The House of the Wolfings Part 13

Said she: "Yea, my son, or what tidings bearest thou from the south? for by seeming thou art new-come from the host."

Said he: "The tidings are as yesterday, save that Thiodolf will lead the host through the wild-wood to look for the Romans beyond it: therefore will there soon be battle again. See ye, Mother, hast thou here one that knoweth this ring of Thiodolf's, if perchance men doubt me when I say that I am sent on my errand by him?"

"Yea," she said, "Agni will know it; since he knoweth all the chief men of the Mark; but what is thine errand, and what is thy name?"

"It is soon told," said he, "I am a Wolfing hight Thorkettle, and I come to have away for Thiodolf the treasure of the world, the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk, which he left with you when we fared hence to the south three days ago. Now let Agni come, that I may have it, for time presses sorely."

There were three or four gathered about them now, and a maiden of them said: "Shall I bring Agni hither, mother?"

"What needeth it?" said the carline, "he sleepeth, and shall be hard to awaken; and he is old, so let him sleep. I shall go fetch the hauberk, for I know where it is, and my hand may come on it as easily as on mine own girdle."

So she went her ways to the treasury where were the precious things of the kindred; the woven cloths were put away in fair coffers to keep them clean from the whirl of the Hall-dust and the reek; and the vessels of gold and some of silver were standing on the shelves of a cupboard before which hung a veil of needlework: but the weapons and war-gear hung upon pins along the wall, and many of them had much fair work on them, and were dight with gold and gems: but amidst them all was the wondrous hauberk clear to see, dark grey and thin, for it was so wondrously wrought that it hung in small compa.s.s. So the carline took it down from the pin, and handled it, and marvelled at it, and said:

"Strange are the hands that have pa.s.sed over thee, sword-rampart, and in strange places of the earth have they dwelt! For no smith of the kindreds hath fashioned thee, unless he had for his friend either a G.o.d or a foe of the G.o.ds. Well shalt thou wot of the tale of sword and spear ere thou comest back hither! For Thiodolf shall bring thee where the work is wild."

Then she went with the hauberk to the new-come warrior, and made no delay, but gave it to him, and said:

"When Agni awaketh, I shall tell him that Thorkettle of the Wolfings hath borne aback to Thiodolf the Treasure of the World, the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk."

Then Thorkettle took it and turned to go; but even therewith came old Asmund from out of his sleeping-place, and gazed around the Hall, and his eyes fell on the shape of the Wolfing as he was going out of the door, and he asked the carline.

"What doeth he here? What tidings is there from the host? For my soul was nought unquiet last night."

"It is a little matter," she said; "the War-duke hath sent for the wondrous Byrny that he left in our treasury when he departed to meet the Romans. Belike there shall be a perilous battle, and few hearts need a stout sword-wall more than Thiodolf's."

As she spoke, Thorkettle had pa.s.sed the door, and got into his saddle, and sat his black horse like a mighty man as he slowly rode down the turf bridge that led into the plain. And Asmund went to the door and stood watching him till he set spurs to his horse, and departed a great gallop to the south. Then said Asmund:

"What then are the G.o.ds devising, what wonders do they will?

What mighty need is on them to work the kindreds ill, That the seed of the Ancient Fathers and a woman of their kin With her all unfading beauty must blend herself therein?

Are they fearing lest the kindreds should grow too fair and great, And climb the stairs of G.o.d-home, and fashion all their fate, And make all earth so merry that it never wax the worse, Nor need a gift from any, nor prayers to quench the curse?

Fear they that the Folk-wolf, growing as the fire from out the spark Into a very folk-G.o.d, shall lead the weaponed Mark From wood to field and mountain, to stand between the earth And the wrights that forge its thraldom and the sword to slay its mirth?

Fear they that the sons of the wild-wood the Loathly Folk shall quell, And grow into G.o.ds thereafter, and aloof in G.o.d-home dwell?"

Therewith he turned back into the Hall, and was heavy-hearted and dreary of aspect; for he was somewhat foreseeing; and it may not be hidden that this seeming Thorkettle was no warrior of the Wolfings, but the Wood-Sun in his likeness; for she had the power and craft of shape-changing.

CHAPTER XVII--THE WOOD-SUN SPEAKETH WITH THIODOLF

Now the Markmen laid Heriulf in howe on the ridge-crest where he had fallen, and heaped a mighty howe over him that could be seen from far, and round about him they laid the other warriors of the kindreds. For they deemed it was fittest that they should lie on the place whose story they had fashioned. But they cast earth on the foemen lower down on the westward-lying bents.

The sun set amidst their work, and night came on; and Thiodolf was weary and would fain rest him and sleep: but he had many thoughts, and pondered whitherward he should lead the folk, so as to smite the Romans once again, and he had a mind to go apart and be alone for rest and slumber; so he spoke to a man of the kindred named Solvi in whom he put all trust, and then he went down from the ridge, and into a little dale on the southwest side thereof, a furlong from the place of the battle. A beck ran down that dale, and the further end of it was closed by a little wood of yew trees, low, but growing thick together, and great grey stones were scattered up and down on the short gra.s.s of the dale. Thiodolf went down to the brook-side, and to a place where it trickled into a pool, whence it ran again in a thin thread down the dale, turning aside before it reached the yew-wood to run its ways under low ledges of rock into a wider dale. He looked at the pool and smiled to himself as if he had thought of something that pleased him; then he drew a broad knife from his side, and fell to cutting up turfs till he had what he wanted; and then he brought stones to the place, and built a dam across the mouth of the pool, and sat by on a great stone to watch it filling.

As he sat he strove to think about the Roman host and how he should deal with it; but despite himself his thoughts wandered, and made for him pictures of his life that should be when this time of battle was over; so that he saw nothing of the troubles that were upon his hands that night, but rather he saw himself partaking in the deeds of the life of man.

There he was between the plough-stilts in the acres of the kindred when the west wind was blowing over the promise of early spring; or smiting down the ripe wheat in the hot afternoon amidst the laughter and merry talk of man and maid; or far away over Mirkwood-water watching the edges of the wood against the prowling wolf and lynx, the stars just beginning to shine over his head, as now they were; or wending the windless woods in the first frosts before the snow came, the hunter's bow or javelin in hand: or coming back from the wood with the quarry on the sledge across the snow, when winter was deep, through the biting icy wind and the whirl of the drifting snow, to the lights and music of the Great Roof, and the merry talk therein and the smiling of the faces glad to see the hunting- carles come back; and the full draughts of mead, and the sweet rest a night-tide when the north wind was moaning round the ancient home.

All seemed good and fair to him, and whiles he looked around him, and saw the long dale lying on his left hand and the dark yews in its jaws pressing up against the rock-ledges of the brook, and on his right its windings as the ground rose up to the b.u.t.tresses of the great ridge. The moon was rising over it, and he heard the voice of the brook as it tinkled over the stones above him; and the whistle of the plover and the laugh of the whimbrel came down the dale sharp and clear in the calm evening; and sounding far away, because the great hill m.u.f.fled them, were the voices of his fellows on the ridge, and the songs of the warriors and the high-pitched cries of the watch. And this also was a part of the sweet life which was, and was to be; and he smiled and was happy and loved the days that were coming, and longed for them, as the young man longs for the feet of his maiden at the trysting-place.

So as he sat there, the dreams wrapping him up from troublous thoughts, at last slumber overtook him, and the great warrior of the Wolfings sat nodding like an old carle in the chimney ingle, and he fell asleep, his dreams going with him, but all changed and turned to folly and emptiness.

He woke with a start in no long time; the night was deep, the wind had fallen utterly, and all sounds were stilled save the voice of the brook, and now and again the cry of the watchers of the Goths. The moon was high and bright, and the little pool beside him glittered with it in all its ripples; for it was full now and trickling over the lip of his dam.

So he arose from the stone and did off his war-gear, casting Throng-plough down into the gra.s.s beside him, for he had been minded to bathe him, but the slumber was still on him, and he stood musing while the stream grew stronger and pushed off first one of his turfs and then another, and rolled two or three of the stones over, and then softly thrust all away and ran with a gush down the dale, filling all the little bights by the way for a minute or two; he laughed softly thereat, and stayed the undoing of his kirtle, and so laid himself down on the gra.s.s beside the stone looking down the dale, and fell at once into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again, it was yet night, but the moon was getting lower and the first beginnings of dawn were showing in the sky over the ridge; he lay still a moment gathering his thoughts and striving to remember where he was, as is the wont of men waking from deep sleep; then he leapt to his feet, and lo, he was face to face with a woman, and she who but the Wood-Sun? and he wondered not, but reached out his hand to touch her, though he had not yet wholly cast off the heaviness of slumber or remembered the tidings of yesterday.

She drew aback a little from him, and his eyes cleared of the slumber, and he saw her that she was scantily clad in black raiment, barefoot, with no gold ring on her arms or necklace on her neck, or crown about her head. But she looked so fair and lovely even in that end of the night- tide, that he remembered all her beauty of the day and the sunshine, and he laughed aloud for joy of the sight of her, and said:

"What aileth thee, O Wood-Sun, and is this a new custom of thy kindred and the folk of G.o.d-home that their brides array themselves like thralls new-taken, and as women who have lost their kindred and are outcast? Who then hath won the Burg of the Anses, and clomb the rampart of G.o.d-home?"

But she spoke from where she stood in a voice so sweet, that it thrilled to the very marrow of his bones.

"I have dwelt a while with sorrow since we met, we twain, in the wood: I have mourned, while thou hast been merry, who deemest the war-play good.

For I know the heart of the wilful and how thou wouldst cast away The rampart of thy life-days, and the wall of my happy day.

Yea I am the thrall of Sorrow; she hath stripped my raiment off And laid sore stripes upon me with many a bitter scoff.

Still bidding me remember that I come of the G.o.d-folk's kin, And yet for all my G.o.dhead no love of thee may win."

Then she looked longingly at him a while and at last could no longer refrain her, but drew nigh him and took his hands in hers, and kissed his mouth, and said as she caressed him:

"O where are thy wounds, beloved? how turned the spear from thy breast, When the storm of war blew strongest, and the best men met the best?

Lo, this is the tale of to-day: but what shall to-morrow tell?

That Thiodolf the Mighty in the fight's beginning fell; That there came a stroke ill-stricken, there came an aimless thrust, And the life of the people's helper lay quenched in the summer dust."

He answered nothing, but smiled as though the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand were pleasant to him, for so much love there was in her, that her very grief was scarcely grievous. But she said again:

"Thou sayest it: I am outcast; for a G.o.d that lacketh mirth Hath no more place in G.o.d-home and never a place on earth.

A man grieves, and he gladdens, or he dies and his grief is gone; But what of the grief of the G.o.ds, and the sorrow never undone?

Yea verily I am the outcast. When first in thine arms I lay On the blossoms of the woodland my G.o.dhead pa.s.sed away; Thenceforth unto thee was I looking for the light and the glory of life And the G.o.ds' doors shut behind me till the day of the uttermost strife.

And now thou hast taken my soul, thou wilt cast it into the night, And cover thine head with the darkness, and turn thine eyes from the light.

Thou wouldst go to the empty country where never a seed is sown And never a deed is fashioned, and the place where each is alone; But I thy thrall shall follow, I shall come where thou seemest to lie, I shall sit on the howe that hides thee, and thou so dear and nigh!

A few bones white in their war-gear that have no help or thought, Shall be Thiodolf the Mighty, so nigh, so dear--and nought."

His hands strayed over her shoulders and arms, caressing them, and he said softly and lovingly:

"I am Thiodolf the Mighty: but as wise as I may be No story of that grave-night mine eyes can ever see, But rather the tale of the Wolfings through the coming days of earth, And the young men in their triumph and the maidens in their mirth; And morn's promise every evening, and each day the promised morn, And I amidst it ever reborn and yet reborn.

This tale I know, who have seen it, who have felt the joy and pain, Each fleeing, each pursuing, like the links of the draw-well's chain: But that deedless tide of the grave-mound, and the dayless nightless day, E'en as I strive to see it, its image wanes away.

What say'st thou of the grave-mound? shall I be there at all When they lift the Horn of Remembrance, and the shout goes down the hall, And they drink the Mighty War-duke and Thiodolf the old?

Nay rather; there where the youngling that longeth to be bold Sits gazing through the hall-reek and sees across the board A vision of the reaping of the harvest of the sword, There shall Thiodolf be sitting; e'en there shall the youngling be That once in the ring of the hazels gave up his life to thee."

She laughed as he ended, and her voice was sweet, but bitter was her laugh. Then she said:

"Nay thou shalt be dead, O warrior, thou shalt not see the Hall Nor the children of thy people 'twixt the dais and the wall.

And I, and I shall be living; still on thee shall waste my thought: I shall long and lack thy longing; I shall pine for what is nought."

But he smiled again, and said:

"Not on earth shall I learn this wisdom; and how shall I learn it then When I lie alone in the grave-mound, and have no speech with men?

But for thee,--O doubt it nothing that my life shall live in thee, And so shall we twain be loving in the days that yet shall be."