The Sundering Flood
by William Morris · English · Gutenberg #25547 · 515,526 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Sundering Flood
Author: William Morris
Editor: May Morris
Release date: May 20, 2008 [eBook #25547]
Most recently updated: April 4, 2026
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25547
Credits: Produced by Jeremy Woodburn
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNDERING FLOOD ***
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 as 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
litt
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