King were scarce so stubborn and enduring
as they looked to find them.
But Osberne did all he might to keep good order and good heart amongst
his men, and they made their strongholds strong to the letter, and
looked to it that all their forward places should be ready for battle
at a moment's notice.
Chapter XLVIII. Sir Godrick Is Chosen Burgreve of the City
But on the third of those four days came a man to Osberne early in the
morning, and told him that the foe were holding the East Gate somewhat
heedlessly, and that they had lost many in those last battles.
Wherefore Osberne looked to it, and gat three hundreds of picked men,
and passing through byways of the streets came to the townward end of
the said gate but a little after sunrise, and without more ado made at
the doors of the gate, which were but half shut. There they drave the
few guards in, and followed on them pell-mell; and to make a long
story short, they presently won the gate utterly with but little loss,
and all those inside, who were scarce three hundreds, slain or taken.
Now you may judge if this were good news for Sir Godrick, when with
mickle labour and not a little loss he had won the town on the east
side of the Sundering Flood.
But now, when they had won so much, they had yet to carry the war into
the west side of the Flood, where was forsooth the chief strength of
the King and the Porte. For there was the King's palace and the great
gildhall, both whereof were buildings defensible, and moreover they
had full command of all the haven and the ships therein, for they had
all the quays and landing-places and warehouses; so that both the sea
and the river was under their wielding. Two bridges, made of great
barges linked together, crossed the Flood, one near to the haven, the
other a good way higher up; nor had the King and his thought it good
to break either of them down. Both had fair and great castles to guard
them at either side.
So now when Sir Godrick and the Council of the Lesser Crafts had met
in divers motes with Osberne and other captains of the Longshaw host,
it yet seemed a great matter that they had to deal with; and that if
they had won many victories, they had yet to win the great one. And
all men saw what would have befallen if the Barons' League had not
been so utterly broken up the year before. But now the greatest gain
which Sir Godrick and the Lesser Crafts had was that they by no means
lacked men, and those of the best; and though they were shut out from
chaffer with the merchants of the City, yet whereas the whole
countryside was open to them because of the riders of Longshaw, they
were not like to fall short of victuals. Though true it is that the
King's men set swift keels on the Sundering Flood stuffed of
men-at-arms, and these would land on the eastern bank so far as a
twenty or thirty miles up, and plunder and ravage the country-folk, or
whiles would come upon trains of victuals and suchlike wending towards
the eastern city; and many fierce deeds they did, which made them no
better beloved, so that men got to saying that the King's men were but
little better than the very Skinners themselves. Moreover, it is not
to be said but that often these reivers and lifters were met by the
riders of Longshaw or the weaponed men of the country-side, and put to
the worse by them, and such as were taken at these times had nought
for it save the noose on the tree.
Thus then these two hosts looked across the Sundering Flood on each
other; and surely, unless the Craftsmen had been valiant and stubborn
beyond most, they had lost heart, whereas war was not their mystery.
Skirmishes there were a many. Whiles Sir Godrick would gather such
boats and barges as they had, and thrust over into the haven, and lay
hold of some good ship and strive to have her over to their side.
Whiles they might do nought therein, and whiles they prevailed; but
even then the King's men contrived to set fire aboard the craft and
spoil their play. Again, from time to time the King's men would set
certain ships and barges across the Flood, and strive to land and
skirmish on the east side. But herein they but seldom gained aught,
but they in turn would have their ships burned and their men slain or
taken. Thus then it went on, and now one now the other came to their
above; but neither might make an end of it.
At last, on a day when September was well worn, the King's folk came
to the midmost of the upper bridge with a white shield held aloft and
a herald, and craved safe conduct for three of theirs, an old knight
to wit, and two aldermen of the Porte; this was granted, and they came
all to the North Gate, and the council-chamber of the Lesser Crafts
therein. There they set forth their errand, which was in short that
they would have peace if it might be had on such terms as were better
than war and destruction. The men of the Small Crafts took their
errand well, and asked them how long they might tarry, so that they
might bear back conditions of peace. The messengers said that they
were not looked for back that day, and the others said that by the
next day at noon they would be all ready to send three of theirs back
across the water with the terms of peace. Then were the messengers
handed over to the guest-masters and made much of, and the masters of
the Crafts fell to close council with Sir Godrick and his captains.
Now whatever other terms they bade need not be told, but the heart of
the matter was this: First that so many of the masters of the Small
Crafts should sit on the Great Council of the City, and that enough of
them to make them of due weight in the Council. This they doubted not
to gain since the war had gone with them. But the other was a harder
matter, to wit, that a Burgreve should be appointed to govern the
City, and that he should be of might to hold a good guard, and eke it
at his will and the will of the Great Council; the said Burgreve to be
chosen by all the Gilds of Craft, voting one with another, and not by
the Great Council; which, as things went, would give the naming of him
into the hands of the Lesser Crafts, who were more than the great
ones, though far less rich and mighty. This indeed seemed like to be
hard to swallow, whereas it was much like putting the King out of his
place. Yet some said that belike by this time the Porte was grown
mightier than the King, and if they would have it so, then would he
have to give way. Herein they were doubtless right; but another thing
had happened of which they knew nought, which was driving the King and
Porte both toward peace, to wit that a king from over-sea had sent
heralds defying the King, and that his host was to be looked for in no
long while, and the King and the Porte both knew that they might make
no head against him, so divided as they of the City then were.
Wherefore when on the next day the three King's men bore back the
terms of peace, they tarried by a little while, and came back in two
hours with safe conduct for as many as Sir Godrick and the Small
Crafts would send. Whereon Sir Godrick and two of the Crafts were
chosen, and went back across the water straightway, and without any
tarrying fell to council with the King and the Porte. There they soon
found what had befallen, and that their matter was like to be carried
through with a wet finger, for the others were in hot haste both to
make peace and to get the swords of Longshaw on their side against the
Outland men. Nor did they gainsay any one condition on which the Small
Crafts had put forward, but added only this one thing, that the host
of Longshaw should join with them in defending the City against the
Outland men. Hereto Sir Godrick accorded well, for he had no mind that
all his battle for the Small Crafts of the City should have been of no
avail, as it would be if Outlanders were to conquer the city and play
the tyrant there.
The very next day then was peace signed and sealed on the terms
abovesaid. And three days thereafter the Porte and the Crafts went
about the choosing of the Burgreve. As none doubted it would be, Sir
Godrick was chosen, and, which had scarce been looked for, none else
was named; both big crafts and little would have none but he.
Chapter XLIX. Of the City King and the Outland King
Now then was great feast and glee in the City of the Sundering Flood.
The gates were thrown open, the bridges made free, the country-folk
flocked in, and the markets were thronged and gay; neighbour held
merry converse with neighbour, and there was marrying and giving in
marriage. Of the Outland foes none thought, save it were the King and
one or two of his councillors; for all men trusted in Sir Godrick that
he would look to the safe-guarding of the city. But as for Sir
Godrick, like a wise man of war he set to work looking to all points
of defence, both the castles of the town and especially the ships in
the haven, that they were as defensible as might be.
And after all the Outland king came not at all that year, whereas he
had fallen sick when he was just at point to take ship with his host;
so that all was put off till the next spring, and there was time and
to spare for Sir Godrick to do all he would strengthening the defences
of the city. But none the more for that was he sluggish, but did so
much that he made the City of the Sundering Flood exceeding strong, so
that it might scarce be stronger; and all things flourished there: old
foes became new friends, and all men were well content, save it were
the King and his faitours, who rued it now that they had sold
themselves so cheap.
Amidst all this, Osberne was somewhat more at Longshaw and the borders
of the Wood Masterless than in the city. Of numberless folk did he ask
his old questions, and gat ever the same answer, that they knew nought
of it; and indeed now it was less and less like that they should know
aught as time wore. So that at last he began to get ungleeful at
whiles, and few-spoken with men.
Came the spring, and therewith the mighty Outland conqueror; but the
shortest tale to tell of him is, that there he conquered nothing, but
was held aloof at all points, save here and there he was suffered to
break through to his great scathe. But his host was so big, that he
hung about till the autumn. He gat but one gain, such as it was, that
ere he brake up his host the King of the City fled to him and became
his friend. And they two took rede together as to what they should do
the next year to fall upon the land which was his, as he said.
Meantime, his back being turned upon his once subjects, many men began
to think belike they might do without him once and for all, when they
cast up the use he had been to them in times past. And this
imagination grew, until at last a great Mote was called, and there it
was put forward, that since the City had a Porte and a Great Council,
and a Burgreve under these, the office of King was little needed
there. So first with one accord they escheated their runaway, who they
well knew would henceforth be their foe, and gave out that all they
who had held of him should now hold of the Porte; and next, with
little gainsaying, they did away with the office of King altogether,
and most men felt the lighter-hearted therefor. And the City throve as
well as ever it had done. So wore that year to an ending.
The next year the two Kings did in very sooth bring a great host
against that folk; but fell not on the city itself, but gat a-land
some twenty miles to the east thereof; and this they did easily,
because Sir Godrick, with the rede of the Great Council, let them do
so much, whereas he deemed it were well if he might be done with them
once and for all. So he gat the very pick of his folk together, of
whom was the Red Lad in high place, much dreaded of all his foemen.
Then Sir Godrick by his wisdom chose time and place for the battle,
whereas the others must fight when and where he would. Such an
overthrow they gat, that they might not draw to a head again. The old
City King, fighting desperately, was slain by the Red Lad in the
beginning of the rout; but the other King escaped by sharp spurring
and the care and valour of his best knights, who rode about him in a
plump. He stayed not till he came to his ships, where he gat aboard
and sailed away to his own land, whence he came back again never to
trouble the City of the Sundering Flood.
Chapter L. The Red Lad Speaks Privily with Sir Godrick
This befel in April, and toward the latter days of it Osberne came
before Sir Godrick and would talk with him apart, and Sir Godrick
received him with all kindness, and spake to him privily, and asked
him what he would. Said Osberne: "Lord and dear friend, thou art now
become a mighty lord far greater than most kings. So busy have our two
lives been with deeds that might not be set aside, that now for a long
time we two have had but little converse together, such as friends
desire. Yet nevertheless through it all I have felt thy love unto me,
as mine unto thee, wherefore this word that I must say irks me sorely,
to wit that now at last we must presently part."
Said Sir Godrick: "If I am become a mighty ruler, thou hast become a
warrior such that I well think the worlds holds none other so mighty;
and true it is that I love thee no worse for all the hard and
troublous days. And hard and troublous have they been forsooth; so
that oft have I bethought me of that old man the king of the kine, and
his welcome and his bidding, in the wide green valley by the river
whereby we passed when we were wending to Longshaw that first time,
though well I wot that earth has no such refuge for me. I say thou art
great, and I love thee; wherefore thou hast a right to make thy
choice, and least of all would I balk thee in thy desire. Belike we
may meet again. Now wilt thou tell me what thou wilt do?" Said
Osberne: "With a good will. For this is true, lord, that having been
now five years amongst all sorts of folk, and some of them being such
as might tell me some tidings of what I seek, I have had no tidings,
and now needs must I say that lost is lost. But first, before I give
all up, I will go to Longshaw and abide there, and hang about the Wood
for one month, to give me one last chance; and then if nought befal, I
shall ride straight to my folk in the Dale beside the Sundering Flood,
and there shall I live and die in such content as I may. And I do thee
to wit, my friend, that the picture of the grey bents and the long
houses, and the sheep and beasts going to and fro, and the few folk of
the stead, and the hall within its shining black timbers, all this
comes before me and softens my heart. For hast thou not noted how
bitter and surly I have grown in these latter days?"
"I have seen thee sad," said Sir Godrick.
"Nay," said Osberne, "it is worse than that; but let it be. Well now I
shall tell thee another thing that hath got hold of me, and thou wilt
think it wild folly belike. But this it is: When I am in my own Dale
again, then the first morning when I arise I shall hie me straight to
that old trysting-place, and look across the Sundering Flood; and then
it may be that a miracle of God will betide, and that I shall see my
maiden there in her old place, and then shall we be no more utterly
disunited, as though each for each we were neither of us in the
world."
Said Sir Godrick: "This is a hope of no great things, nor is it like
to come about. Were it well for this to leave thy fellows and thy
friends and all the fame of thine that shall be?"
Osberne laughed. "Ah yes," he said, "some deal I know it now, that
fame; when we draw together before the foemen, and our men cry out,
'The Red Lad! the Red Lad!' in no faltering voice, and even therewith
the foeman's ranks quaver, as the trees of the wood when the wind
comes up from the ground amongst them; and then I ride forward with
Boardcleaver in my fist, and the arrows fly away about me for fear,
and the array opens before me, and we plunge in and find nought there,
and the rout goes down the green meadows. Yea, so it is, and many deem
it fair. But then comes the quiet of the night, and my comrades are as
though they were dead, and my praisers are voiceless, and I am alone;
and then meseems it is I that have been overthrown and thwarted, and
not thine enemies and mine, my friend. Nay, let me go back to my folk,
and the land that I know and that endures before me when others have
faded out. There will I abide whatso may come to me." Then he said:
"Moreover there is this last month at Longshaw; who knows what may
there betide? I shall keep my eyes and ears open I promise thee."
"Ah!" said Sir Godrick, "but beware, Red Lad, beware! Thou knowest how
much hatred thou hast drawn upon thee for thy dealings with the
rascaile of the Wood. Be sure that traps will be laid for thee, and
look to it that thou walk not into one! And now I will say to thee
farewell! It may be many a long day ere I see thy face again; and yet
methinks I shall. And now I tell thee, that hitherto I have had more
than enough gain out of thee, and scarce enough of joy. Maybe in days
to come it shall be otherwise."
So they kissed and departed each from each. And Osberne made no
farewells to anyone else, and said that he was for Longshaw, and
should abide there a month or so. And thus he rode his ways.
Chapter LI. Osberne is Beguiled by Felons
Now he took up his abode there; and presently he took to going day
after day along a certain path, which was just well within the borders
of the Wood. And there he would walk well-nigh all day, sometimes
going further, sometimes stopping short and going to and fro, and this
became known to all men, and such times he was unarmed, save that he
was girt with Boardcleaver under his gown.
Now on the thirteenth day of his sojourn he walked this path, and had
gone somewhat further than usual, and was beginning to think of
turning back, when there came a man toward him from the Wood and
hailed him, and he took his greeting. The man was clad in black, and
had a buckler at his back and sword and dagger by his side, a white
sallet on his head: a long-nosed, dark-haired man, beardless and
thin-lipped, whose eyes came somewhat too near to each other each side
of his head. He looked as if he might be some chapman's servant.
Osberne looked for him to pass by him, and stood a little aside; but
the man stopped and said: "O famous warrior, might a carle of no worth
speak with thee a few words this noon?"
"Why not?" said Osberne, smiling, for never might he bring himself to
the fashion of great men to be rough and short with common folk. Said
the newcomer: "Thou art far from the host today, and hast no angry
look on thee, wherefore I shall risk thy wrath by saying that thou
lookest somewhat less than gleeful, great warrior." Said Osberne: "I
have a trouble on me, and I have been forced to let many men know
thereof."
"Wilt thou tell me thereof?" said the newcomer; "maybe I shall be the
last to whom thou shalt tell it."
Osberne looked on him a while doubtfully and anxiously; at last he
said: "This it is. Five years ago a maiden was stolen from me, and I
have sought her since in many places, and have heard no word
concerning her of any avail." Said the carle: "Dost thou remember the
battle in the square by the carfax of the great City, and how there
was a man before thy mighty hand who cried out to spare his life, for
that he could tell thee of the said maiden; and thereon thou wert
about to give him peace, but ere thou couldest take him to thy mercy
he was slain by one of the carle-weavers?"
"Yea," said Osberne, "I remember it."
"Now," said the carle, "I shall make no mystery of it, but shall tell
thee at once that that same man was the brother of the master whom now
I serve. And I have an errand from him unto thee, and he saith that
what his brother knew, he knows, and somewhat more; and thy maiden is
yet alive, and that he can tell thee how to find her surely if thou
wilt. And he is not far hence."
Osberne looked somewhat wildly, and he caught the carle by the hand
and cried out: "Good fellow, bring me to him at once and I will well
reward thee." "Nay," said the carle, "but there comes something before
that; my master is a chapman, and liveth by selling, not by giving;
and he will take of thee two hundred nobles before thou hast his tale.
Thou and I may call that weregild for the slaying of his brother."
"Yea," said Osberne, "but I carry not two hundred nobles in my pouch."
"Well then," said the carle, "I will be here tomorrow or the day after
if thou wilt." "O nay, nay," said Osberne, "but abide thou here, and I
will go up to the castle and fetch the gold." "So be it," said the
carle; and he sat him down by the way-side, and pulled out victuals
and wine from his scrip and fell to dining.
But Osberne put forth all his swiftness of foot, and was speedily in
his lodging, and came to his treasury and took forth the gold and set
it in a bag, and hastened back again, and found the carle where he had
left him. "Thou art swift-foot indeed," said the carle, "but belike
thou shalt not often again run so fast as thou hast e'en now. But thou
art breathed; wilt thou not sit down a while till thou come round?"
"No," said Osberne shortly, "I will on at once." "Well then," said the
carle with a grin, "suffer me to carry thy bag." "Take it," said
Osberne, and reached it out to him. The carle handled the bag and
said: "Plump are the nobles, lord, if there be but two hundred
herein." "There is more in it," said Osberne, "for there is the gift
for thee. But lead thou on straightway." So the carle led on, and they
went by divers woodland paths for some two hours, and then they heard
the sound of a little water falling. Quoth the carle: "It is down in
this ghyll that my master promised to abide me." And therewith he
began to go down the side of a ghyll well bushed and treed, and
somewhat steep, and Osberne followed him. When they got to the bottom
there was a fair space of flat greensward underneath a little force of
the water; but no man awaited them.
"Where is thy master, good fellow?" said Osberne. "He will scarce be
far," said the carle; "I will call him." And therewith he set two
fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly.
Now Osberne was all beswinked with his run to and fro the castle and
his two hours' walk thereafter, and he was sore athirst, so he went
down on his knees to drink of the clear little pool beneath the force.
And now, what with the failing day and the tall trees well-nigh
meeting overhead, it was dusk in the ghyll; and moreover as Osberne
drank (and he was in no hurry about it) with his face to the force and
his back to the length of the ghyll, the tinkling and splashing of the
force deafened his ears to any sound but a somewhat big one. So he
drank and thought no evil; but of a sudden he felt a sharp pain in his
left side, and ere he could say that he knew he had been smitten,
another and another, and he rolled over on the greensward and lay
still, and there stood above him three men, the carle-messenger to wit
and another of like sort, and a third clad in white armour.
"The end of the Red Lad!" quoth the messenger. "Nay," said the other
carle, "draw thy sword and smite the head from him, lord; make sure of
him." The knight half-drew his sword from the scabbard; but then
stayed his hand and said in a quavering voice: "Nay, nay! let us
begone. Dost thou not see? There is one sitting by him!" "It is a bush
in the dusk," said the other; "give me thy sword." But the knight for
all answer ran swiftly down the ghyll, and they two that were left
shrank and trembled, for there verily sat one by the wounded man in a
scarlet kirtle, as they deemed, and a bright steel basnet. So they ran
also after their master, and all three fell to climbing the side of
the ghyll.
Now about a mile thence was a certain hermitage in a clearing of the
wood, and when the night was growing dark the door was smitten on, and
when the hermit opened, there was before him a tall noble-looking man
in scarlet kirtle and bright steel basnet, bearing in his arms another
man dead or grievously hurt. And the tall man said: "Canst thou
leechdom?"
"Yea," said the hermit, "therein have I been well learned."
"See here then, here is a man grievously hurt, but he is not dead. Now
I have done all I might for him, for by my craft have I staunched his
blood; but I wot that he needeth long leechdom to be made whole. Now I
may not come under thy roof, so take him of me, and lay him on thy bed
and look to him, and do thy best: for if thou heal him thou shalt
thrive, and if thou heal him not thou shalt dwindle." "Fair sir," said
the hermit, "I need neither promise nor threat, for God's love and
Allhallows' I will heal him if it may be."
So he took Osberne from Steelhead's arms, and being a stark and big
man got him on to the bed and did off his raiment. Then he searched
his grievous hurts according to leechcraft, and presently looked up
from the wounded man and said: "Since this man is not yet dead, I deem
not his hurts deadly, and I think to heal him with the help of the
Holy Saints." Said Steelhead: "Thou hast in thy mouth, my friend, a
deal of holiness that I know nought of. But I thank thee, and if thou
heal my friend verily I will call thee Holy. Now shall I depart, but
tomorrow forenoon I shall come her again and learn tidings of him."
"Go in peace, and God and Allhallows keep thee," said the hermit.
"Well, well," said Steelhead, "we will not contend about it, but I
look to it to keep myself." And therewith he strode off into the
night.
Then lay Osberne between life and death a long while; but after a time
he began to mend, and came to his right mind, and remembered the
felon-strokes in the ghyll; but of Steelhead's being there he knew
nothing, for Steelhead had charged the hermit to say no word of it to
Osberne. The hermit was a good and kind man and a well-learned leech,
and after a while Osberne began to mend speedily. And he would have
amended speedier, but he was sick at heart that his sudden hope had so
failed him, and said within himself that now all hope was gone. Albeit
the Dale and Wethermel drew him to them without ceasing.
Chapter LII. The Meeting of Osberne and Elfhild
At last, when it was some six weeks from the time of that felony, and
Osberne was on his legs again, and had gone to and fro in the wood
nigh to the hermit's cell, now he began to think he must get him home
to the House of Longshaw, and thence away to the Dale with a trusty
guide; and the hermit would not say him nay, whereas his strength was
but just come back to him.
On a time he went abroad from the cell, and was girt to Boardcleaver
lest he should come across aught ill; he went somewhat further than he
had been wont, till the day was beginning to draw toward sunset. It
was now the latter end of May, and the leafy boughs were at their
fairest; the sky was bright and blue, and the birds were singing in
heavenly choir, and he scarce thought it good to go back speedily to
the dark cell. So he went on a little further and a little further,
till he was ware in the glade before him [of one] whom, as she drew
nigher to him, he saw to be a seemly dame as for her years, straight
and tall; neither was she clad in rags, but in a comely black gown and
white coif. Nevertheless, as 't is said, Once bit, twice shy, so it
was with him, and he was for giving her the go-by. But she would not
have it so, and she greeted him and said: "Hail to thee, noble; whence
art thou last?" Her voice was clear and good, and now as he looked in
her face he deemed he saw no evil in it, but goodwill rather. But he
said: "Hail to thee, dame; I am last from a sick-bed, where guile and
felony laid me."
"Well," said she, "but there is something else than guile and felony
in the world, is there not?"
"I know not," said he shortly.
"I have seen somewhat else, if only once," she said. "I have seen
truth and good-faith and constancy and hope without reward; and five
years have worn no whit of that away."
"Hah," said he; "was it a man, a warrior? Meseems I know one such,
were it not for the hope."
"Nay," said she, "it is a woman."
"And what like is she to look on?" said he. She answered: "If thou
wilt come with me, she is no great way hence abiding my home-coming."
Said Osberne: "But what or who is it she is true to? or for whom doth
she long, hoping against hope? Is it father, brother, son, sister, or
what?" Said the carline: "It is her troth-plight man; and verily I, as
well as she, deem that he is worthy of it; or was, when she saw him."
Osberne laughed, and said: "Good dame, if this be so, what profit were
it to me to see her? I am not her troth-plight man, and if it be as
thou sayest, I shall be unto her as one of the trees of the wood."
"There will be this profit," said the carline, "that thou wilt set
eyes on one of the fairest creatures that God ever made." "Small
profit therein," said Osberne, laughing again, "if I set eyes on her
beauty and am ensnared thereby; then maybe shall be another tale for
this woodland. For belike thou deemest me old, but I am a young man,
only I am haggard with the battle between life and death as I lay
wounded yonder." Therewith he pulled aback his hood, and the carline
came close up to him and looked him hard in the face, but said
nothing. Then he said: "Dame, to be short with thee, I have walked
into the trap once, and will not again, if I may help it. Now I know
not what thou art; for all I know thou mayst be a bit of bait of my
foes, or even a sending from evil things. Nor hast thou said any word
why specially I should come with thee."
She was still standing close to him, and now she laid her hand on his
breast and said: "This I say as a last word, and thou must take it how
thou wilt. If thou dost not come with me now, thou shalt rue it only
once, to wit, all thy life long."
He looked on her and knit his brows, and said at last: "Well it is
little to throw away the end of my life, and there may be some tidings
or tracks of tidings to be found. I will go with thee, dame. Only this
time," he muttered, "let there be no coming to life again."
"Thou art wise," said the carline; "let us lose no time." So they set
off, and up and down by rough and smooth, till the wood was quite
dark, and the stars were overhead when they came to a clearing, and
sweet was the peace of the May night. At last they saw before them a
glimmer of light, which as they wound about became presently a little
window, yellow-litten, and casting its light upon a space of
greensward and a little tinkling brook.
So came they to a little cot, seemly enough thatched with reed from
the woodland meres. Osberne made up toward the door, but the carline
put forth her hand and thrust him back, and said: "Not yet; abide
where thou art a minute;" and straightway fell to going withershins
round the house. This she did three times, while Osberne gat his
anlace bare in his hand.
At last the carline came to him, and spake softly to him in his ear:
"All is free now, Dalesman, come thou!" And she took him by the hand
and opened the door, and lo, a little hall like many another cot, but
clean and sweet and comely. Now Osberne had pulled his hood about his
face again, and looked round; for as often happens when one enters a
chamber, the child of Adam therein is the last thing one sees. Then he
drew back a little, and stood there trembling. For what was in the
chamber besides the simple plenishing was a maiden who stood up to
receive them; tall she was and slender, clad in a dark blue gown; her
hair dark red and plenteous, her eyes grey, her chin round and lovely,
her cheeks a little hollow, and in the hollow of them entreaty and all
enticement: she stood looking shyly at the newcomer, of whose face she
might see but little. The carline seemed to note neither her nor
Osberne, but cried out in a cheerful voice: "Now, child, if I be
somewhat later than I was looked for, yet I have brought the gift of a
guest, seest thou; a good knight who hath of late been brought to
death's door by felon's deed, but is now grown whole and fight-worthy
again. So let us bestir us to get him meat and drink and all that he
needeth."
So they fell to, while Osberne stood where he had first come in; and
he scarce knew where he was, but looked down on the floor, as though
the Sundering Flood of the Dales rolled betwixt him and the maiden;
for indeed when his eyes first fell upon her he knew that it was
Elfhild. Now the two women had not been long at dighting the supper
ere there came a rough knock on the door, and straightway the latch
was lifted and in strode three men-at-arms; two in jack and sallet
with bucklers and sword and dagger, the third a knight clad in white
armour with a white surcoat. This stirred Osberne out of his dream,
and he sat down on a stool nearer in than he had been. The Knight
cried out: "Ho, dame, I see thou hast one guest, and now here be three
more for thee; we have stabled our horses in thy shed already, so thou
hast nought to do save getting us our supper: dispatch I bid thee. And
now who is this tall carle sitting there?"
Osberne knew them at once as they came in, that they were the three
felons who had smitten him in the ghyll. He answered nought, and kept
his hood about his face. "Roger," quoth the knight, "and thou, Simon,
cannot ye get an answer from the lither loon?" Roger lifted up his
foot and kicked Osberne roughly, and Simon laid hold of his hood to
pull it off him, but found it held tight enough; and Osberne spake in
gruff and hollow voice: "I am a living man, ye were best to let me
be."
Then had there been battle at once, but even therewith comes in
Elfhild bearing a pewter measure of wine and beakers withal, and the
newcomers stood staring at her beauty, silent for a minute. Then the
Knight did off his basnet and spake in a loose, licorous voice: "The
liquor we hoped for, but not the cup-bearer; and so it is, that I
would liefer have the cup-bearer than the cup. Fair maid, will not a
kiss go before the pouring out? or never shall I have heart to drink."
And he rose up and went toward the maiden, who stood confused and
trembling, and turned pale. But Osberne had risen also, and with a
quick turn had thrust between the White Knight and Elfhild, and now
stood with his back to her, facing the felons.
"What, cur!" cried the White Knight: "shall we have thee out and flay
thy back with our stirrup-leather?" Said Osberne, speaking slowly:
"That is the third question too much thou hast asked in the last few
minutes. Lo thou!" And he shook his hood from his face, and had
Boardcleaver bare in his hand straightway. Then those three set up a
quavering cry of, The Red Lad! the Red Lad! and ran bundling out of
the cot; but Boardcleaver was swifter than they. One of the
serving-men lost his head just outside the threshold; the Knight
stumbled at the brook and fell, and never rose again. The messenger
strove hard for the thicket, but the moon was up now, and it was but a
few strides of the swift runner of the Dale ere Boardcleaver had taken
his life.
The two women stood looking toward the open door the while, and the
maiden said faintly and in a quavering voice: "Mother what is it? what
has befallen? Tell me, what am I to do?" "Hush, my dear," said the
carline, "hush; it is but a minute's waiting after all these years."
Even therewith came a firm footstep to the door, and Osberne stepped
quietly over the threshold, bareheaded now, and went straight to
Elfhild; and she looked on him and the scared look went out of her
face, and nought but the sweetness of joyful love was there. And he
cried out: "O my sweet, where now is the Sundering Flood?" And there
they were in each other's arms, as though the long years had never
been.
Chapter LIII. Strangers Come to Wethermel
Now turns the tale to Wethermel, and tells how that on the morrow of
Midsummer, five years to the day since Osberne had bidden them
farewell, the folk once more sat without-doors about the porch in the
cool of the evening; neither was there any missing of the settled folk
of those to whom he had said farewell. For all had thriven there that
while. There sat the goodman, more chieftain-like than of old; there
sat the goodwife, as kind as ever, and scarce could she be kinder;
there sat Bridget, not much aged in the five years; for ever she
deemed it a certain thing that her nursling would come back to her.
Lastly, there sat Stephen the Eater, wise of aspect and thoughtful, as
if he were awaiting something that should happen which should change
much in him; and there were the carles and the queans (with some few
children amongst them who had not been there five years ago) who had
been familiar to Osberne ere he left the Dale for warfare. It was
growing late now, and the twilight was creeping up under a cloudless
sky, when those folk saw newcomers wending the lane betwixt the
outbowers, and making straight for the house-porch. They were but
three, and as they drew nigh it could be seen that they were hooded
and cloaked despite the warm night; and one was tall and seemed a
stalwarth man, and another was jimp and went daintily, as if it were a
young woman, and the third, who forsooth had her face but little
hidden, seemed a carline of some three score years and ten.
None of the folk stirred save Stephen the Eater, who rose up as if to
welcome the guests; and the tall man spake in a strange high voice
that seemed as if it came from the back of his head: "May we three
wayfarers be here tonight? For we saw this stead from afar, and it
seemed a plenteous house, and we deem it guest-kind." Quoth Stephen:
"A free and fair welcome to you; ye shall eat of our dish, and drink
of our cup, and lie as the best of us do. Ho, ye folk! now were we
best within doors; for our guests shall be both weary and hungry
belike."
So into the hall they wended, and the three were shown to a good place
amidmost thereof, so that all might see them; and there they sat, the
tall man innnermost, nighest to the dais, the young woman by him and
the carline outermost. Then came in the meat, which was both plenteous
and good, and when all were fulfilled the drink was brought in, and
the tall man arose and called a health on Wethermel, and that it might
thrive ever. But some men thought that, as he lifted his hand to put
the cup to his lips, a gleam of something bright came from under his
wayfarer's cloak. And Stephen the Eater called a health on the
wayfarers; and then one drank to one thing, one to another, and men
waxed merry and gleeful.
But at last rose up Stephen the Eater and spake: "Meat and drink and
lodging is free without price to every comer to Wethermel, and most
oft, as here it is, our good will goes with it; yet meseemeth that
since these friends of ours come belike from the outlands and
countries where is more tidings than mostly befalleth here, it might
please them to make us their debtors by saying us some lay, or telling
us some tale; for we be not bustled to drink the voidee cup now, these
nights of Midsummer, when night and day hold each other's hands
throughout the twenty-four hours."
Then rose up the tall, high-voiced man and said: "It is my will that
each one of we three should say something, be it long or short, to
make the folk of Wethermel glad. For they have treated us wayfarers as
though we were lords and kings, and their words go to their hearts.
Now I will that thou, mother, begin, and that I make an end of this
saying."
Then he sat down, and the carline said: "I am all the more willing to
this, as meseemeth I can tell you a tale such as ye have never heard
the like of, and which will move every heart of you. And yet I must
pray your patience, as belike it may be somewhat long for a tale of
one night's hall-glee: and on this night must the tale be begun and
ended. Hearken then!"
Chapter LIV. The Carline Beginneth Her Tale
There was an old woman, yet not cripple, who dwelt in a stead beside a
great river, which none might cross, either by bridge or ford or
ferry. But she dwelt not alone, neither was the house her own: for
with her abode a damsel young of years, who was the owner of the said
house, but had no kindred, for father and mother and all else had
passed away from her. Therefore it is like that the Carline came to
dwell with her because she loved the Maiden, and would serve her and
do good to her. And no wonder was that, for not only was the Maiden
now grown so beauteous that she was the pearl of all beauty, but also
she was merry and kind, and loving as might be. So that none that saw
her but must love her if they had any good in them.
Now ye will ask, since it was so with her, was there no young man who
was drawn into the net of her love. But I must tell you that the stead
where these twain dwelt was lonely, and there was but little recourse
of folk thither. Yet I say not but that there was more than one young
man of the dwellers thereby who thought it better than good to come to
the house and sit and talk with her, and would have kissed and
caressed her had they durst. But they durst not, for not one of them
touched her heart; and though she was kind and friendly with every one
of them, there was nought in her words or her mien by which they might
anywise deem that she would suffer the toys of love from them. Sooth
to say, the Maiden had a love, a fair youth and stalwarth, and a
glorious man, and many were the words they had spoken together, but
never had her hand touched his hand, nor his lips her lips; because
betwixt these two was a river such as are few upon the earth,
unbridged, unfordable, unferryable. And few might think that it was
anywise like to betide that ever their two bodies should touch each
the other; but the Carline, who was somewhat wise in lore, had an
inkling that, despite this terrible hedge of water, the twain should
one day meet.
Now it is to be said that oftenest the Maiden was patient, and abode
the sundering will no ill cheer. But whiles her trouble was over heavy
for her, and she would wander forth into the wood or the field, and go
weeping and lamenting there; or she would sit in the chamber with the
Carline, and cry out aloud on her love to come to her, and on all
things on the earth and in the heavens, yea, the Great God himself
sitting amongst the Cherubim, to help her, that for once, if once only
before she died, she might feel her love's arms about her and his face
laid to hers.
Or again, she would, as it were, tell stories of how it would betide
that at last they should meet, both grown old, and kiss once, and so
walk hand in hand into the Paradise of the Blessed, there to grow
young again amidst the undying spring, in the land where weariness is
come to nought; and there would she sit and weep, as if there were no
ending to the well of her tears.
At such times was the Carline sore grieved for her, and would strive
to comfort her by giving her some little inkling of the hope which
she, the old woman, had conceived in her heart, that the meeting of
the those two should come about whiles they were yet young and lovely;
more than that she might not tell the Maiden, lest the might should
ebb from her. Thus wore the days between patience and despair, betwixt
cheer and lamentation.
At last, when the Maiden was of some eighteen summers, great matters
befel that country-side; for on a day came the alien reivers, such as
are called the Red Skinners, with intent to rob and carry off all that
was not too hot or too heavy for them, and to lay waste and destroy
all that they might not bear away. But the folk of the land met them
valiantly, and their friends on the other side of the fierce river
aforesaid helped them what they might with the shot-battle; and great
and grim was the murder, and the stour of the hardest.
Now there were the Maiden and the Carline at their house, and nought
easy was the rede for them. The Maiden bade flee to the next stead,
which was some four miles thence, but the Carline bade abide, lest
they be caught upon the way, which forsooth she deemed was most like
to betide if they left the house, and that rede they took at the last.
So they sat expecting what should befal them.
For a long while none of the aliens came anear them; but at last, when
the battle was at its fiercest, rode up three men leading two unbacked
horses, and they were of the mien and in the gear of the Red Skinners;
and the Carline stood in the door to meet them, and she spake to them
and said: "What will ye warriors? Why are ye not in the battle with
your fellows?" Said one: "Because our errand is here and not there:
neither are those men our fellows. We be the servants of that goodly
merchant who guested here a while ago, and would have bought the
maiden within there in all honour, and ye rewarded his good will with
scorn, and mocks and japes and scurvy dealing. Wherefore he hath set
these reivers on your folk, and hath sent us along with them to look
to you. And two-fold is our errand, to bear away the maiden without a
price, and to slay thee. Hah! dost thou like it?"
Now the Carline remembered the coming of the said merchant, and how he
had cast his love on the Maiden unhonestly and lustfully, and would
have lain by her against her will had it not been for the lore of the
said Carline, who letted him of his evil will and sent him away
shamed.
But now she muttered something under her breath, and looked on those
men, and made signs with her fingers, and then spake aloud: "Slay me
speedily then, whiles ye are about it; for I take no great keep of
life." The men handled their weapons, but nothing came of it, and they
sat in their saddles staring at the Carline as if they were mazed. And
even therewith ran the Maiden forth from the house, and cast her arms
about the Carline, and cried out: "Nay, nay! but ye shall not slay
her! for as my mother hath she been, and none other have I had save
her. But I pray you by your salvation to take this my mother with you,
for I cannot do to be without her; and if I miss her, then shall I be
of little use, miserable and forlorn, to that lord of yours that ye
tell of so goodly."
The old woman kissed her and embraced her, and then turned to those
men and laughed in their faces; and they seemed presently as if
awaking out of slumber, and one said: "Well, this may be; I see not
why we should not slay thee there as well as here; and since the
damsel would have it so, we will have thee along with us, and let the
maiden settle it with our lord whether he will be wheedled by her or
not. But come, to horse both of you! for time presses."
So the two women were set a-horseback, and they men rode with a good
pace out of the Dale toward the fells at the back thereof; and if at
any time the women thought of turning rein and riding off, they had
but to look at the men, how they were horsed, for their way-beasts
were mighty strong steeds of good race, but the women were set on
everyday nags, such as be seen on any highway.
After a while they came on to the broken ground at the foot of the
fells, and all must needs ride slower; and then the Carline came
sidling up to the Maiden, and saw how wan and woebegone was her face,
and asked what ailed her; and she answered faintly at first, and then
clearer and louder: "It is because I am thinking of him and his woe;
and I wot well that now, so soon as the battle is over, there shall he
stand yet and look over the Flood on to the field of deed, as if he
were seeking after me dead among the corpses of the foe. And tomorrow
he shall come down to the water's edge while the dead yet lie there,
and stand looking to see if I be not coming to meet him, as now I have
been wont so many years. And the morrow of that morrow will he come,
yea, and many a morrow, till his heart shall be outworn with longing
and grief, and he will go away out of the Dale to escape from his
sorrow, and shall nowise escape it. Ah, and how shall I know whither
he will wend, or the place of the shifting dwelling of his wanderings?
And I, and I, I wend away from him."
Sore grieved was the Carline at her grief, and she said: "O my child,
I pray thee keep up a good heart within thee, lest thou die of sorrow,
and endure not the chances of the meeting. Who knows whether thou be
wending away from him? Nay, to my mind thou art wending toward him,
and he to thee; for never had ye come together hadst thou abided in
thine old home and he in his."
But the Maiden wept. But therewith rode along by them one of the men,
and smote the Carline on the shoulders with his spear-staff, and bade
her hold her peace, and not go on like a crazy hen.
So they rode their ways till they had passed the straiter part of the
pass that led through the fells, and there night began to fall on them
(it was April-tide in those days); so the men-at-arms chose a place
where was grass and water and three thick thorn-bushes, and made their
harbour there. They took some pains to dight a shelter for the Maiden
by spreading cloths betwixt a thorn and their spears stuck into the
ground, but to the Carline, as was like, they gave no heed. But she
laid her down peaceably within call of her dear fosterling, muttering
as her head fell back: Here at any rate it is over-soon; let us get
out of the mountains first. So they slept, yea, even the Maiden amidst
her grief, so weary as she was. And when morning was they fared on,
after a short tarrying for breakfast, whereof they gave of the best
they had to the Maiden, but nought at all to the Carline.
Nevertheless, when her fosterling fed her kindly from her abundance
they naysaid it not.
This day is nought to tell of: toward sunset they came out of the
mountains into a very fair green plain, wherein were neat and sheep a
many; but though there were not a few houses of the herdsmen about,
they made not for any of them, but took harbour in a little copse by a
stream-side, and supped of such meat as they had; save that the two of
them rode out into the plain and drove back with them a milch-cow,
which they milked then and there for the Maiden's behoof.
The next day they rode across the plain, and here and there fell in
with some of the herdsmen by the way; but small greeting passed
betwixt them, and the country-folk seemed well pleased that the
men-at-arms had little to say to them. Before evening was they rode
off the plain and into a land of little hills and streams, with green
meadows for the most part, but here and there a little tillage, and a
good many houses, yet these but the cots of husbandmen. This day they
rode long and late, yea, till it had been dark night but for the
rising of the moon upon them. At last said one of the men to another:
"We shall not do it tonight; let us rest, and come in fresh a
morning-tide." So again that night they had the shelter of the trees
and fields, but on the morrow betimes they were up and rode forward.
Chapter LV. The Blue Knight Buys the Maiden of the Chapman
They had ridden scarce a three hours ere they came through a cleft in
the hills which here were grown somewhat higher and straiter, on to a
very fair little valley, well-grassed, and with a stream of clear
water running through it; and amidst of the said valley a fair white
pavilion pitched, but no coat-armour done thereon. Then quoth one of
the men to the Carline: "Lo, dame, how likest thou the sight of our
master's journey-house? Meseems in an hour's time thou shalt be well
on thy journey to hell." The other men laughed, but the Carline
answered them nought.
So down they went, and as they drew nigher they saw a tall
black-bearded man standing before the tent door, and presently knew
him for the chapman who had been such an ill guest to them at their
own house. And the Maiden quaked and turned pale at the sight of him.
But the Carline spake to her under her breath and said: "Fear not, we
shall not abide long with this one." Now he came forward to meet them;
but when he saw the Carline he cried out wrathfully to his men and
said: "Why have ye brought this accursed hag with you over all these
many miles of way? Now must she be hewn down here, and her carcase
will lie stinking at our door." The men said nought, but sat in their
saddles staring stupidly at him. But the Carline looked him hard in
the face, and again made that muttering and the passing of her hands
to and fro. The chapman said nought for a while, and then he spoke in
a lower voice, wherein his pride seemed abated, and said: "Well, after
all, the damsel must needs have some woman to wait upon her, and this
one shall serve our turn for the present. Ho ye! come and take these
women off their horses, and take them into the inner tent and give
them to eat, and let them rest." Then came forward two serving-men,
who bore short-swords by their sides, and led the Carline and the
Maiden through the big tent into the lesser one, and there brought
water for their hands, and then victual and drink, and waited on them
with honour; and the Carline laughed and said: "Lo my dear, here am I
an honoured guest instead of a stinking corpse. Seest thou, the old
woman is still good for something, and always to serve thee and help
thee, my dear." Then the Maiden kissed the Carline and caressed her,
not without tears, and presently, being very weary with the way and
the sorrow, laid her down on the bed and fell asleep. But the Carline
sat watching heedfully all that went on, setting her eye to the
default between the cloths of the tent, so that she could see all that
was toward in the big tent, and somewhat the goings-on without.
Now it must be said the chapman, for as eager as had been his lust
after the Maiden when he saw her at her house, found it somewhat
abated when he saw her lighted down from her nag at his tent door.
Forsooth she was worn with the travel, and yet more with the overmuch
sorrow, so that she looked wan and haggard, and he said to himself
that of all her beauty there was nought but the eyes of her left. But
he thought: Let her rest a little, and be by herself if she will, and
have good and pleasant meat and drink, and not be worried and
troubled; and I will withhold the heat of my longing, and then in a
day or two it will all come back again. So he bade his varlets deal
with her as ye have heard, and suffered her to have the fellowship of
the Carline her friend.
After this it befel that about noon the chapman and his men saw the
riding of folk; so they looked to their weapons, and presently came
riding up to the tent a Knight in bright armour, and two men-at-arms,
and all of them right well arrayed. The Knight bore on his coat-armour
wavy of blue and white, and he looked like to be a proper man of his
hands.
Now when he had drawn rein at the tent door, and saw the men standing
to their arms thereby, he seemed to be not thinking of battle with
them, but he said: "The sele of the day to the men. Which of you is
the master?" Then came forward the chapman, and sheathed his sword and
said: "That am I, Sir Knight; and to make a long story short, I am no
warrior or fighting man, but a merchant seeking gain from town to town
and house to house. And I have some pretty things amongst my packs.
Might I ask of your valour what thou wouldst have of me?"
The Knight, who by this time was off his horse, laughed and said:
"Well, first we three would have meat and drink of you, and some
horse-meat also, for we have ridden far this morning; and next,
meseems, after what thou hast said, that it would help the victual
down if I were to turn over some of those dear-bought and far-fetched
wares of thine, even if I have to pay for peeping."
Who then was was full of smiles and soft words save the chapman; he
bade the Knight into his tent most sweetly, and set his folk to
dighting a noble dinner. The Knight entered and did off his basnet,
and showed a well-looking face, with good grey eyes like a hawk, and
dark hair curling close to his head; there was nought cruel or base to
be seen in his visage, though it had the fierceness of the warrior. So
they sat down to meat, and talked the while of their eating; and a
good deal of their talk was concerning the Knight of Longshaw, Sir
Godrick, and his uprising, and what his chances might be of his
outfacing all his foes, who, said the chapman, were many and great,
and more belike than Sir Godrick wotted of. Quoth he: "And glad shall
I be if he be overborne: for what should a knight do, to set him up
against great and noble men, and wage all kinds of rascaile on behoof
of a set of villeins and handicraftsmen!" And he looked on his guest
as if he deemed he should please him by that word; but the other shook
his head and said: "So should I not be glad; for Sir Godrick is both
fearless and wise, and of good heart to such as need help. Yet I doubt
me that he will be overthrown at last, such might as is arrayed
against him. Forsooth could he get to him two or three like to
himself, yea, or were it only one, then might he endure; but where
shall he find such an one?"
Quoth the chapman: "If ye bear the man such love and honour, mightest
not thyself give thyself to him and be such an one to him as thou
tellest of?" The Knight laughed: "Chapman," said he, "of such mere
skull-splitters as I be hath he enough amongst his men-at-arms, who, I
must tell thee, be nowise rascaile, but valiant and well-ordered
warriors. What he needeth is one fulfilled of the wisdom of war; yea,
and of peace also, so as to know when to hold fast and when to let go,
when to press hard on the foe and when to cast the golden bridge
before them. Of such wisdom have I nought, and know little but of hard
hitting and how to keep the face to the foe in the stour. Moreover,
though in a way I wish him goodhap, yet it is such goodhap as one
wishes a man who needs be a foe. For I must tell thee that I am of the
Barons' company and against Sir Godrick. Yet this I know, that if he
fall at the last it shall not be till after he hath put us to the
worse more than once or twice."
Herewith their talk turned else-whither; but all this the Carline
heard, and stored it up in her breast, and thought that she might
hereafter get more tidings of Sir Godrick, and belike piece one thing
to another till she had got somewhat which should be to her purpose.
So when they had done dinner the chapman opened some of his packs
before the Knight (who is here called the Blue Knight), and the Knight
cheapened here an ouch and there a finger-ring or a gold chain, and a
piece of Saracen silk, and so forth; and all these he paid for down on
the nail in pennies good and true, for he had with him a big pouch of
money. Said he: "Thou seest I am rich in spending-silver, for I have
been paid the ransom of three knights whom I took in sharp stour last
autumn."
But now as he was sitting turning over his fairings, a tidings befel.
For the Carline, having well considered the looks of the Knight and
having hearkened heedfully his speech, deemed that deliverance might
come of him from the sordid wretch who had stolen the Maiden. So while
the two were yet at table she roused her fosterling, and dight her
attire as seemly as she might, and tired her hair and made it smooth
and sleek; and just as the Blue Knight was about doing his marketings
together, she brought the Maiden to the entry between the two tents
and bade her stand there, and then drew the hangings apart to right
and left and let the Maiden stand there as in a picture. The Knight
looked up and saw it, and stared astonished, and was wordless a while;
the chapman scowled, but durst not say aught, for he knew not how the
Knight would take it; and as for the Knight, he leaned across to the
chapman and spake to him softly, not taking his eyes off the Maiden
the while: "Chapman, wilt thou tell me what this is, this wonder of
women? Whether it is a queen of some far country, or an image made by
wizardry?" The chapman, taken at unawares, had no lie handy, so he
said: "This is my war-taken thrall, and she hath been with me some
three hours." Said the Knight, still speaking softly: "Thy thrall!
Then mayst do with her what thou wilt. Tell me wilt thou not sell her,
and to me?"
The chapman was somewhat slow to answer, for he feared the Knight, and
durst not buy the slaking of his lust with the peril of death. And
moreover he deemed it a thing to be looked for that, if he sold her
not, the bold Knight would take her from him perforce, so that he
should lose both wealth and woman. Again, it came into his mind that
if he sold her he might yet take an occasion to steal her again; so he
said in a surly voice: "I took her not to sell her again, but to keep
her and make her one of my household."
"Yea," said the Knight, "and wilt thou bring her to the church and wed
her before the priest with ring and book?"
The chapman answered nought, and the Knight held his peace a while;
but presently he spoke to the Maiden kindly, and said: "Sweet maiden,
wouldst thou draw nigher to me, for I would speak with thee?" Then she
left the fold of the tent and came and stood before him with no fear
in her eyes.
Said the Blue Knight: "Tell me, fair damsel, is it true what this man
says, that thou art his war-taken thrall?" Said she: "Three days ago I
was stolen from mine own home by this man's servants while the stout
men of my folk were in battle with a sort of reivers who had fallen on
our land. How might we defend us, two weak women against three
weaponed men?"
"Wert thou thrall or free before that day, damsel?" said the Knight.
She flushed red, and said: "Never has there been an unfree man of our
blood for generation after generation." Said the Knight: "Now thou art
here in this man's tent, wilt thou go with him freely and of thine own
will, if he swear to thee to take thee into his household and deal
honestly by thee?" She reddened again: "But he will not deal honestly
by me, lord," she said, "and never will I go with him uncompelled."
"How knowest thou that he is not a true man?" said the Knight. "Fair
sir," she said, "hast thou looked in the face of him? Look now with
what eyes he is beholding me!"
The Blue Knight was silent a while; then he said, but halted in his
speech: "And with me--wouldst thou go with me of thine own free
will, if I swore to deal with thee in all honour?"
"Yea," she said, "or without the swearing if thou make me the same
offer after I have said a word to thee; to wit, that there is a young
and goodly man whom I love, and he me again. And now I have lost him,
and know not how to come to him, but I will seek him the world over
till I find him, and he me: and if I find him not, then never shall I
come into any man's arms in this world. What sayest thou now?"
The Knight rose up and walked to and fro a while, casting a look on
the chapman every now and then. At last he came to the Maiden, and
said to her in a low voice: "I make the the same offer, and will swear
to thee on my father's sword, which here is." She looked on him, and
the tears came into her eyes: nor forsooth were they very far from
his. But she said: "This goes with it, that thou take along with thee
my foster-mother, who is hereby, and suffer her to be ever with me if
I will." "That is soon yeasaid," quoth he. Then he set her down in his
chair, and said: "Fear nothing, I will see to this matter
straightway."
Then he turned to the chapman, who sat scowling on the Maiden, and
said: "Now, chapman, wilt thou sell me thy thrall as thou hast sold me
those pretty things?" The other answered him not a while, and the
Knight said: "Nay, it avails nought to draw faces at me; one way or
the other the thing can soon be settled. For look to it, that thy
war-taken thrall may be mine by the same title. There are weapons
enough hereby, and ye are five and we three; and thou shalt arm thee,
or I will unarm me to my kirtle and my sword, and then let us out on
to the green and fight for the Maiden." The chapman said: "I see thou
wilt take her perforce; so give me her price: but take heed that I
sell her not uncompelled. And thou who hast eaten and drunk with me!"
"I would I might vomit up thy victuals," said the Knight angrily; "for
then I knew not that it was thy wont to carry off free women from
their houses while other folk were fighting. But I will have no more
words with thee, save this, that thou shalt sell me also two of thy
nags, that we may all ride and be away hence the speedier. Ho Robert,
go thou and take two fresh horses of the chapman and saddle them
straightway."
Now the chapman named his price, and it was a big one indeed, no less
than an earl's ransom; but the Blue Knight but nodded his head in
token of yeasay, and the chapman said: "I suppose thou wilt not have
all that gold in thy scrip; but thou mayst take thy bargain away, for
as violently and strifefully as thou hast dealt with me, if thou wilt
send the money in one month's frist to the hostelry of the Wool-pack
in the good town of Westcheaping hard by here, and let thy bearer ask
for Gregory Haslock to give him quittance. But for thine ill-dealings
with me I shall give thee no quittance, but shall watch my turn to do
thee a service."
The Knight said all shortly: "I shall send thy money as thou biddest;"
and then turned away from him, and took the Maiden by the hand and led
her out of the tent, and the Carline followed them. So they gat to
horse and rode their ways. But so it was that the Carline rode the
last of them; and when they were gone but a few yards the chapman ran
to the tent door with a bent bow in his hand and an arrow notched to
the string, and drew on the said Carline, who was but some ten yards
from him by then. But, whether it were the caitiff's evil shooting or
the Carline's wizardry, ye must choose between the two, the arrow flew
wide of the mark, and the Carline laughed merrily as she rode along.
Thus were those two quit of this felon for that time.
Chapter LVI. The Blue Knight Talks with the Maiden by the Way
The Blue Knight rode beside the Maiden, and it could be seen that in
all ways he would take care of her and give her honour; but he was
few-spoken at first, nor for a while had she much mind to speak. But
after a little she looked on him aside, and seemed to think that he
would be fain were she to cast a word to him. And she herself was
grown of good cheer now, for she deemed herself delivered from
captivity; and, however it were, she trusted in this man's good faith
and kindness. So she asked him some simple question about the way, and
he started when he heard her voice, but turned and answered her
frankly, and seemed as if he had liked it better if he might have made
more of it. Then she said: "Fair sir, thou hast not yet told me
whither we be going."
"Nay," he said, "that is true, and heedless it was of me, and I pray
thee pardon me. We be bound for the Castle of Brookside, which is my
chiefest manor house, though no great thing. But we shall not be
there tonight, nor for many nights. Now if thou ask me what we shall
find there, I shall tell thee that beside the serving-men and a few
men-at-arms and sergeants, and three squires, thou shalt find little
save my mother there, for I am unwedded as yet."
At that word the Maiden fell silent again, for she was wondering what
like would be the Knight's mother, and what days she was like to make
for her. But presently she set all that aside, and fell to ask the
Knight of other matters, such as the fashion of the country-side and
the ways of the folk round about his castle, and freely he answered to
everything; and so at last began to ask her concerning her land and
folk, and her way of life, and she told him of all freely. But no word
did she say to him of the man whom she loved; nay, when the talk
seemed drawing near to such a point that it seemed he must be told of
presently, she would break off and hold her peace straightway; neither
did the Knight say aught, nor ask her wherefore she went not on with
her tale, but let speech be till the spring thereof began to run again
of its own will.
Thus then they wore the day, riding through a fair country of
husbandry, not very thickly housed. None meddled with them, till at
sunset they came to a goodly grange walled and moated; and the Blue
Knight said: "If we take not harbour here we shall have to lie out in
the field, for we shall fall in with no other house till the night is
well deep." Therewith he rode up to the door and lighted down, and so
did they all; and there came forth a tall and somewhat goodly man of
some fifty winters and bade Welcome, Sir Mark! And without more ado
they entered the hall, which was fair and big and well-plenished.
There presently they were feasted by the goodman and his sons and his
folk, for Sir Mark the Blue Knight was well known to the said goodman.
In due time withal the Maiden was shown to a fair chamber well hung
and with a good bed therein, wherein she slept sweet without dreams.
So was the ending of that day better than the beginning. They took to
their road betimes on the morrow, and two of the goodman's sons and
three of his men rode with them, well armed; for though this was a
peopled part, yet whiles reivers rode therein. But on the way the Blue
Knight excused him to the Maiden for suffering this eking of his army,
and he said: "Seest thou, lady, were I with my two lads here, or even
were I riding birdalone, I would have bidden these five good fellows
abide at home; but I fear for thee, lest the fewness of our company
should draw on this rascaile to come within smiting distance, and then
who knows what might betide? For a chance stroke might do all the
scathe at once, and make me an unhappy man till the end of my days."
She smiled on him friendly and said: "Sir Knight, there is no need to
excuse thee; trust me I am nowise greedy of battle, and thank thee
heartily for thinking of me."
The Knight made as if he would have said something which would not
come forth out of his mouth, and he turned very red, and so rode, but
presently drew rein, and bade the others ride on and he would catch up
with them. So they went on, and the Maiden would have ridden on also,
but he said: "I beseech thee to abide with me, for I have a word or
two to say to thee before we get on with this day's journey." She
looked on him wonderingly, and was somewhat abashed, but turned to
hearken to him, and he said, not speaking very glibly: "Thou thankest
me for thinking of thee, but meseems I have nowise thought of thee
enough. I have told thee that we be riding to my house of Brookside,
but now I will ask thee if thou hast will to go thither?"
"Why not?" she said; "I deem not by thy looks and thy speech that thou
wilt be hard or cruel with me, or do me wrong in any wise, or suffer
others to do so."
"Nay, by Allhallows," said he; "but this I ask. Tell me right out if
thou hast any will to go back to thine old home in the Dale. I beseech
thee to tell me thy mind hereon; and if thou longest to go back, then
will we turn bridle at once and seek to the stead where thou wert born
and bred, and there will I say farewell to thee. For what! it may not
be for ever; I shall ride to see thee once and again, I promise thee."
Now the Maiden flushed red and the tears gathered in her eyes, and she
looked piteous-kind on him; but she said: "Thou art kind indeed; but
that farewell in the Dale needeth not to be, for I have no will to go
back home. Such an errand is laid on me that hath made me homeless
now; for I must go seeking that which is lost, it may be, wide over
the world; and if thou wilt shelter me a while in Brookside Castle I
shall thank thee and bless thee as scarce a man hath yet been thanked
since earth was new."
The Knight hung down his head, but presently he raised it, and heaved
a sigh as if a weight were lifted from his heart, and he said: "Let
each of us take what content may be in the passing days." Then he
shook his rein, and they both sped on together till they caught up
with their company.
That night they harboured at a husbandman's cot, where was no room
save for the two women, and the men lay out under the bare heaven, but
all was done that might be for the easement of the Maiden. The
franklin's folk rode on with them on the morrow, and whereas they must
needs wend a somewhat thick wood the more part of the day, they rode
close, and had the Maiden in their midst, while the Blue Knight went
the foremost of their company, and was as wary as might be. So
whatever strong-thieves might have been lurking under cover of the
thicket, they adventured them not against so stout and well-ordered a
company, and they all came safely through the wood into a fair grassy
valley some little time before sunset. But though the pasture was good
there and the land well watered, there were no houses within sight,
for it was over-nigh to the wood for folk to venture their goods, yea
and their lives, by dwelling in neighbourhood to such ill men as
haunted the thickets of the forest. Wherefore this night all the
company, women as well as men, must needs forego lying under rafters:
albeit they dight some kind of tent within what cloths they had for
the Maiden and her fosterer.
The fourth day, as they rode the grassy fair valley, as it was noon,
they saw somewhat aloof the riding of another company, which they
deemed to be more than they. So they looked to their weapons and rode
on steadily, but without haste, lest the others might deem they were
fleeing them. So the others, when they had well espied their
demeanour, passed on without meddling with them; and well-nigh the
whole valley could be ridden, so there was nought to drive them to
meet side by side in a strait road, wherefore they came not very nigh,
but yet nigh enough to know the newcomers for such as would be evil
way-fellows to any whom they feared not. As it was, the Blue Knight
and his drew rein and turned a little toward them as they went by, to
show that they feared them not, and Sir Mark rode forward before his
folk and abode them with a sword in fist. But the newcomers did nought
by set up a yelling and jeering, and rode on their way not over
slowly.
Three hours thereafter they saw, a little mile aloof, a fair white
house garnished with towers on a knoll, round about which ran a little
river; so the Maiden, who was now again riding close beside the Blue
Knight, asked him if that were Brookside, and he smiled and said:
"Nay, my house is still five days' ride away, but this house, which
hight Warding Knowe, is the house of a friend, and there shall we have
good guesting, whereof I rejoice for thy sake." Then he was silent a
while, and said thereafter: "Tell me, lady, doest thou wish those five
days over?"
"Nay," she said, "it is little matter to me where I am, and to say
sooth, this riding through the fair land likes me well."
He sighed and said, yet slowly: "Well, for my part I would that the
five days were fifty." "Why?" she said heedlessly. He reddened and
said: "I must needs tell thee since thou askest me. It is because I
have got used to seeing these men and thy Carline about thee; neither
does it irk me to see the folk that give us guesting gazing on thee or
speaking to thee. But when we come to Brookside it will be all other
than that; for there will be the folk all about, and some belike will
make friends with thee; and there will be my mother. And look you, all
and each of these folk shall have as much part and lot in thee as I
shall have. Now, art thou angry that I have said this."
"Nay," she said, and knew not what more to say. And she looked at him
covertly and saw grief and torment in him, and she was sorry for him.
But within herself she said, Woe's me! and how long it shall be belike
ere I meet my beloved!
Chapter LVII. They Come to Brookside
They were not long ere they were before the gate of Warding Knowe, and
the master thereof standing over against them, bidding them a free and
fair welcome. He was well on in years, more than grizzled, but a stout
and stark knight: he hight Sir Alwyn. He embraced Sir Mark as he got
off his horse, for they were dear friends, and then looked keenly on
the Maiden, and took her by the hand and led her in and treated her
with all honour. Thereafter, before supper, while she was under the
hands of the tire-women, the said lord took occasion to ask the Blue
Knight if he had done well, so doing, or whether he should have given
her less honour; and the Blue Knight said that he had done right well,
and that he thanked him for it, for of all honour was she worthy.
Now the Maiden sat at table beside the lord and Sir Mark, and
hearkened their talk, which at one time ran much upon that great
captain of war whom they called Sir Godrick of Longshaw. And she might
see of both of them that they thought much of his wisdom, and not
little of his luck, and feared him what he would do to them of the
Barons' League, whereof were both those knights. And Sir Alwyn
furthermore told the Blue Knight concerning tidings in the City of the
Sundering Flood, and said that the King thereof was of little account
before such a man as was Sir Godrick, for though he were well enough
in a fray if the sword were put in his hand and the horse were between
his knees, yet was he feathered-headed, stubborn in wrong, and
hard-hearted. Said Sir Alwyn, that save the said King was in all
things according with the best men of the City, as the Porte and the
masters of the Great Crafts, he was undone. Then he said again: "Yea,
and there is talk also how that the Small Crafts have in their hearts
to rise against both Porte and King, and certes if they may have Sir
Godrick on their side, which is not wholly unlike, they will perchance
come to their above; and then again is the King's cake but dough."
Said Sir Mark, and smiled withal: "One thing we have to our comfort,
that there may not lightly be found two Sir Godricks, and though his
men be fell fighters, there where he is only shall his luck prevail to
the full."
"Yea," said the houselord; "but I can see in the eye of my mind
another well-nigh as good has he, if he might but hit upon him. Yea,
and one who should be even better than his double, filling up what
little lacks there may be in him; one who should cheer the heart of
his host as much even as the captain, and yet should be liker to the
men themselves, and a part of them in all wise."
Said Sir Mark: "Even so much as this I said a day or two ago. Yet
scarce is such an one found by seeking." "Sooth is that," said Sir
Alwyn, "but such-like haps drift toward the lucky."
So the talk thereof dropped down in a while; but the Carline, who had
been shown to a good seat not far off, heard all this, and said to
herself: I wonder if this old knight is somewhat wise of foresight,
for surely along the same road wendeth my mind. And afterwards, the
next morning, when as it happened the Carline was standing close to
the lord, and they two alone, she said to him: "Lord, might an old and
feeble woman ask of thy wisdom without rebuke if thou hast any inkling
of what thine end shall be?" He looked hard on her and said: "Dame, I
note of thee that thou hast some foresight of things to come, and thou
art old as I am, therefore to thee will I tell it, as I would to none
other, that I shall fall in battle, and in that said battle our backs
shall be turned toward the foe and our faces toward the world beyond;
and this shall be ere the earth is eighteen months older." So she
thanked him, and they parted.
But as for the Maiden, she also had hearkened heedfully to the talk of
the two knights, and something went to her heart as they talked about
a meet fellow for this great captain, and she said to herself, Ah! and
where shall such a man be on the earth, if it not be he whom no man
friendly may see without his heart being drawn to him, whom no foe may
see without casting aside hope of victory, the wise one, while yet a
boy, of the war of Eastcheaping, the frank and the fair, and mine own
love who is seeking me?
When the morning was they departed with all good wishes from Warding
Knowe, and the franklin's men turned back home; for Sir Alwyn's
stronghold was as a bar against the strong-thieves of the forest and
thereabout. But the others went forward toward Brookside, nor is there
much to tell of their journey; for the most part they guested at the
houses of the husbandmen, or whiles at a franklin's or yeoman's house,
and none begrudged them the harbour and victual; but the poor folk Sir
Mark paid largely therefor.
At last, on the ninth day as it grew toward dusk, and they had been
riding a land of little hills, with no little woodland betwixt the
meadows so that they might see no great way ahead, they saw but a half
mile aloof a hill nowise high, and before it a little river bridged
with a goodly stone bridge; and on the said hill was a long house,
defensible by reason of its towers and walls, yet no mere stronghold,
but a goodly dwelling. Then Sir Mark raised his hand and pointed to
it, and said to the Maiden: "Lady, yonder is Brookside, my poor house,
where I would have thee dwell so long as it pleases thee." Therewith
he drew forth his horn and said: "We will sing a little to them, for
it will be in their minds to ride out some of them to meet us, and I
would not balk their good will." Therewith he set his horn to his
mouth and blew a long and loud blast, wherein were strange changes
and quirks, so that it might be known for his music; and then they
rode on slowly, and presently a banner of the blue and white waves
came out from a high tower, and therewithal from out the Castle-gate
came forth a score of folk a-horseback and rode swiftly down to the
bridge.
Then Sir Mark said: "Now light we down and meet the rest on this
pleasant greensward, for they will like it better to come on us thus,
so that they may have the better and the nigher sight of us; and
though there be little shade of trees here, yet this cool hour before
the twilight all green places be pleasant this fair day."
Even as he bade so did they, and it was anigh to the bridge, so that
it was but a few minutes ere that folk were riding over toward them,
and the Maiden could see at once of them that they were merry-faced
and gay-clad. The two that rode first were young men, and one slim and
very goodly, with the hair of his head plenteous and waving and brown,
and little hair upon his pleasant, happy young face. He threw himself
off his horse at once and ran straight up to the Blue Knight, and made
obeisance to him, and took his hand and kissed it; but the Knight laid
his hands on to his shoulders and shook him and rolled him about,
looking kindly in his face the while, and then he cried out: "Ha,
Roland! by St. Christopher but thou art glad to see me, lad! Is all
well up there?"
"All is well, Sir Mark," said the youngling, "and I am like to be glad
to see thee back safe and sound, when who knows what folly thou wilt
have been mixed up with, so that thou mayst well be brought home any
day between the four corners: and all is well up yonder."
"Hark to the prudence of the sage and the grey-beard," said Sir Mark,
laughing. "Yet I must tell thee, and all of you, that I have had an
adventure. But here is James and his greeting." Now this was the other
young man, who got off his horse in less haste and came up slower to
his lord, and as he went cast an eye on the Maiden, who had risen up
to meet the newcomers and was standing there simply and somewhat shyly;
and the young man beheld her he blushed red and cast his eyes down. He
was not so fair a youth as the other, tall and stark, red-haired, the
hair cut short to his head, yet no ill-looked man neither, grey-eyed
and firm-lipped. The Knight took him kindly by the hands and greeted
him, and then he turned to the Maiden and took each of the young men
by a hand, and let them before her, and said: "Fair lady, these two,
who will ere long be knights, are my squires-of-arms, who love me
wholly and are good men and true, and perilous in the stour to them
that love me not. Now I pray thee be as kind to them as thou wilt, yet
as I am, to wit, ruling them well, and making them run and return for
thee, and giving them but little of their will." And he laughed
therewith.
So James knelt down before her, and would have kissed her hand but she
reached it not to him. But if James were abashed when he first cast
eyes on her, how was it now with Roland? He turned red indeed, and
made no obeisance to her, but stood staring at her with all his eyes.
But the other folk gathered round them to get the Blue Knight's
greeting, and also, sooth to say, to gaze upon the Maiden. And when
the Knight had taken the welcome of them with many kind words, he said
in a loud voice so that all could hear: "Squires and sergeants and
men-at-arms, this is the adventure that I have had: that I came upon
this lady in the hands of a caitiff who had set his men to steal her
while others held her kinsmen and folk in battle, and now called her
his war-taken thrall. And whereas he was a craven and would not fight
for her, I must needs buy her of him, though I bade him battle in all
honour; and fain am I that he took it not, for the slaying of such
dogs is but dirty work. But hearken, though I have bought this lady at
a price, it was to make her her own and not mine, and of her own will
has she come hither to my house. But I think on the way thither she
has become somewhat my friend in all kindness and honour, and I deem
that to you also she will be a friend while she dwells with us, and if
ye be less than friendly with her, then are ye hewn out of far other
wood than I be. But all this I have told you that there may be no
slander or backbiting, or deeming of evil whereas none is; yea, and no
deeming of guile or mystery in the tale, but all may be plain and
outspoken."
They gave forth a murmur of yeasay and welcome when he had done, and
the Maiden deemed that they looked as if they loved and trusted the
Knight. But therewith one and all of them came before her and knelt to
her and did her obeisance, and she looked full kindly on them, for she
deemed all this good and happy. And yet she said to herself, If it
could be that I could forget him or the search for him, how should I
one day awaken when all was lost and curse myself! But she heard the
Blue Knight say: "James and Roland, I would have you prevent us and go
up to the Castle, and go to my Lady-mother in her chamber and tell her
hereof, how I have come home, and all that ye have seen and heard."
But the Maiden wondered somewhat, for looking now on Sir Mark she saw
that his face had reddened and his brows were knit.
But the two squires got to their horses and rode briskly up to the
Castle as silent as might be, and all the others followed at a foot's
pace.
Now they were soon under the gate of the Castle, and came into the
forecourt, and the buildings round about it were goodly and great, but
not very new. There were a many weaponed men in the said court, all
come together to welcome their lord and his fellowship, and they
clattered their spears on their shields, and tossed their swords aloft
and shouted, so that the Maiden's eyes glittered and her heart beat
quick.
But when they were off their horses, straightway Sir Mark took the
Maiden by the hand and led her into the great hall, and all that folk
followed flock-meal. Long was the said hall and great, but not very
high, and its pillars thick and big, and its arches beetling; and that
the folk loved better than flower-fair building, for very ancient it
was and of all honour. Ancient withal were its adornments, and its
halling was of the story of Troy, and stern and solemn looked out from
it the stark woven warriors and kings, as they wended betwixt sword
and shield on the highway of Fate.
Chapter LVIII. Peaceful Days in the Castle of Brookside
Now the Knight led the Maiden up to the dais, and thereon were squires
and priests and ladies; for Sir Mark's mother was there, sitting on a
very goodly chair beside his seat of honour, and when these two came
on to the dais the said lady stood up to meet them, and put her arms
about the knight's neck and kissed him. Then she turned to the Maiden
and said: "Thou also art welcome, and thy follower the old woman,
since my son hath bidden you to the house which is his own. But look
to it that thou be obedient to him, and take more heed of his honour
and his welfare than thine own welfare. Then shall I give thee what
honour thou art worthy of, and thou shalt find in me a well-willer."
So the Maiden knelt before her and kissed her hand, but the Lady
looked no more on her, but on her son. She was a tall and goodly woman
of some five and fifty winters; hawk-nosed and hawk-eyed, dark-haired,
and her hair waved as the coat-armour of the house. She spoke in no
very soft or kind voice, not even to her son, and the Maiden had
feared her that while, had it not been that even therewith her heart
turned toward the man she loved and whom she sought, and all these
that were round about her, even the valiant and generous Knight, had
become for the time to her but images that had no part in her life.
But now the tire-woman came to her and led her into a chamber apart,
and bathed her and clad her in fair raiment and led her back to the
hall, for so had the Blue Knight commanded.
As for the Carline, she was shown to a good place, and sat there
heedfully, and had ears for everything that was said and eyes for all
that was done. And she said to herself that they should not abide
there very long ere she would find out something of the way her bird
must follow if she were to have a happy life thenceforth.
But the next morning the Lady-mother took her son into a window of the
hall and fell to talking with him. And the Carline was not far off,
and heard a good part of all that they said: for she was fine-eared,
and had brought lore to bear upon the hearkening.
Now spake the Lady: "Well, son, so thou hast brought home a woman of
the husbandmen, a churl's daughter, to dwell with us. What wilt thou
do with her? Wilt thou wed her with priest and ring?" "Nay, mother,"
said Sir Mark; "but thou needest not call her of churl's blood. I wot
of these folk of the dales under the mountains, that they are both
proud and warrior-like, as if they were earls' kindred." "Is it so?"
said the Lady; "But she is neither of the baronage nor the knighthood.
I say, wilt thou wed her?" "I shall not," said Sir Mark, reddening and
knitting his brows. "What wilt thou do with her then?" said the Lady.
Said he: "She shall abide here in all honour and kindness so long as
she will." "Even such shall she have from me then," said the Lady,
"since it is thy will, so long as thy will is steadfast herein; but
when it changes, then must we seek other rede." So the talk between
them dropped for that time.
Here then began new days for the Maiden, nor is it to be said that
there was aught evil in them, save the abiding on hope deferred; for
there was none in the house that looked not kindly on this lovely one,
save it were the Lady, the mother of Sir Mark. But then, to say sooth,
she looked not kindly on any, scarce even on her son, though in her
heart she loved him strongly. And no wrong she did to the Maiden, or
put any tasks upon her, nor said nor did aught covertly to make her
heart bleed, as belike she might have done had she willed it. The two
young squires, Roland and James, did all they might to be with her and
have speech of her, and she suffered them frankly, seeing no harm
therein. For to her they were but bright and fair youths whose lives
had nought to do with hers, but who should find friends and loves and
deeds with other folk whom she had never heard of, and in lands far
away from the grey Dale where she was born and bred.
As to Sir Mark, it was somewhat different, for such thanks she owed
him for her deliverance and for his kindness that never wore thin, and
for the faithful love that looked for no reward, nay not even for pity
of the love, for ever he bore him frank and merry, and had such kind
good-will to all folk worthy who were about him, that none had deemed
of him but that he was heart-whole, and bore about no pain that fretted
his life. So much she owed him, I say, yea and was glad to owe him,
and so fain she was to hear and see this friend, that scarce might she
think of her life on the earth and he not a part of it in some way.
So wore the spring and summer, and all seemed at peace about
Brookside: and many merry days did the Maiden and the Carline share
in, as riding in the meadows and woods with hawk and hound, and feasts
in the fair land further aloof; and the Midsummer and Michaelmas
markets, which were held in the meadow betwixt the Castle and the
township of Brookside; and a riding more than two or three to the
cheaping-town of that country-side, which was some five leagues
distant and was a good and plenteous town. Withal a many folk came
a-guesting to the Castle, knowing it to be a guest-kind house, as
pilgrims and chapmen, and knights and men-at-arms riding hither and
thither on their errands, so that it was no unlikely place to hear
tidings of the countries and kingdoms.
Chapter LIX. Tidings of Longshaw and of the Hosting of the Barons'
League
But when the aforesaid Michaelmas market was, great recourse was there
of far-travelled and wise men, and the Carline set herself diligently
to learn all she might of such-like folk. And she had wherewithal to
buy wares of likely chapmen, and to treat men-at-arms and others to
wine and banquet. For she had brought away with her a marvellous
collar of gems, which the Maiden owned, and which, as she said, was
the gift of the Dwarfs; and the Maiden consenting thereto, the Carline
had sold three gems from the said collar, so that they lacked not
money.
Now as to the tidings the Carline heard of, they had for the most part
to do with the deeds and uprising of Sir Godrick of Longshaw, and how
that the Barons of the lands that lay about would not endure his ways
and his pride, and were levying war against him; and they said they
knew for certain that, when spring came next year, they would be on
him, and that they had made a League into which they looked to draw
the King of the City of the Sundering Flood, and that meanwhile the
League was already most mightily manned, and so far-reaching that it
was a sure thing that the Lord of Brookside had come into it, yea and
even others further west and north than he. Now all were in one tale
about this; but one man there was with whom the Carline spoke, and he
neither the youngest nor least wise, who said: "And yet, dame, I look
for it that the Knight of Longshaw will yet give this league a
troublous hank to unwind, so wise a man as he is, and so well
accompanies by wise and lucky men; and now hath he gotten a new
captain, a young man from far away up-country; and though there has
since his coming been no great war afoot, yet hath this newcomer been
one of certain adventures, wherein he hath proved himself. And by all
I could see and hear, for I was dwelling seven days at Longshaw, he
will be the right hand of Sir Godrick, and that means that the Knight
deems of him as no mere man-at-arms, but a wise man also. Moreover, I
myself have seen the young man, and this I seem to see in him, that he
has the lucky look in his eyes; and I am deemed cunning in the judging
of men." All this and more did the Carline hear tell of, and she
weighed it heedfully, and thought that a change of days was coming.
A month after this, and ere the winter had set in, came riding to
Brookside a knight and two squires, and had a special message to the
Blue Knight, who received them with all honour and kindness and heard
what they had to say, and prayed them to abide with him a while, since
they had ridden far from the south and the east; but they would not
tarry but one night, for they had further to go. When they were
departed Sir Mark made no secret of their message, which was that the
hosting of the Barons' League would be in such place, east of the
water and far to the south, a month before Marymass of next year; and
they prayed him to be leal and true to the League, and gather to him
what force he might, as well armed and formed in all ways as could be
done. But he answered that he was all ready thereto, and should do his
devoir to the uttermost of his power.
When the Maiden heard this she was troubled, and asked him what he
deemed of the chances of the war, and he said: "Lady, this is what we
were talking of with the Lord of Warding Knowe that other day; and I
must tell thee, though I shall go to the hosting merrily and expend me
there to the utmost, yet I deem that they be the luckiest who may keep
them out of this strife, as I may not." "Yet," said she, "be they not
mighty men, these Barons? and all men say that their League is well
knit together; so that at the worst, they overwhelm not the Knight of
Longshaw, they may hold them well against him."
"Lady," said he, "by my deeming, if we crush not this valiant man
utterly he will scatter us; he is not such a man as, if he have any
force left, may be held aloof, as a man will hold a fierce sheep-dog
with a staff till the shepherd come. To end it, since I am saying this
to none but thee, I see myself so bestead that I shall deem me a lucky
man if I bring back a whole skin from this war."
"It will be evil days for all of us," said she, "if thou come not back
hale and sound."
"It gladdens my heart that thou shouldst say so," quoth he; "and yet I
would have thee look to it, that if we overthrow this wise man and
good knight, and I say again that must be utterly or not at all, there
will be more moan made over him than over a dozen such as I; and that
is no otherwise than it should be." Said she: "I would thou wert with
him and not against him." The Knight said kindly: "Dear maiden, thou
must not say such words to me, for thou knowest that my part is chosen
by my own will."
She said nought, but nodded and looked at him as one who understood
and thought well of him; and he began again: "So it is that yonder
knight-messenger told me, amidst of his talk, that he had been but the
other day to Longshaw under safe-conduct, and that there it was told
him by one of the loose-tongued and grudging kind, as I deem, that Sir
Godrick of Longshaw had gotten to him these latter days a new captain,
a man very young, and as it were a David to look on in the days before
he slew the Philistine. Furthermore, said this grudger, that though
the said youth was a tall lad of his inches, and strong and well-knit,
he was all untried, and yet was he shoving aside older and well-proven
men in the favour of the Knight of Longshaw. In short, the said
grudger went on with his tale as though there were some big grievance
against his master brewing in Longshaw, and our knight deemed that so
it was, and that they would hold together the looser, and that thereby
we should have the cheaper bargain of them. All of which I trow
nowise, but deem, on the contrary, that I see in this glorious young
man even the one sent from heaven for the helping of our enemy, of
whom I dreaded that he would come ere long time was worn. But now let
all things be as they will that be not under my hand."
The Maiden still kept silence, but she flushed very red and her eyes
glittered; for her heart was smitten by this tale of the young
champion, and the thought sprang up suddenly, Who then can this be
save mine own beloved? But the talk between them fell.
Chapter LX. The Blue Knight Gathers Men and Departs from Brookside
Wore the days then till the winter came upon them, and though the
season was not hard, yet was there but little coming and going about
the country-side, that is to say for long journeys; but even so the
Blue Knight had his hands full of business in seeing to the gathering
of men and stuff for the hosting of the Barons' League. But when March
was at hand, and the roads were dry, there was no need of further
message to him, and he let it be known to all and several that on the
very first day of the month he would depart before sunrise. And this
he told to the Maiden specially, and by this time she had got to look
upon it as a thing already done, so that the news thereof took not
much from her cheer, which, to say sooth, was but little.
Mighty was the hubbub and toil of their getting ready; but when the
morning was come all was in good order, and the men and their wains
and what not were all drawn up in array down on the little plain
before the bridge, and they looked as if nothing might overthrow them,
so stalwarth they were each man, and so well learned to move as though
they were one. The sun was not yet up ere there came a knock on the
Maiden's door, and she, who was fully clad, and had been looking out
of her window (whence she could see all the array) for a good while,
went to the door and opened, and lo! it was Sir Mark, fully armed save
his head. She put out her hands to him and said: "Thou hast come to
say farewell to me. See, I have saved thee the pain of saying that
word; soon may it be that I shall have to say Welcome back!"
He took her hands and kissed her face many times, and she suffered
him. Then he said: "O my thanks to thee! Yet hearken: If I come not
back at all, when it is known for sure here that I am dead, then I
rede thee make as little delay as thou mayest, but get thee gone at
once, thou and thy nurse, from the pleasant house of Brookside, and go
straight to the house of the Grey Sisters, which thou hast seen from
without many a time, and which lieth betwixt wood and water a seven
miles down the river, and tell them that I have sent you and bid them
to cherish you; then will they see to thy matters in the best way they
know. Much more might I say, and I know that thou wouldst hearken me,
but I must forbear, lest I soften my heart overmuch for this day and
this hour."
Then he turned and went, but came back in a twinkling while she still
stood at the door, and said to her: "I tell thee it needeth but a
little but that I should do off this weed of war and abide at home
while my men wend to battle." Then he turned again and was gone.
But the Maiden went to the window weeping thus to lose her friend, and
the Carline came to her there, and they looked forth, and beheld the
Knight ride down to his men. And then all the array shook and clashed,
as they shouted for joy that their captain was come amongst them; and
there were the two young squires, gay and bright in their broidered
surcoats, and they fell into their places beside the lord, and Roland
bore the wavy banner. Then arose the sun, and Sir Mark drew forth his
sword and waved it aloft, and Roland shook the banner loose and
displayed it in the clear air. The horns blew up, and the whole band
of them got on to the bridge and went their ways toward the place
where the road to the south and the east turned off from the northern
road. Even so departed that glorious piece of ordered might; and when
they were quite gone those two turned away from the window, and the
days which were next to come seemed empty and dull.
But the Maiden told the Carline all that the Blue Knight had said to
her about fleeing straightway to the Grey Sisters if he himself should
fall in the war; and the two looked at each other a while, and each
knew the thoughts which were in the other's heart, and which each left
unspoken; to wit that Sir Mark feared his mother's pride and malice,
what she might do if he were no longer there to refrain it; yea, and
she seeking some outlet to her grief and solace for it in wrath and
cruelty.
Chapter LXI. The Maiden and the Carline Flee to the Grey Sisters
Now wore away the days of March, and all was peaceable, but no tidings
came from Sir Mark, nor forsooth was any looked for so early. The Blue
Knight had left but three score of men-at-arms at Brookside, under an
ancient knight who had won his spurs with hard fighting and was as
wise of war as may be, but whose strength was worn away somewhat. But
this seemed of little import, as none looked for any war, save it
might be the riding of a band of strong-thieves, who would scarce try
the tall ramparts of Brookside, or had been speedily thrust aside had
they so done. Yet did the seneschal look well to his gates, which were
shut save for a few hours midmost of the day, and kept good watch and
ward day-long and night-long. And few people were suffered to enter
the Castle, save the neighbours who were well known, or now and again
a wandering chapman; but such an one was ever put out a-gates before
sunset: and no one of these even made a show of giving any news of the
country of the war. But midmost of April came some news, such as it
was, to wit that the Barons' League had driven him of Longshaw out of
the field by the mere terror of their host and the wind of its
banners, and he had shut himself up in Longshaw, whereto they were
drawing speedily, and that the King of the City of the Sundering Flood
had brought his host into the field to help the Barons. But when the
Castle-folk heard this they doubted not but that the Lord of Longshaw
was undone, and they were exceeding joyous thereof. But the Maiden,
though she might hope the more to see her friend come back whole and
sound, was unmerry at the tidings, she could scarce tell for why;
neither did the Carline blame her therefore.
But again, almost in the face of May, chapmen more than two or three
brought tidings, to wit that all was done: Longshaw taken and ruined,
the warriors thereof slain or scattered, and Sir Godrick brought to
the heading-block in the King's City. Now great indeed was the joy in
Brookside, and great joy and feast they made; and the Lady of the
Castle sat at the high-table, clad in golden garments, at a glorious
banquet which was held every night of the octave of the day when they
had first heard these good tidings. But when the Carline saw the
sadness of the Maiden because of it, she said to her: "Nay, nay, my
child, put on a good countenance and up with thine heart. For every
tale is good till the next one is told; and I must tell thee that
these last two who had one in their mouths, the chapman and the canon
to wit, I questioned them closely, first the two together, and then
each one by himself, and methought I could see that they knew little
more about it than we do, and were but carrying about empty hearsay,
ever making the most of what they deemed we and they would like the
best to hear. I would rather they had told us once more of the Aunturs
of King Arthur and Sir Gawain."
The Maiden smiled at her word, and her heart was lightened, for it
pleased her nought to think that this good Knight, Sir Godrick, whom
her friend had so bepraised to her, should have been overcome and led
to death by his foemen. Now after this they gat no tidings of any
account till May was well on; and then none at all a long while, till
at last June was come, and folk about the Castle were getting fearful,
lest something untoward had befallen.
At last, on a hot and dry afternoon of June, when the Carline and the
Maiden were together and had gotten leave to be without the gate, they
saw a horseman come riding from the wood on the other side of the
gate, with his head turned toward the Castle, and then another, and
then two more. And as they drew nigher, they could see that these were
gaunt and tattered and in evil array, and they rode very slowly. And
those two beheld them, and saw that no more came, and they wondered
what they were. But at last, when they were close on the bridge, they
saw only too well by the rags of their array and by the faces of two
of them, whom they knew, that these were men-at-arms of Brookside. And
the women stood still astonied and wist not what to do; and the men
also drew up to them and then abode, and one, he whom they knew the
best, spake to them in a harsh voice and said: "God knows we have
striven hard to save our lives this long while past, that there might
be one or two left to tell the tale; but now it is not so sure but
that up there they will slay us for coming home alive. But we heed
not, for we be foul like beasts and hungry like beasts and weary like
beasts. Let the beasts pass who were once men of Brookside."
"Poor men," said the Maiden kindly, "ye need not wound your lips by
telling me the tale, for I know it, to wit the others are all slain
and perished, and that your lord fell with all valiance in the heat of
the battle. O woe is me for my friend!" And she wept.
But the man stared at her wildly, as if he were astonied to hear the
unused sweetness of her voice. But she said: "Come now, and let me
lead thee to thy fellows; maybe they will be astir now." So she put
her hand on his bridle to lead him, and he followed without naysay,
and the others after him. And they passed in under the gate; and by
this time there were a score or more folk in the court, for they had
seen the riding of men from the walls or windows. But lo, now the
Maiden, when she looked about for the Carline, might see her nowhere.
But even therewith came one man and another thronging about those
runaways, and some crying out, Tell all, tell at once! and blubbering
outright, bearded men though they were; and some standing stockstill
and staring straight before them in the extremity of their overthrow.
And amidst of all this the Maiden was shoved aside and swept out of
the way, till presently she felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and
found it was the Carline, who spake: "Come out now amidst all this
hubbub ere some one think of it to shut the gates. Come speedily." And
they came outside the gate, and found none there, but two horses, and
saddle-bags and a pack upon each. And the Carline said: "Mount now,
and we will go as thy dead friend bade us; for none may stay us now,
and these horses are our very own. Now will we ride away, tonight it
may be as far as the Grey Sisters, but tomorrow further."
Chapter LXII. They Fall in with Three Chapmen
Now when the next day was, the Lady of Brookside sent a half score of
men-at-arms to the House of the Grey Sisters, and bade them give up to
them the Carline and the Maiden, if they had them there. But the
Sisters said that they had come to them indeed the night before and
had slept in their house, but had gone on early in the morning; and
when the men asked what road they had taken, they said they had gone
north, and were minded for the uplands and the mountains. So the
men-at-arms made no delay, but turned and rode the northern [way]
diligently, and put their horses to it all they might; and they rode
all that day and part of the next; but rode they fast or rode they
slow, it was all one, for they came across neither hide nor hair of
those twain, and so must needs come back empty-handed to Brookside.
And when they told the Lady hereof, she fell into a cold rage, and
cursed those twain for their folly and thanklessness, and said now
that they had missed all the good which she had in her heart to do
them since they had been such close friends to her dear son, late
murdered. But however that might be, the Carline and the Maiden never
saw Brookside again.
Sooth to say, it was by no means north that these twain rode, but as
near south as might be. The Sisters were good to them, and gave them
each a gown such as their lay-sisters wore, for they said that so
arrayed they would be the less meddled with. Therewithal the Prioress
gave them a writing under her seal, praying all religious houses to
help them wheresoever they came, whereas they were holy women and of
good life. And the twain thanked them and blessed them, and made an
oblation each one of them, of a fine ruby from off that necklace of
gems aforesaid.
Now they rode through a peaceable country, not ill-peopled, for two
weeks or more, and gat good guesting, whiles at some houses of nuns,
whiles at a good yeoman's, and ever were folk good to them; and nought
befel them to tell of, save that once they were chased by riders, but
overwent them and came under the shelter of a good old knight's
castle, who drave off the thieves, and gave them a good guesting, but
was of somewhat heavy cheer, whereas his son, who had gone to the
wars, had been taken captive by the Lord of Longshaw, and was not yet
come back again.
After this they came into worser lands, rocky and barren, but made
their way through somehow, whereas the Carline was deft at snaring
small deer, as coneys and the like, and so they lived and got forward
on their way.
But on a day toward sunset, as they had just turned about a corner of
the road, they came upon a fellowship of a half score men who were at
their supper on the green grass just before them. Two of these gat
straight to their horses and rode toward the dames, who, seeing that
their horses were well-nigh spent, and not knowing which side to turn
to, stood still and abode the newcomers, who were nought but courteous
to them, and bade them to eat with them. The twain yeasaid it
perforce, and were well treated by the travelers, who said they were
merchants on the road to the peopled parts that lay beyond the
mountains; and even so it seemed by their packs and bundles of goods.
Albeit, ere they lay down to sleep, the Maiden whispered to the
Carline: "Mother, I fear me that we have fallen amongst thieves: and
this seems like the tale of the felons who first stole me, with no
kind and dear knight at hand to buy me out of servitude." "Yea, my
sweet," said the Carline, "the hay smelleth of that weed; but fear
thou not, for I will deliver thee if so it be." So when the morning
was, and the day was bright, those merchants drew about the Carline
and the Maiden; and there were three masters there, and two of them
young men not ill-liking.
Now the Carline speaks to the elder of the three, and thanks him for
the meat and drink and company, and says withal that they will now be
gone, as time presses them. Says the chapman: "Nay, Carline, not so
fast; how shall ye go safer than with us, ten weaponed men to wit? And
safe thou shouldst go, dame, whereas thou bearest with thee so great a
treasure." Said the third and youngest of the chapmen: "Go with us ye
needs must till we have seen thy damsel safely set in good hands: or
what do ye with her?" Said the Maiden: "O my masters, this is my
fostermother, and to say sooth the only mother that I have known; it
is with all my will that I go where she leadeth, I pray you let her do
her will." And she was sore moved, and wept.
"Let-a-be, child," said the Carline, caressing her; "if these lords
are fain to be our guides and guards, let us thank them kindly for it
and go with them joyfully." The chapmen looked keenly on her, but
could see nought amiss in her way of speech; so they trowed in her,
and went about their matters arraying them for departure, and right
joyous they seemed of the adventure. As for the Maiden, she yet wept;
and when the Carline got to talk to her apart, as was easy amidst all
the bustle, the sweetling said amidst her tears: "O my mother, I know
not how to bear it, that now after all is done I am to be a thrall,
and sold to someone, I know not who. And I shall be hidden away from
the quest and the quest from me, so that I shall never see my love
again. And even now who knows how sorely he longeth for me!"
"Nay, my sweetling," said the Carline, "hold up thine heart; no
thraldom shall befal thee from these men, for I shall most surely
deliver thee; but let them first bring us safe toward the edge of the
mountains, and [we will] take their false guesting the while for what
it is worth, and trust me I shall watch them all the while." So the
Maiden stayed her weeping, but was shy and timid these days, and her
loathing of these thieves of folk's bodies and souls made her
downcast.
Two nights after, when they were resting at the day's end, the Carline
(she hidden in the brake) came across the three men contending
together in speech, and the words of the elder ending his talk she
just caught: "Two thousand nobles at the least would the Lord James
pay down for her; he hath none like her in the house." "Nor will have
ever," said the second man. "And for my part I will not give her up
for my share of a two thousand nobles." Spake the third thereon, and
he was the stoutest-built and the gallantest-looked of the three:
"Thou wilt not, thou! What sayest thou to me then? The beginning and
the end of it is that I will take her to myself alone and sell her to
none." "Yea, yea," said the elder, jeering, "and what shall we do?"
"Thou shalt give her to me for a price," said the youngest. "Nay, but
to me," said the second: "every one of thy pieces can I cover with a
piece." "Now," said the elder, "we get on swimmingly; since, forsooth,
I know not where either thou or he shall get all that gold from.
Wherefore now the best thing ye two may do at this present is to fall
both upon me, and slay me; and after that ye two can try it out
betwixt yourselves, and he who is left can go back to our carles, who
will straightway slay him when they have found the other two corpses.
How say ye, my masters, is this a good game to play?"
They sat looking surlily on him, but said nought. Then he said: "Since
this is come above ground, which to say sooth I looked for, as ye are
two such brisk lads, and the woman such a pearl of beauty, I bid you
this way to take: let us bring her down into the peopled parts in
peace and good fellowship, and then go all three before a priest and
take God's Body at his hands, and pray it may choke us and rot us if
we take her not straight to the Lord James and sell her unto him for
the best penny we may, and share all alike, even as the honest and
merry merchants we be. Ha, what say ye now?" Belike they saw that
there was nothing else to be said, but as moody they were as moody
might be. And to say sooth, the Carline deemed that, had it not been
for the serving men that would be left over, she might well leave them
to slay themselves. But now they went back to their folk, and the
Carline followed them in a little while.
Chapter LXIII. They Escape from the Chapmen by the Carline's Wizardry
The next night after, they were come to but a little way from the end
of the mountains, and could see the tilled and peopled lands lying
down before them, and this had been no very long day's journey. The
three merchant masters had ridden much apart from each other all day,
and there was little feasting between them at even, and all men laid
them down early to sleep. The Carline had spoken a word to the Maiden
as they were a-riding, so that none might hear: "Sweetling," she said,
"the thing thou hast to do tonight is to give heed to my least word or
beckoning, and obey it, and then will all be well." So they two lay
down somewhat away from the carle-folk. Amidst of the night then,
awoke the Maiden, and the moon was high and very bright, and looking
to her left side she saw the Carline was not there where she ought to
have been; but nought scared was she thereat, since she wotted well
that something would betide. But moving as little as she might, she
let her eyes go round the campment, and even therewith saw the said
Carline coming out of the tent of the masters, who slept all together
there, whereas their serving-men lay as they might, under cloaks and
such-like, beneath the naked heavens, the weather being fine and dry
as at that time. Stole the Carline then and went up to each one of the
said men and made unked signs over him, and when all that was done
stood up by herself amidst them all and laughed aloud. Then she called
out: "O sweetling that I am preserving as a pearl of all price for the
greatest warrior of the world, wakest thou or sleepest? Speak out and
fear not, for these now will lie here like logs long after the moon is
gone out and the sun is shining. These carles thou seest, and two of
the masters lie therein in their tent; but the third, the old one, I
lured away far into the thicket and laid him asleep there; so that his
being away, and the others hunting for him, might breed delay and
quarrels amongst these runagates."
The Maiden lightly arose and spake in a clear voice: "My mother, I am
verily awake and ready for the road." So she came down to the Carline,
and they went together to the horses and dight their own, which were
the best of the company's, and without more delay gat to saddle and
rode quietly down along the pass.
So rode they till it was the afternoon, and they were come out of the
mountains into the first of the meadows. Then they drew rein in a fair little ingle amidst goodly trees, and gat off their horses and tethered them
amongst the sweet grass. Then spake the Carline: "I must now look
along the ways of sleep and see what is betiding." Therewith she drew
from her hardes a goat-skin bag, which she did over her head, and then
laid herself face downwards on the grass; but the Maiden sat by her
and watched.
Thus she lay for an hour, and tumbled and routed in her slumber, and
thereafter she awoke and sat up, and was much besweated and worn; and
she spake in a weak voice: "I have seen what lieth behind and what
lieth before; now therefore I can do, and all will be well. For the
chapmen have awakened and have striven, the two young ones together,
and then the two young with the old because of his bitter mocks. But
now they be got to the road again, and though we be most like to
prevent them at a place of refuge, yet wise will it be to leave as
little as may be to chancehap. As to what lieth before, I have seen
our way that it turneth somewhat east tomorrow, and will bring us to a
goodly Abbey that hath a noble guest-house, and there, by the help of
the Prior's safe-conduct and the gifts I shall give to the saints and
the stewards, we shall be put well upon our way. But now will I do;
and when thou seest me fall down and lie like to one dead, be not
afeard, but when I come to myself again then sprinkle my face with
water and put a cup of wine to my lips, and thereafter shall I be
whole, and we shall eat and drink and go on our way."
Then the Carline went about the way and gathered handfuls of the dust
and small stones and laid them in the bag, and then lay down on the
way and put the bag under her bosom and brooded it, as a hen broodeth
her eggs, moaning and muttering the while, and thus she was a long
hour. Then she arose and let her hair loose, and it was long and white
and not scanty. In this guise she walked to and fro athwart the road,
keeping her face turned toward the mountains, and kept taking handfuls
of that dust and casting it up toward that quarter; and ever and anon
she cried out: "Be mist and mirk, and bewilderment and fear, before
those faces of our foemen! Be a wall behind us that they may not
pierce through! Mirk behind us, light before us!" So she went on till
she had emptied the said bag, and then she fell aback and lay on the
road as one dead. And the Maiden did as she had bidden and meddled not
with her. But at last, and it was another hour, she began to come to
herself, and the Maiden sprinkled her with water and gave her wine to
drink, and the old woman arose and was herself again and of good
cheer; and she stowed away her bag, and they drew forth victual and
ate and drank kindly and merrily together.
So they gat to the road again when it yet lacked three hours of
sunset, but rode not after night had fallen lest they should miss
their way. And no shelter they had that night but the grass and the
trees and the well-bedecked heavens, and all that was sweet enough for
them.
On the morrow they gat to the road early enough, and soon began to
come amongst the cots and the homesteads, and saw the folk labouring
afield, and none were otherwise than friendly to them; and a company
of husbandmen, carles and queans, hailed them from the ingle of an
acre where they were eating their dinner and bade light down and
share, and they did so with a good will; and the upland folk looked
with wonder on the Maiden and her beauty, and gave her much worship.
But the Carline talked with them, and asked them much of their land
and how it sped with them; and they said it was well with them, for
that they dwelt in good peace, whereas they were under the dominion of
the great Abbey, which dealt mildly with them, and would not suffer
them to be harried; and they pointed out to the newcomers a fair white
castle lying on a spur of the hills which went up to the waste
mountains, and did them to wit that that was the bit and the bridle
of any wild men who might get it into their heads to break out on to
the wealth of the Holy Fathers. And there be many such, said they,
about our land, and especially a good way east and south hence where
the land marcheth on the Great Forest, which is haunted by the worst
of men, who will not be refrained but by great might and great heed.
"And now," said they, "we here tell of that mighty and good lord, the
Knight of Longshaw, that he hath of late prevailed against his foes,
who be tyrants and oppressors; and if that be sooth, he shall do as
much or more on the east side of the Forest as my Lord Abbot hath done
in the west, and peace and good days shall abide with us." Much those
twain heeded this talk, and they prayed for that good lord, him and
his.
So they thanked that good folk and went their ways, and in an hour's
time they found the path which would do their eastering for them
toward the Abbey; and shortly to say it, they came to the guest-house
thereof two hours before it began to dusk, and were well-served by the
brethren whose office it was.
Chapter LXIV. The Carline Endeth Her Tale
When they arose on the morrow they began to think of departure, though
they would have kept them in that guest-house for many days; but both
of the twain, and especially the Maiden, deemed that, if they might,
they should be drawing nigh to that dwelling of the good Knight who
had overthrown the League of the Barons; and they both deemed that
thereabout, if anywhere, they should have tidings, even had they long
to wait for them, of that new champion whom the wise Knight had
gotten.
Now then the Carline did wisely, and she got to see the steward, and
fell to talk with him, and did him to wit that, for all the simplicity
of their raiment, they had both the will and the might to make a fair
oblation to the Saint; and she took from the aforesaid necklace two
sapphires and two emeralds, all great and very fair, and the steward's
eyes danced in the head of him at the sight, and he said: "This is a
fair gift indeed, and if ye will come with me into the church I will
show you to the Sub-prior, and if ye have any honest desire, as is
like, since ye have such love of Holy Church, he and I between us will
help you therein. And if not, nought is your time wasted in seeing our
church, which is of itself worth a long journey to behold."
So they went, well pleased, and when they were in the church they
found that he had said nought but the sooth: so many pillars there
were reaching up and toward the sky, so nobly wide it was, and as long
as it should be. And there were many altars therein, all as well
furnished as might be done; and long had it taken any lettered man to
have told up the number of histories on the walls and in the windows,
wherein they were all as if done with gemstones; and everywhere the
fair stories told as if they were verily alive, and as if they who did
them had seen them going on on the earth and in the heavens. So the
two waited there ravished while the steward went to fetch the
Sub-prior, and brought him presently, a kind and holy man, and humble
of demeanour.
He spake to them and said: "My daughters, it is told me that ye need
somewhat of our house in all honesty and holiness; now when ye have
laid your gift on the altar, if ye will come with me and our steward
here to the parlour, I will hearken to all ye have to say, and if the
thing ye need of us can be done, done it shall be." They thanked him
humbly and went and made their oblation, and prayed, and the Sub-prior
blessed them, and brought them out of the church into the parlour, and
there they sat down together.
Then the Carline opened her budget, and told how they two had suffered
from war and rapine, and when they had been delivered from a foul
caitiff by a good Knight who had cherished them with all honours in
his house, and all went well a while, it endured not long, for needs
must he go to the wars, and there was he slain: how they, to escape
the malice of the mother of the said Knight, who was a proud and hard
woman, and now that her son was dead neither loved nor feared aught,
must needs flee away. "But withal," said the Carline, "even had that
good and kind Knight lived and come back to us, needs must we have
left his house, and his kindness ere long. For this I must do you to
wit," says she, "that we deem we have a weird and a fortune abiding
us, and that through all trouble we shall be brought thereto in the
end, and that the said Knight's house of Brookside was over-far from
it. This therefore we ask of you, since ye have shown such kindness
unto us as the man of Samaria to him who fell amongst thieves."
The Sub-prior smiled at her word and said: "Well, dame, neither the
priest nor the Levite pass by the poor souls."
"Father," she said, "thou and thy house, are ye foes or friends to the
Knight of Longshaw?"
The Sub-prior smiled: "Friends forsooth," said he, "so far as we may
do him any good; but ye wot that we give him no carnal help with sword
and spear, yea and little indeed might we give were we temporal lords,
so far off as we be from Longshaw, and the river and the Wood
Masterless lying all between us. And now indeed we begin to deem that
the good Knight may yet come to his above, though ere he had given the
Barons' League that great overthrow things seemed much going awry with
him. Moreover we have heard of a new champion whom he hath gotten, and
who counted for much in that battle with the Barons, and well-nigh as
wise in war is he as the Knight himself, say men. But now, my
daughters, what would ye with the Knight of Longshaw?"
With that the Maiden took up the word, blushing red like a rose, and
she said: "With the Knight of Longshaw it is perhaps little that we
have to do, although we wish him all good, but it is rather with that
one of whom ye have heard tell that he is a new-come champion of the
Knight's." The Sub-prior smiled withal and said: "But what have ye to
do with this champion?"
The Maiden blushed no longer, but said: "I will tell you the story in
as short a way as it may be told: I was a damsel living much all alone
by the side of a terrible river, not lightly to be crossed, or indeed
not at all. And on the other side of the said river was there a bold
lad of about my years, and we fell into converse, speaking together
very sweetly each from our own side of the water. And for a long time
this seemed a no such evil fate for the two of us to endure; but time
went on, and I grew into a woman and he grew into a man, and indeed as
bold a champion as there is in our parts; and then indeed it seemed
hard that, though we should meet in speech, yet never should mouth
meet mouth or hand meet hand. But we lived on in hope, and trusted to
what weird had wrought for us. And it seemed possibly not so unlike
but that this bold and eager champion might go wide in the world, and
somehow find out the country and the side of the river on which I was
born and bred. And in the meantime was I determined above all things
never to think of anyone else but this bold and beautiful champion,
and even so it is with me now. And this good dame here, who is my very
fostermother, and is somewhat wise, though I would hope not more so
than Holy Church alloweth, has always bidden me to hope to see my
champion again, and even so I do. And we both know that it is only
amongst the Knight of Longshaw and his men that he is to be found."
Quoth the Sub-prior: "And when he is found, and ye let him know where
ye are, will he come to you, think ye?"
"Even so we believe," said the Maiden. "Well," said the Sub-prior.
"tell me what ye would have, and it shall be done for you." Said the
Carline: "We would [come across the water and] have guide and guards
through the Wood Masterless to some place where we may dwell alone.
Can ye do this much for us? And we shall be well willing to pay with
suchlike gems as ye have already seen of ours for such a small house."
"Well," said the Sub-prior, "that may well be, and tomorrow morn, if
ye will take the whole thing on your own heads, I will send you [down
to the ferry that lieth betwixt us and a House of Friars on the
further side of the water. At a writing from us these good brothers
may find you some such dwelling in the Wood Masterless as ye seek, and
will furnish you with way-beasts and guides thereto.] But I leave it
to you, Carline, whether ye do not risk greatly to take such a pearl
with you into the place which is peopled by the worst of men." Said
the Carline: "To tell you the truth, Father, I have pieces of wisdom
by which I can blind the eyes of foolish men, so that they will see
nothing of the delicate beauty of my daughter here." "Well," said the
Sub-prior, and smiled.
So the very next morning it was as the Sub-prior said. [Two
lay-brothers brought them down to the water-side, and at parting gave
a writing into the hand of the Carline. And when they were safely over
the mighty Flood, and landed on a pleasant strand where the water was
shallow and the current none so swift, the ferryman spoke a word of
them to one of the brotherhood who had stood watching the crossing of
that boat. With a friendly greeting he turned and led the way to the
Friary, a fair stone building, set with a wall both high and long.
Here met the Carline and the Maiden with a kindly welcome, and were
set in the guest-house to rest that night. And, said the good
brothers, their matter might be seen to, and they would send them on
through the Wood Masterless; and that there was such a house as the
Carline would have, which is in a good case, said they, though it may
want here and there a nail or a plank.
And in the morning two of the brothers were bidden array themselves
and take sumpter-horses and good horses for the women, and to lead
them to within such distance of the Castle and Longshaw as might seem
good to the Carline, and that forsooth was but some dozen miles.
There then they rested; and from time to time the Carline would go on
her errands, and would see folk who would give her tidings of how
things went in the world. And ever she found that the tale was the
same. For the Lord of Longshaw might not stretch out a hand without
thriving; and ever with him at council, or at privy talk, or in the
front of the battle, was this marvellous champion, whom it availed
nought for any man to gainsay. At last the time began to seem long for
the Maiden; and the Carline from time to time, when she did not know
that she was nigh, heard her bewailing that her man came not, and she
heard her say one day: If he come not before long, then will be
perished some deal of that delicate beauty which I would above all
things deliver into his keeping, so that he may know that it was no
mere shadow of a woman with whom he gave and took in talk on the other
side of the Sundering Flood. And in very sooth she began to peak and
pine, and the Carline took her to task therefor, and said that she
herself would try to set this right. Till on a day the Carline knew
for sure that the champion had now turned his head from all his
valiances, and was thinking of nothing but of how he might come across
her with whom he had such merry days on the other side of the Great
Water.
Short it is that is left to tell. The Carline knew of a certainty that
he had been smitten in felony and grievously hurt, and that he had
been carried to an hermitage and there healed; therefore she waylaid
him on a time and brought him to the house wherein they dwelt. And
there, whether it were by her planning or by mere chance-hap may
scarce be told, but such a thing befel that the wrath of the champion
blazed out in him, so that for some few minutes he might scarce tell
what was before him. And then it was all over, and they two were
sealed for one another for what yet abided them on the earth.
Now this is my tale, and belike it has been somewhat overlong, and
therefore it scarce needs that ye bid this damsel tell a tale for her
part, which were indeed better told by her casting to earth her grey
cloak and showing her body fairly dight. For, indeed, this damsel
belongeth to one who is your kinsman and dear friend: and seemly will
she think it that she show her body so dight that it shall lack no
fairness before you.
Chapter LXV. Osberne and Elfhild Make Themselves Known to Their People
Therewith the Carline sat down, and there was great cheer and rumour
in the hall, and folk wondered what was to come next; but it is not to
be said but that they had an inkling of what had befallen. Then
Elfhild arose and cast off her grey clothes, and was clad thereunder
in the finest of fine gear of gold and of green, and surely, said
everybody, that never was such beauty seen in hall. And for a while
people held their breaths, as they that see a wonder which they fear
may pass away. And then a great shout rent the hall, and there it was
done. A tall man rose in his place, a grey cloak fell from him, and he
was clad all in glittering armour, and there was none that did not
know him for Osberne Wulfgrimsson, who has been called the Red Lad.
And he said in a bold and free voice: "See, my masters and dear
friends, if I have not kept tryst with you; for it is of a sooth five
years well told since I departed from Wethermel with little hope in my
heart. And now forsooth is no hope in my heart, for all the hope has
budded and blossomed and fruited, and I am yours and ye are mine while
the days last. And this is the woman that I have won; and O I would
that it had been earlier, though God wot I laboured at it. And now I
think ye will be good to her as ye will be good to me, and what tale
shall there be except of peace and quiet in these far-away upland
vales?"
[Unwritten Song]
So passed the hours into deep night at Wethermel, and folk went to
sleep scarce trowing in the wonders that they had heard and seen. And
there were few among them that did not long for the dawn and the
daylight, that they might once again cast eyes upon Osberne and his
beloved. And hard it were to say which of those twain was the
loveliest. But surely about both of them there was then and always a
sweet wisdom that never went beyond what was due and meet for the land
they lived in or the people with whom they dwelt. So that all round
them the folk grew better and not the worser.
Chapter LXVI. The Lip of the Sundering Flood
When it was the morning and the sun shone through the house at
Wethermel, those two arose and took each other by the hand, and no
word they spake together, but went straight to the Sundering Flood,
and there they walked slowly and daintily along the very lip thereof;
and the day was the crown of all midsummer days, and it seemed to
Elfhild that never on the other side had the flowers looked so fair
and beautiful. So they went on till they came to the Bight of the
Cloven Knoll, and there they looked across a while and yet said
nothing. And Elfhild looked curiously toward that cave wherein Osberne
first espied her, and she said: "How would it be if there were another
one there?" He laughed and said: "There is not another one." But she
said: "Dost thou remember that game I played with the shepherd's pipe,
how that the sheep came all bundling towards me?" "Dearly I remember
it," said Osberne. "Now," she said, "I will tell thee a thing. I have
got the said pipe in my bosom now. It were good game to have it forth
and try whether it has lost its power." He said: "Well, try it." She
said: "Be there sheep about?" And there were sheep at no great
distance.
And she drew forth the pipe and let her lips to it and played, and
there came from it that very same sweet old tune that had joyed him so
much long aforetime. But when they looked to see what would happen to
the sheep, lo and behold they stirred not at all for the sweetness of
the tune, nor made as if they heard it. So they laughed, albeit each
of them, and Elfhild in especial, was a little grieved that the power
had departed from the pipe. And they looked down towards the water,
and Elfhild half thought to see a little brown man sitting at the door
of the cave. But there was nothing; only it seemed to them both that
there came up from the water a sound that said, Give it me back again.
And Osberne said: "Didst thou hear that?" "Yea," she said, "I thought
I heard something. What shall we do?" Said he: "Why should he have his
pipe back again?" She said: "Let us see what will happen if we cast it
down to him." "Good," said Osberne, and he took the pipe, and as
deftly as he might he cast it towards the mouth of the cave, but it
fell a long way short.
But lo, as it was on the very point of striking the water it seemed
that it was wafted up to the cave's mouth, and it vanished away into
the cave no slower than might have been looked for. And a faint voice
came up from the water and said, I am pleased; good luck go with you.
So they sat down and pondered on these things a while, till at last
Elfhild said: "Now will I tell thee a tale as in old days." And he
said: "That is good." Then she began a tale which was sweet and
pleasant, and little like to those terrible things that had happened
to those two since they were sundered by the Flood. And it lasted
long, and the afternoon was hot, and they were fain for coolness' sake
to creep into the shadow of certain bushes that grew a little off the
lip of the Sundering Flood. There they rested them, and when the
shadows began to lengthen, they arose and went back hand in hand to
Wethermel as they had come.
Chapter LXVII. A Friend at Need
It was some three years after this that weaponed men came down into
the Dale. It was told to Osberne, and he took his sword and went to
meet them. He came across them as they fared slowly down the bent,
looking weary and fordone. He looked at them, and he saw that there
was nothing for it but that the chiefest of them, and there were but
three, was the Knight of Longshaw. So he ran up to him, and cast his
arms about him, and kissed him, and asked him what ailed. And the
Knight said, and laughed withal: "That has befallen me which befals
most men: I have been overcome, and I believe that my foes are hard on
my heels."
"Will they be a many?" said Osberne. "Not in this first stour," said
the Knight. "Well," said Osberne, "I will go and look to it to get a
few men together to show them out of the Dale." So he turned hand in
hand with the Knight of Longshaw, and cried out to Stephen the Eater
to gather forth; and in an hour or so they had enough men and to
spare. By that time the pursuers came glittering over the bent, so
Osberne and his gathered themselves together and stood till the others
came. And when they were within hail, Osberne asked: "What would ye
here in arms? We are peaceable men." Said the pursuers: "We have
nought to do with you, but we would have the body of a felon and a
traitor hight the Knight of Longshaw."
Osberne laughed and said: "Here he stands beside me; come and take
him!" And the foe were some three score, all a-horseback. So they fell
on without more words; but they made nothing of it, and the
Wethermelers kept them aloof with spear and bill. Albeit Osberne did
not draw his sword, nor did the Knight of Longshaw.
Then the foemen held off a little, and they said: "Hark ye, ye
up-countrymen, if ye do not give up this man, then will we burn your
house to the threshold."
"Yea," said Osberne, "ye have all day long to do it in, make no delay
therefore. Or did ye ever hear who I am?" And they said: "Nay, we know
not." Then he let his red cloak float over him and let his byrny show
glittering, and he drew Boardcleaver and suddenly cried out, "The Red
Lad! The Red Lad!" and all the others did in like wise. Then the
foemen fled up the bent. And Osberne said: "Lightfoot men of
Wethermel, here is a job for you: let not one of these men escape from
out of the Dale." So they fell to, and hard they worked at it, and so
they wrought that they slew them every one.
Then Osberne went back to the Knight of Longshaw and said: "See,
master, it is still a name to conjure with. And now what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou gather men in the Dale here? We can find thee a ten score or
thereabout of as good men as need be."
"Nay," said the Knight, "I will not have them, for meseems I am
getting towards the end of my tether, and I will not carry away your
good men and true from your wives and your children." So therewith
they went into the stead and were joyful together.
Chapter LXVIII. The Knight of Longshaw Gathereth Force
The Knight of Longshaw abode at Wethermel in much content, and much it
pleased him to look upon the beauty of Elfhild and the fairness of the
life that men lived in the Dale. At last he said: "Now I must shake
off my sloth somewhat, and it will be a case of farewell." "Will it?"
said Osberne. "Yea," said the Knight, "for I will to Eastcheaping, and
there I will set me to gather men, and I look to it that, ere three
months are over, I shall have a good host on foot." "It is well," said
Osberne.
So in two days' time the Knight went, with his two men that had fled
into the Dale with him, to Eastcheaping, and Osberne rode with him.
When they came to Eastcheaping the Knight said: "Now is the time for
farewell." "Nay, nay," said Osberne, "there shall be no farewell this
time at least; but I will help thee with the gathering of men, and
when we have got an host I will be the leader thereof. This thou must
not gainsay me." Said the Knight: "But gainsay thee I will, for unless
thou gettest thee back to thine own people I will break up my whole
purpose." "And why?" said Osberne. "Thou art blind not to see," said
the Knight. "I come and find thee here as happy as any man in the
world, wedded to a fair wife, the lord of a stout and stalwarth people
who love thee above all things. And I have that in me that tells me
that if I carry thee away I carry thee away to death. For I have seen
thee in a dream of the night and in a dream of the day living at
Wethermel and dying on a field near the City of the Sundering Flood."
Said Osberne: "And shall I choose dishonour then?"
"Nay," he said, "where is the dishonour? Besides, take this for a
gibe, that whereas time agone I could do but ill without thee, now I
can do without thee well, for I have three or four fellows will come
to my call as soon as they know that my banner is in the field again.
Wherefore, I tell thee, thou must either be my unfriend, or get thee
back home my friend and my lad." So when Osberne saw it would no
better be, he wept and bade farewell to the Knight of Longshaw, and
went his ways back home. Six months hence he heard true tidings of the
Knight, that he had gathered an host and fallen on his foes, and had
fared nowhere save to thrive. And it is not said that he met the
Knight of Longshaw face to face again in this life.
It is further to be told that once in every quarter Osberne went into
that same dale wherein he first met Steelhead, and there he came to
him, and they had converse together; and though Osberne changed the
aspect of him from year to year, as for Steelhead he changed not at
all, but was ever the same as when Osberne first saw him, and good
love there was between those twain.
Now is there no more to say concerning the Sundering Flood and those
that dwelt thereby.
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