 CHAPTER 1 OF GOLDEN WALTER AND HIS FATHER A while ago there was a young man, dwelling in a great and goodly city by the sea, which had to name Langton on home. He was but of five and twenty winters, a fair-faced man, yellow-haired, tall and strong, rather wiser than foolisher than young men are mostly want, a valiant youth and a kind. Not of many words, but courteous of speech, no roisterer, not masterful, but peaceful and knowing how to forbear. In a fray a perilous foe, and a trusty war-fellow. His father, with whom he was dwelling when his tale begins, was a great merchant, richer than a baron of the land, a headman of the greatest of the lineages of Langton, and a captain of the port. He was of the lineage of the goldings, therefore was he called Bartholomew Golden, and his son Golden Walter. Now ye may well deem that such a youngling as this was looked upon by all as a lucky man without a lack. But there was this flaw in his lot, whereas he had fallen into the toils of love of a woman exceeding fair, and had taken her to wife, she not unwilling as it seemed. But when they had been wedded some six months, he found by manifest tokens, that his fairness was not so much to her, but that she must seek to the foulness of one worseer than he in all ways. For his rest departed from him, whereas he hated her for her untruth, and her hatred of him. Yet, with the sound of her voice, as she came and went in the house, make his heart beat, and the sight of her stirred desire within him, so that he longed for her to be sweet and kind with him, and deemed that, might it be so, he should forget all the evil gone by. But it was not so, for ever when she saw him her face changed, and her hatred of him became manifest, and how so ever she were sweet with others, with him she was hard and sour. So this went on a while, till the chambers of his father's house, yea, the very streets of the city became loathsome to him, and yet he called to mind that the world was wide and he but a young man. So on a day, as he sat with his father alone, he spake to him, and said, Father, I was on the keys even now, and I looked on the ships that were nigh-bound, and thy sign I saw, on a tall ship that seemed to me nighest-bound, will it be long ere she sail? Nay, said his father, that ship which hights the Catherine, will they warp out of the haven in two days' time, but why askest thou of her? The shortest word is best, Father," said Walter, and this it is, that I would depart in the said ship and see other lands. Yea, and with her, son," said the merchant. Wither she goeth, said Walter, for I am ill at ease at home as thou wattest, Father. The merchant held his piece awhile, and looked hard on his son, for there was strong love between them, but at last he said, Well, son, maybe it were best for thee, but maybe also we shall not meet again. Yet if we do meet, Father, then shalt thou see a new man in me. Well, said Bartholomew, at least I know on whom to lay the loss of thee, and when thou art gone, for thou shalt have thine own way herein, she shall no longer abide in my house. Nay, but it were for the strife that should arise thenceforth betwixt her kindred and ours, it should go somewhat worse with her than that. Said Walter, I pray thee, shame her not more than needs must be, lest so doing, thou shame both me and thyself also. Bartholomew held his piece again for awhile. Then he said, Goeth she with child, my son? Walter reddened, and said, I what not, nor of whom the child may be? Then they both sat silent, till Bartholomew spake, saying, The end of it is, son, that this is Monday, and that thou shalt go aboard in the small hours of Wednesday, and meanwhile I shall look to it, that thou go not away empty-handed. The skipper of the Catherine is a good man and true, and knows the seas well, and my servant, Robert the Low, who is clerk of the lading, is trustworthy and wise, and as myself in all matters that look towards chaffer. The Catherine is new and stout-builded, and should be lucky, whereas she is under the ward of her, who is the saint called upon in the church where thou art christened, and myself before thee, and thy mother, and my father and mother, all lie under the chancell thereof, as thou wottest. Therewith the elder rose up, and went his ways about his business, and there was no more said betwixt him and his son on this matter. CHAPTER II Golden Walter takes ship to sail the seas. When Walter went down to the Catherine next morning, there was the skipper Jeffrey, who did him reverence, and made him all cheer, and showed him his room aboard ship, and the plenteous goods which his father had sent down to the keys already, such haste as he had made. Walter thanked his father's love in his heart, but otherwise took little heed to his affairs, but wore away the time about the haven, gazing listlessly on the ships that were making them ready outward, or unlading, and the mariners and aliens coming and going, and all these were to him as the curious images woven on a tapestry. At last, when he had well nigh come back again to the Catherine, he saw there a tall ship, which he had scarce noted before, a ship all-bound which had her boats out, and men sitting to the oars thereof ready to tow her outward when the hawzer should be cast off, and by seeming her mariners were but abiding for some one or other to come aboard. So Walter stood idly watching the said ship, and as he looked, low, folk passing him toward the gangway. These were three. First came a dwarf, dark brown of hue and hideous, with long arms and ears exceeding great, and dog teeth that stuck out like the fangs of a wild beast. He was clad in a rich coat of yellow silk, and bare in his hand a crooked bow, and was girt with a broad sacks. After him came a maiden, young by seeming, of scarce twenty summers, fairer face as a flower, grey-eyed, brown-haired, with lips full and red, slim and gentle of body. Last of the three was a lady, tall and stately, so radiant of visage and glorious of raiment, that it were hard to say what like she was, for scarce might the eye gaze steady upon her exceeding beauty. Yet must every son of Adam, who found himself an eye her, lift up his eyes again after he had dropped them, and look again on her, and yet again, and yet again. Even so did Walter, and as the three passed by him, it seemed to him as if all the other folk thereabout had vanished and were not. Nor had he any vision before his eyes of any looking on them save himself alone. They went over the gangway into the ship, and he saw them go along the deck till they came to the house on the poop, and entered it, and were gone from his sight. There he stood staring, till, little by little, the thronging people of the keys came into his eye-shot again. Then he saw how the hawser was cast off, and the boats fell to tugging the big ship toward the harbour-mouth, with hail and how of men. Then the sail fell down from the yard, and was sheeted home, and filled with the fair wind as the ship's boughs ran up on the first green wave outside the haven. Even therewith the shipment cast a broader banner, whereon was done, in a green field, a grim wolf ramping up against a maiden, and so went the ship upon her way. Walter stood awhile, staring at her empty place, where the waves ran into the haven-mouth, and then turned aside and toward the Catherine, and at first he was minded to go ask Shipmaster Geoffrey of what he knew concerning the said ship and her alien wayfarers. But then it came into his mind that all this was but an imagination or dream of the day, and that he were best to leave it untold to any. So therewith he went his way from the water-side, and through the streets unto his father's house. But when he was but a little way dense, and the door was before him, him seemed for a moment of time that he beheld those three coming out down the steps of stone and into the street. To wit, the dwarf, the maiden, and the stately lady. But when he stood still to abide their coming, and looked toward them, low, there was nothing before him save the goodly house of Bartholomew Golden, and three children and a curdog playing about the steps thereof, and about him were four or five passes by going about their business. Then was he all confused in his mind, and knew not what to make of it, whether those whom he had seemed to see pass aboard ship were but images of a dream, or children of Adam in very flesh. Howsoever he entered the house, and found his father in the chamber, and fell to speech with him about their matters. But for all that he loved his father, and worshipped him as a wise and valiant man, yet at that hour he might not hearken the words of his mouth. So much was his mind entangled in the thought of those three, and they were ever before his eyes, as if they had been painted on a table by the best of limnus. And of the two women he thought exceeding much, and cast no white upon himself for running after the desire of strange women. For he said to himself that he desired not either of the twain. Nay, he might not tell which of the twain, the maiden or the stately queen, were clearest to his eyes, but saw he desired to see both of them again, and to know what they were. So wore the hours till the Wednesday morning, and it was time that he should bid farewell to his father, and get aboard ship. But his father led him down to the keys, and on to the Catherine, and there Walter embraced him, not without tears and forebodings, for his heart was full. And presently the old man went to land. The gangway was unshipped, the horses cast off, the oars of the towing-boats splashed in the dark water, the sail fell down from the yard, and was sheeted home, and out plunged the Catherine into the misty sea, and rolled up the grey slopes, casting abroad her ancient withdrawal, whereon was beaten the token of Bartholomew Golden, to wit a B and a G to the right and the left, and there above a cross and a triangle rising from the midst. Walter stood on the stern, and beheld, yet more with the mind of him than with his eyes, for it all seemed but the double of what the other ship had done. And the thought of it, as if the twain were as beads, strung on one string, and led away by it into the same place, and thence to go in the like order, and so on again and again, and never to draw nire to each other. CHAPTER III. Walter heareth tidings of the death of his father. Fast sailed the Catherine over the seas, and naught befell to tell of either to herself or her crew. She came to one cheeping-town, and then to another, and so on to a third and a fourth. And at each was buying and selling after the manner of Chapman. And Walter not only looked on the doings of his father's folk, but lent a hand, what he might, to help them in all matters, whether it were in seamen's craft, or in chaffa. And the further he went, and the longer the time wore, the more he was eased of his old trouble wherein his wife and her treason had to do. But as for the other trouble, to wit his desire and longing to come up with those three, it yet flickered before him. And though he had not seen them again as one sees people in the streets, and as if he might touch them if he would, yet were their images often before his mind's eye. And yet, as time wore, not so often, nor so troubleously, and for Soothe both to those about him and to himself, he seemed as a man well healed of his melancholy mood. Now they left that fourth stead, and sailed over the seas, and came to a fifth, a very great and fair city, which they had made more than seven months from Langton on home. And by this time was Walter taking heed and joyance in such things as would ward in that fair city, so far from his kindred. And especially he looked on the fair women there, and desired them, and loved them, but lightly as beforeless young men. Now this was the last country where, too, the Catherine was bound. So there they abode some ten months in daily chaffer, and in pleasuring them in beholding all that there was of rare and goodly, and making merry with the merchants and the townsfolk and the countryfolk beyond the gates. And Walter was grown as busy and gay as a strong young man is like to be, and was as one who would fain be of some account amongst his own folk. But at the end of this while it befell on a day as he was leaving his hostel for his booth in a market, and had the door in his hand, there stood before him three mariners in the guise of his own country, and with them was one of clerkly aspect whom he knew at once for his father's scrivener, Arnold Penstrong by name, and when Walter saw him his heart failed him, and he cried out, Arnold, what tidings is all well with the folk at Langton? said Arnold, evil tidings are come with me, matters are ill with thy folk, for I may not hide that thy father, Bartholomew Golden, is dead, God rest his soul. At that word it was to Walter as if all that trouble, which but now had sat so light upon him, was once again fresh and heavy, and that his past life of the last few months had never been, and it was to him as if he saw his father lying dead on his bed, and heard the folk lamenting about the house. He held his peace a while, and then he said in a voice as of an angry man, what Arnold, and did he die in his bed, or how, for he was neither old nor ailing when we parted? said Arnold, yea, in his bed he died, but first he was somewhat sword-bitten. Yea, and how? quoth Walter. said Arnold, when thou art gone, in a few days' wearing thy father sent thy wife out of his house back to her kindred of the reddings, with no honour, and yet with no such shame as might have been without blame to us of those who knew the tale of thee and her, which God a mercy will be pretty much the whole of the city. Nevertheless the reddings took it amiss, and would have a moat with us goldings to talk of booting. By ill luck we yea said that, for the saving of the city's peace. But what betide? We met in our guild-hall, and there befell the talk between us, and in that talk certain words could not be hidden, though they were none too seamly nor too meek. And the said words once spoken drew forth the wetted steel. And there then was the hewing and thrusting. Two of us were slain out right on the floor, and four of theirs, and many were hurt on either side. Of these was thy father, for as thou mayest well deem, he was nought backward in the fray, but despite his hurts, two in the side and one on the arm, he went home on his own feet, and we deemed that we had come to our above. But well away! it was an evil victory, whereas in ten days he died of his hurts. God have his soul! But now, my master, thou mayest well what that I am not come to tell thee this only, but moreover to bear the word of the kindred, to wit, that thou come back with me straight away in the swift cutter, which hath borne me and the tidings, and thou mayest look to it, that though she be swift and light, she is a keel full weatherly. Then said Walter, This is a bidding of war. Come back, will I, and the reddings shall wot of my coming. Are ye all bound? Yea, said Arnold, we may up anchor this very day, or to-morrow morn at the latest. But what elith thee, master, that thou sterest so wild over my shoulder? I pray thee not to take it so much to heart, ever it is the want of fathers to depart this world before their sons. But Walter's visage, from wrathful red, had become pale, and he pointed up street and cried out, Look, dost thou see? See what, master, quoth Arnold, what, here cometh an ape in gay raiment, but like the beast of some jongler, nay, by God's wounds, does a man, though he be exceedingly misshapen like a very devil. Yea, and now there cometh a pretty maid, going as if she were of his many, and lo, here, and most goodly a noble lady. Yea, I see, and doubtless she oneth both the two, and is of the greatest of the folk of this fair city, for on the maiden's ankle I saw an iron ring, which betoken a thraldom amongst these aliens. But this is strange. For notice thou not how the folk in the street heed not this quaint show? Nay, not even the stately lady, though she be as lovely as a goddess of the Gentiles, and beareth on her gems that were by Langton twice over. Surely they must be overwant to strange and gallant sights. But now, master, but now! Yea, what is it, said Walter? Why, master, they should not yet be gone out of eye-shot, yet gone they are. What is become of them? Are they sunk into the earth? Tush, man, said Walter, looking not on Arnold, but still staring down the street. They have gone into some house, while thine eyes were turned from them a moment. Nay, master, nay, said Arnold, mine eyes were not off them one instant of time. Well, said Walter, somewhat snappishly, they are gone now, and what have we to do to heed such toys we with all this grief and strife on our hands? Now would I be alone to turn the matter of thine errand over in my mind? Meantime, do thou tell the shipmaster Jeffery and our other folk of these tidings, and thereafter get thee all ready, and come hither to me before sunrise to-morrow, and I shall be ready for my part, and so sail we back to Langton. Therewith he turned him back into the house, and the others went their ways. But Walter sat alone in his chamber a long while, and pondered these things in his mind. And whilst he made up his mind that he would think no more of the vision of those three, but would fare back to Langton, and enter into the strife with the reddings, and quell them, or die else. But lo! When he was quite steady in this doom, and his heart was lightened thereby, he found that he thought no more of the reddings and their strife, but as matters that were passed and done with, and that now he was thinking and devising if by any means he might find out in what land dwelt those three, and then again he strove to put that from him, saying that what he had seen was but meat for one brain-sick, and a dreamer of dreams. But furthermore he thought, yea, and was Arnold, who this last time had seen the images of those three, a dreamer of waking dreams? For he was not wanted in such wise. Then thought he. At least I am well content that he spake to me of their likeness, not I to him. For so I may tell that there was at least something before my eyes which grew not out of my own brain. And yet again, why should I follow them, and what should I get by it? And indeed how should I set about it? Thus he turned the matter over and over. And at last, seeing that if he grew no foolisher over it, he grew no wiser. He became weary thereof, and bestirred him, and saw to the trussing up of his goods, and made all ready for his departure. And so wore the day, and slept at nightfall, and at daybreak comes Arnold to lead him to their keel, which hight the Bartholomew. He tarried nought, and with few farewells went aboard ship, and an hour after they were in the open sea, with the ship's head turned toward Langton on home. CHAPTER IV. Now Swift sailed the Bartholomew for four weeks toward the north-west with a fair wind, and all was well with ship and crew. Then the wind died out on even of a day, so that the ship scarce made way at all, though she rolled in a great swell of the sea, so great that it seemed to ridge all the main a thwart. However over, down in the west was a great bank of cloud huddled up in haze, where as for twenty days past the sky had been clear, save for a few bright white clouds flying before the wind. Now the shipmaster, a man right cunning in his craft, looked long on sea and sky, and then turned, and bade the mariners take in sail and be right heedful. And when Walter asked him what he looked for, and whereof he spake not to him thereof, he said surly, Why should I tell thee what any fool can see without telling, to wit that there is weather to hand? So they abode what should befall, and Walter went to his room to sleep away the uneasy while, for the night was now fallen, and he knew no more till he was waked up by great hubbub and clamour of the shipmen, and the whipping of ropes and thunder of flapping sails, and the tossing and weltering of the ship with all. But, being a very stout hearted young man, he lay still in his room, partly because he was a landsman, and had no mind to tumble about amongst the shipmen and hinder them. And with all he said to himself, What matter whether I go down to the bottom of the sea, or come back to Langton, since either way my life or my death will take away from me the fulfilment of desire? Yet soothly. If there hath been a shift of wind, that is not so ill. For then shall we be driven to other lands, and so at the least our homecoming shall be delayed, and other tidings may happen midst of our tarrying. So, let all be as it will. So in a little while, in spite of the ship's wallowing and the tumult of the wind and waves, he fell asleep again, and woke no more till it was full daylight, and there was the shipmaster, standing in the door of his room, the sea water all streaming from his wet weather raiment. He said to Walter, Young master, the seal of the day to thee, for by good hap we have gotten into another day. Now I shall tell thee that we have striven to beat, so as not to be driven off our course, but all would not avail, wherefore for these three hours we have been running before the wind. But fair sir, so big hath been the sea, that but for our ship being of the stoutest, and our men all year, we had all grown exceedingly wise concerning the ground of the mid-main. Please be to St. Nicholas, and all Hallows, for though ye shall presently look upon a new sea, and may be a new land to boot, yet is that better than looking on the ugly things down below. Is all well with ship and crew, then? said Walter. Ye for sooth, said the shipmaster, verily the Bartholomew is the darling of Oakwoods, come up and look at it, how she is dealing with wind and waves all free from fear. Also Walter did on his foul weather-raiment, and went up on to the quarter-deck, and there indeed was a change of days, for the sea was dark and tumbling mountain-high, and the white horses were running down the valleys thereof, and the clouds drove low over all, and bore a scud of rain along with them, and though there was but a rag of sail on her, the ship flew before the wind, rolling a great wash of water from Bulwock to Bulwock. Walter stood, looking on it all the while, holding on by a stay-robe, and saying to himself that it was well that they were driving so fast toward new things. Then the shipmaster came up to him, and clapped him on the shoulder and said, Well, shipmate, cheer up, and now come below again and eat some meat, and drink a cup with me. So Walter went down, and ate, and drank, and his heart was lighter than it had been since he had heard of his father's death, and the feud awaiting him at home, which for sooth he had deemed would stay his wanderings a weary while, and there with all his hopes. But now it seemed, as if he needs must-wonder, would he, would he not? And so it was, that even this fed his hope, so saw his heart clung to that desire of his to seek home to those three that seemed to call him unto them. CHAPTER V Now they come to a new land. Three days they drove before the wind, and on the fourth the clouds lifted, the sun shone out, and the offing was clear. The wind had much abated, though it still blew a breeze, and was a headwind for sailing toward the country of Langton. So then the master said that, since they were bewildered, and the wind so ill to deal with, it were best to go still before the wind that they might make some land and get knowledge of their whereabouts from the folk thereof, with all he said, that he deemed the land not to be very far distant. So did they, and sailed on pleasantly enough, for the weather kept on mending, and the wind fell till it was but a light breeze, yet still foul for Langton. So wore three days, and on the eve of the third the man from the topmost cried out that he saw land ahead. And so did they all before the sun was quite set, though it were but a cloud no bigger than a man's hand. When night fell they struck not sail, but when forth toward the land fair and softly, for it was early summer, so that the nights were neither long nor dark. But when it was broad daylight they opened a land, a long shore of rocks and mountains, and nor else that they could see it first. Nevertheless, as day wore, and they grew nigher, first they saw how the mountains fell away from the sea, and were behind a long wall of sheer cliff, and coming nigher yet, they beheld the green plain, going up after a little, in green bents and slopes to the feet of the said cliff wall. No city nor haven did they see there, not even when they were far nigher to the land. Nevertheless, whereas they hankered for the peace of the green earth, after all the tossing and unrest of the sea, and whereas also they doubted not to find at the least good and fresh water, and be like other bait in the plain under the mountains, they still sailed on, not unmerrily, so that by nightfall they cast anchor in five-fathom water hard by the shore. Next morning they found that they were lying a little way off the mouth of a river, not right great. So they put out their boats, and towed the ship up into the said river, and when they had gone up it for a mile or thereabouts, they found the sea water failed, for little was the airbent flow of the tide on that coast. Then was the river deep and clear, running between smooth grassy land like tomatoes. Also on their left-board they saw presently three head of neat cattle going, as if in a meadow of a homestead in their own land, and a few sheep, and thereafter, about a boat raft from the river, they saw a little house of wood and straw-thatch under a wooded mound, and with orchard trees about it. They wandered little there at, for they knew no cause why that land should not be builded, though it were in the far outlands. However, they drew their ship up to the bank, thinking that they would at least abide a while, and ask tidings, and have some refreshing of the green plain, which was so lovely and pleasant. But while they were busied herein, they saw a man come out of the house, and down to the river to meet them, and they soon saw that he was tall and old, long horny of hair and beard, and clad mostly in the skins of beasts. He drew nigh without any fear or mistrust, and coming close to them gave them the seal of the day in a kindly and pleasant voice. The shipmaster greeted him in his turn, and said with all, Old man, art thou the king of this country? The elder laughed. It hath had none other a long while, said he, and at least there is no other son of Adam here to gain say. Thou art alone here, then, said the master. Yea, said the old man, save for the beasts of the field and the wood, and the creeping things and fowl, wherefore it is sweet to me to hear your voices. Said the master, where be the other houses of the town? The old man laughed. Said he, when I said that I was alone, I meant that I was alone in the land, and not only alone in this stead. There is no house, save this, betwixt the sea and the dwellings of the bears, over the cliff-wall yonder, yea, and a long way over it. Yea, quoth the shipmaster grinning, and be the bears of thy country so manlike that they dwell in builded houses. The old man shook his head. Sir, said he, as to their bodily fashion it is altogether manlike, save that they be one and all higher and bigger than most, for they be bears only in name, they be a nation of half-wild men, for I have been told by them that there be many more than that tribe whose folk I have seen, and that they spread wide about behind these mountains from east to west. Now, sir, as to their souls and understandings, I warrant them not, for miscreants they be, trowing neither in God nor his hallows. Said the master, trow they in Mahoond then. Nay, said the elder, I want not for sure that they have so much as a false god, though I have it from them that they worship a certain woman with nickel-worship. Then spake Walter, yea, good sir, and how knowest thou that, dost thou deal with them at all? Said the old man, while some of that folk come hither and have of me what I can spare, a calf or two, or half a dozen of lambs or hoggits, or a skin of wine or cider of mine own making, and they give me in return such things as I can use as skins of heart and bear and other peltries, for now I am old I can but little of the hunting here about. Wiles also they bring little lumps of pure copper, and would give me gold also, but it is of little use in this lonely land. Both to say, to me they are not masterful or rough-handed, but glad am I that they have been here but of late, and are not like to come again this while, for terrible they are of aspect, and whereas ye be aliens, be like they would not hold their hands from off you, and moreover ye have weapons and other matters which they would covet sorely. Quote the master, since thou dealest with these wild men, will ye not deal with us in chaffa? To where as we are come from long travel we hanker after fresh victual, and here aboard are many things which were for thine avail. Said the old man, all that I have is yours, so that ye do but leave me enough till my next in-gathering. Of wine and cider such as it is, I have plenty for your service. Ye may drink it till it is all gone, if ye will. A little corn and meal I have, but not much, yet I ye welcome there too, since the standing corn in my garth is done blossoming, and I have other meat. Cheeses have I, and dried fish, take what ye will thereof. But as to my neat and sheep, if ye have sore need of any and will have them, I may not say you nay, but I pray you if ye may do without them not to take my milch-beasts or their engenderers. For, as ye have heard me say, the bearfolk have been here but of late, and they have had all of me I might spare. But now, let me tell you, if ye long after flesh-meat, that there is venison of heart and hind, yea, and of buck and doe, to be had on this plain, and about the little woods at the feet of the rock-wall yonder. Neither are they exceeding wild, for since I may not take them I scare them not, and no other man do they see to hurt them, for the bearfolk come straight to my house, and fair straight home thence. But I will lead you the nyest way to where the venison is the easiest to be gotten. As to the wares in your ship, if ye will give me out, I will take it with a good will, and chiefly, if ye have a fair knife or two, and a roll of linen-cloth, that were a good refreshment to me. But in any case, what I have to give is free to you and welcome. The shipmaster laughed. Friend, said he, we can thee, Mickle, thanks for all that thou bidest us, and what well that we be no lifters or sea-thieves to take thy livelihood from thee. So to-morrow, if thou wilt, we will go with thee, and upraise the hunt, and meanwhile we will come a land, and walk on the green grass, and water our ship with thy good fresh water. So the old Carl went back to his house to make them ready what share he might, and the shipmen, who were twenty and one all told, what with the mariners, and Arnold, and Walter's servants, went ashore, all but two who watched the ship, and abode their turn. They went well-weapon, for both the master and Walter deemed wariness wisdom, lest all might not be so good as it seemed. They took of their sail-cloths ashore, and tilted them in on the meadow betwixt the house and the ship, and the Carl brought them what he had for their avail, of fresh fruits and cheeses, and milk, and wine, and cider, and honey, and there they feasted no wise ill, and were right feign. CHAPTER VI The old man tells Walter of himself. Walter sees a shard in a cliff-wall, but when they had done their meat and drink, the master and the shipmen went about the watering of the ship, and the others strayed off along the meadow, so that presently Walter was left alone with the Carl, and fell to speech with him, and said, Father, me seamoth thou shouldest have some strange tale to tell, and as yet we have asked thee of naught, so meet for our bellies. Now, if I ask thee concerning thy life, and how thou camest hither and abided here, wilt thou tell me out? The old man smiled on him, and said, Son, my tale were long to tell, and may happen concerning much thereof, my memory should fail me, and with all there is grief therein, which I will loathe to awaken. Nevertheless, if thou ask, I will answer as I may, and in any case will tell thee naught to save the truth. Said Walter, well then, hast thou been long here? Yea, said the Carl, since I was a young man and a stalwart knight. Said Walter, this house, didst thou build it, and raise these garths, and plant orchard and vineyard, and gather together the neat and the sheep, or did some other do all this for thee? Said the Carl, I did none of all this. There was one here before me, and I entered into his inheritance, as though this were a lordly manner, with a fair castle thereon, and all well stocked and plenished. Said Walter, didst thou find thy foregoer alive here? Yea, said the elder, yet he lived but for a little while after I came to him. He was silent a while, and then he said, I slew him. Even so would he have it, though I bade him a better lot. Said Walter, didst thou come hither of thine own will? May happen, said the Carl, who knoweth? Now I have no will to do either this or that. It is want that maketh me do, or refrain. Said Walter, tell me this, why didst thou slay the man? Did he any scave to thee? Said the elder, when I slew him, I deemed that he was doing me all scave, but now I know that it was not so. Thus it was. I would need to go where he had been before, and he stood in the path against me, and I overthrew him, and went on the way I would. What came thereof? Said Walter. Evil came of it, said the Carl. Then was Walter silent a while, and the old man spake nothing. But there came a smile in his face that was both sly and somewhat sad. Walter looked on him and said, was it from hence that thou wouldst go that road? Yea, said the Carl. Said Walter, and now wilt thou tell me what that road was, whether it went and where to it led, that thou must needst wend it, though thy first stride were over a dead man? I will not tell thee, said the Carl. Then they held their peace, both of them, and thereafter got on to other talk of no import. Also wore the day till night came, and they slept safely, and on the morrow, after they had broken their fast, the more part of them set off with the Carl to the hunting, and they went, all of them, at three hours faring towards the foot of the cliffs, which was all grown over with coppice, hazel, and thorn, with here and there a big oak, or ash-tree. There it was, said the old man, where the venison was most and best. Of their hunting need not be said, saving that when the Carl had put them on the track of the deer, and shown them what to do, he came back again with Walter, who had no great lust for the hunting, and sorely longed to have some more talk with the said Carl. He for his part seemed not loath there, too, and so led Walter to a mound or hillock, amidst the clear of the plain, whence all was to be seen save where the wood covered it. But just before where they now lay down there was no wood, save low bushes betwixt them and the rock wall. And Walter noted that, whereas other where, save in one place where two their eyes were turned, the cliffs seemed well nigh or quite sheer, or indeed in some places beatling over. In that said place they fell away from each other on either side, and before this sinking was a slope or scree that went gently up toward the sinking of the wall. Walter looked long and earnestly at this place, and spake nought, till the Carl said, what, thou hast found something before thee to look on, what is it then? Quoth Walter. Some would say that where yonder slopes run together, up towards that sinking in the cliff wall, there will be a pass into the country beyond. The Carl smiled, and said, yea, son, nor so saying would they err, for that is the pass into the bear country, whereby those huge men come down to chaffer with me. Yea, said Walter, and therewith he turned him a little and scanned the rock wall, and saw how a few miles from that pass it turned somewhat sharply toward the sea, narrowing the plain much there, till it made a bite, the face whereof looked well nigh north instead of west, as did the more part of the wall. And in the midst of that northern-looking bite was a dark place, which seemed to Walter like a downright shard in a cliff, for the face of the wall was of a bleak grey, and it was but little furrowed. So then Walter spake. Lo, old friend, there yonder is again a place that me seamoth is a pass. Whereon too doth that one lead? And he pointed to it. But the old man did not follow the pointing of his finger, but looking down on the ground answered confusedly, and said, Maybe, I what not, I deem that it also leadeth into the bear country by a roundabout road, it leadeth into the far land. Walter answered naught, for a strange thought had come uppermost in his mind, that the cull knew far more than he would say of that pass, and that he himself might be led thereby to find the wondrous three. He caught his breath hardly, and his heart knocked against his ribs, but he refrained from speaking for a long while. But at last he spake in a sharp, hard voice which he scarce knew for his own. Father, tell me, I adjure thee by God and all Hallows, was it through yonder shard at the road lay, when thou must needst make thy first stride over a dead man? The old man spake not a while. Then he raised his head, and looked Walter full in the eyes, and said in a steady voice, No, it was not. Thereafter they sat looking at each other a while, but at last Walter turned his eyes away, but knew not what they beheld nor where he was, but he was as one in a swoon, for he knew full well that the cull had lied to him, and that he might as well have said I as no, and told him that it verily was by that same shard that he had stridden over a dead man. Nevertheless, he made as little semblance thereof as he might, and presently came to himself, and felt a talking of other matters that had not to do with the adventures of the land. But after a while he spake suddenly, and said, My master, I was thinking of a thing. Ye of what? said the cull. Of this, said Walter, that here in this land be strange adventures toward, and that if we, and I in a special, were to turn our backs on them, and go home with nothing done, it were pity of our lives, for all will be dull and deedless there. I would deeming it were good if we tried the adventure. What adventure? said the old man, rising up on his elbow and staring sternly on him. Said Walter, the wending yonder pass to the eastward, whereby the huge men come to thee from out of the bear country, that we might see what should come thereof. The cull leaned back again, and smiled, and shook his head and spake. That adventure was speedily proven, death would come of it, my son. Ye and how? said Walter. The cull said, The big men would take thee, and offer thee up as a blood offering to that woman, who is their mormet. And if ye go all, then shall they do the like with all of you? Said Walter, is that sure? Dead sure, said the cull. How knowest thou this? said Walter. I have been there myself, said the cull. Ye, said Walter, but thou camest away whole. Art thou sure thereof? said the cull. Thou art alive yet, old man, said Walter, for I have seen thee eat thy meat, which ghosts use not to do. And he laughed. But the old man answered soberly. If I escaped, it was by this, that another woman saved me, and not often shall that befall. Nor wholly was I saved, my body escaped forsooth. But where is my soul? Where is my heart and my life? Young man, I read thee, try no such adventure, but go home to thy kindred if thou canst. Moreover, with thou fair alone, the others shall hinder thee. Said Walter, I am the master, they shall do as I bid them. Besides, they will be well pleased to share my goods amongst them, if I give them a writing to clear them of all charges which might be brought against them. My son, my son, said the cull, I pray thee, go not to thy death. Walter heard him silently. But as if he were persuaded to refrain. And then the old man fell too, and told him much concerning this bearfolk and their customs, speaking very freely of them. But Walter's ears were scarce open to this talk, whereas he deemed that he should have not to do with those wild men. And he does not ask again concerning the country, where to led the pass on the northward. CHAPTER VII Walter comes to the shard in the rock wall. As they were in converse thus, they heard the hunters blowing on their horns altogether, whereon the old man arose and said, I deem by the blowing that the hunt will be over and done, and that they be blowing on their fellows who have gone scatter-meal about the wood. It is now some five hours after noon, and thy men will be getting back with their venison, and will be faintest of the victuals they have caught. Therefore will I hasten on before, and get ready fire, and water, and other matters for the cooking. Wilt thou come with me, young master, or abide thy men here? Walter said lightly, I will rest and abide them here, since I cannot fail to see them hence as they go on their ways to thine house. And it may well be that I be at hand to command them and forbid, and put some order amongst them, for rough playmates they be some of them, and now all heated with the hunting and the joy of the green earth. Thus he spoke, as if naught were to ward save supper and bed, but inwardly hope and fear were contending in him, and again his heart beat so hard that he deemed that the cull must surely hear it. But the old man took him but according to his outward seeming, and nodded his head, and went away quietly toward his house. When he had been gone a little, Walter rose up heedfully. He had with him a script wherein was some cheese and hard fish, and a little flasket of wine, a short bow he had with him, and a quiver of arrows, and he was girt with a strong and good sword, and a wood-knife with all. He looked to all this gear that it was nor to miss, and then speedily went down off the mound, and when he was come down, he found that it covered him from men coming out of the wood, if he went straight thence to that shard of the rock wall, where was the pass that led southward. Now it is known, ay, that there the wood he turned, and went wisely, lest the cull should make a backward cast and see him, or lest any straggler of his own folk might happen upon him. For to say sooth, he deemed that did they wind him, they would be like to let him of his journey. He had noted the bearings of the cliffs neither shard, and whereas he could see their heads everywhere, except from the depths of the thicket, he was not like to go astray. He had made no great way, ere he heard the horns blowing all together again in one place, and looking thitherward through the leafy boughs, for he was now amidst of a thicket. He saw his men thronging the mound, and had no doubt, therefore, that they were blowing on him. But being well under cover he heeded it nought, and lying still a little, saw them go down off the mound, and go all of them toward the carl's house, still blowing as they went, but not fairing scatter-meal, wherefore it was clear that they were nought troubled about him. So he went on his way to the shard, and there is nothing to say of his journey till he got before it, with the last of the year day, and entered it straight away. It was in Sooth a downright breach or cleft in the rock wall, and there was no hill or bent leading up to it, nothing but a tumble of stones before it, which was somewhat uneasy going, yet he did nought but labour to overcome it, and when he had got over this, and was in the very pass itself, he found it no ill going. For Sooth at first it was a little worse than a rough road betwixt two great stony slopes, though a little trickle of water ran down amidst of it. So, though it was so nigh nightfall, yet Walter pressed on, yea and long after the very night was come, for the moon rose wide and bright a little after nightfall. But at last he had gone so long, and was so weary, that he deemed it nought but wisdom to rest him, and so lay down on a piece of greensward betwixt the stones, when he had eaten the morsel out of his satchel, and drunk of the water out of the stream. There he lay, if he had any doubt of peril, his weariness soon made it all one to him, for presently he was sleeping as soundly as any man in Langton on home. CHAPTER VIII Walter wends the waste. Day was yet young when he awoke. He leapt to his feet, and went down to the stream, and drank of its waters, and washed the night off him in a pool thereof, and then set forth on his way again. Then he had gone some three hours, the road, which had been going up all the way, but somewhat gently, grew steeper, and the bent on either side lowered, and lowered, till it sank at last altogether, and then was he on a rough mountain-neck, with little grass, and no water, save that now and again was a soft place with a flow amidst of it, and such places he must need s'fetch a compass about, lest he be mired. He gave himself but little rest, eating what he needs must as he went. The day was bright and calm, so that the sun was never hidden, and he stirred by it due south. All that day he went, and found no more change in that huge neck, save that while it was more, and while less steep. A little before nightfall he happened on a shallow pool, some twenty yards over, and he deemed it good to rest there, since there was water for his avail, though he might have made somewhat more out of the tail end of the day. When dawn came again he awoke, and arose, nor spent much time over his breakfast, but pressed on all he might, and now he said to himself, that whatsoever other peril were a thwart his way, he was out of the danger of the chase of his own folk. All this while he had seen no four-footed beast, save now and again a hill-fox, and once some outlandish kind of hair, and a fowl but very few, a crow or two, a long-winged hawk, and twice an eagle high up aloft. Again a third night he slept in the stony wilderness which still led him up and up. Only toward the end of the day him seemed that it had been less steep for a long while, otherwise nought was changed, on all sides it was nought but the endless neck, wherefrom nought could be seen, but some other part of itself. This fourth night with all he found no water whereby he might rest, so that he awoke parched, and longing to drink just when the dawn was at its coldest. But on the fifth morrow the ground rose but little, and at last, when he had been going wearily a long while, and now, hard on noontide, his thirst grieved him sorely. He came on a spring welling out from under a high rock, the water wherefrom trickled feebly away. So eager was he to drink, that at first he heeded nought else, but when his thirst was fully quenched his eyes caught sight of the stream which flowed from the well, and he gave a shout for lo it was running south, wherefore it was with a merry heart that he went on, and as he went came on more streams all running south or thereabouts. He hastened on all he might, but in despite of all the speed he made, and that he felt the land now going down southward, might overtook him in that same wilderness. Yet when he stayed at last for sheer weariness he lay down in what he deemed by the moonlight to be a shallow valley with a ridge at the southern end thereof. He slept long, and when he awoke the sun was high in the heavens, and never was brighter or clearer morning on the earth than was that. He arose, and ate of what little was yet left him, and drank of the water of a stream which he had followed the evening before, and beside which he had laid him down, and then set forth again with no great hope to come on new tidings that day. But yet, when he was fairly afoot, him seemed that there was something new in the air which he breathed, that was soft and bore sweet scents home to him, whereas here too for, and that especially for the last three or four days, it had been harsh and void like the face of the desert itself. To on he went, and presently was mounting the ridge aforesaid, and, as oft happens when one climbs a steep place, he kept his eyes on the ground till he felt he was on the top of the ridge. Then he stopped to take breath, and raised his head and looked, and lo! he was verily on the brow of the great mountain-neck, and down below him was the hanging of the great hill-slopes, which fell down not slowly as those he had been those days amounting, but speedily enough, though with little of broken places or sheer cliffs. But beyond this last of the desert, there was before him a lovely land of wooded hills, green plains, and little valleys, stretching out far and wide, till it ended at last in great blue mountains, and white snowy peaks beyond them. Then for very surprise of joy his spirit wavered, and he felt faint and dizzy, so that he was feigned to sit down a while, and cover his face with his hands. Presently he came to his sober mind again, and stood up and looked forth keenly, and saw no sign of any dwelling of man. But he said to himself that that might well be because the good and well-grasked land was still so far off, and that he might yet look to find men in their dwellings when he had left the mountain wilderness quite behind him. So therewith he fell to going his ways down the mountain, and lost little time therein, whereas he now had his livelihood to look to. CHAPTER IX Walter Hapneth on the first of those three creatures. What with one thing, what with another, as his having to turn out of his way for sheer rocks, or for slopes so steep that he might not try the peril of them, and again for bogs impassable, he was fully three days more before he had quite come out of the stony waste, and by that time, though he had never lacked water, his scanty victual was quite done for all his careful husbandry thereof. But this troubled him little, whereas he looked to find wild fruits here and there, and to shoot some small deer, as hare or coney, and make a shift to cook the same since he had with him flint and fire-steel. Moreover the further he went the sure he was that he should soon come across a dwelling so smooth and fair as everything looked before him. And he had scant fear, save that he might happen on men who should enthrall him. But when he was come down past the first green slopes, he was so worn that he said to himself that rest was better than meat, so little as he had slept for the last three days. So he laid him down under an ashtree by a stream-side, nor asked what was o'clock, but had his fill of sleep. And even when he awoke in the fresh morning was little feign of rising, but lay betwixt sleeping and waking for some three hours more. Then he arose, and went further down the next green bent, yet somewhat slowly because of his hunger weakness. And the scent of that fair land came up to him like the odour of one great nose-gay. So he came to where the land was level, and there were many trees as oak and ash and sweet chestnut and witch-elm and horn-beam and quicken-tree, not growing in a close wood or tangled thicket, but set as though in order on the flowery green-sword, even as it might be in a great king's park. So came he to a big bird-cherry, whereof many boughs hung low down laden with fruit, his belly rejoiced at the sight, and he caught hold of a bough, and fell to plucking and eating. But whilst he was amidst of this, he heard suddenly, close an eye him, a strange noise of roaring and braying, not very great, but exceeding fierce and terrible, and not like to the voice of any beast that he knew. As has been aforesaid, Walter was no faint heart. But what with the weakness of his travail, and hunger, what with the strangeness of his adventure, and his loneliness, his spirit failed him. He turned round towards the noise, his knees shook, and he trembled. This way and that he looked, and then gave a great cry and tumbled down in a swoon, for close before him, at his very feet, was the dwarf, whose image he had seen before, clad in his yellow coat, and grinning up at him from his hideous hairy countenance. How long he lay there, as one dead, he knew not. But when he woke again, there was the dwarf, sitting on his hams close by him. And when he lifted up his head, the dwarf sent out that fearful harsh voice again. But this time Walter could make out words therein, and knew that the creature spoke, and said, How now? What art thou? Whence comest? What wantest? Walter sat up, and said, I am a man, I height golden Walter, I come from Langton, I want victual. Said the dwarf, writhing his face grievously, and laughing forsooth. I know it all, I ask thee to see what wise thou wouldst lie. I was sent forth to look for thee, and I have brought thee loathsome bread with me, such as the aliens must needs eat, take it. Therewith he drew a loaf from a satchel which he bore, and thrust it towards Walter, who took it somewhat doubtfully for all his hunger. The dwarf yelled at him, Art thou dainty alien, wouldst thou have flesh? Will give me thy bow, and an arrow or two, since thou art lazy sick, and I will get the acony, or a hair, or a quail, maybe. Ah! I forgot, thou art dainty, and wilt not eat flesh as I do, bloodened altogether, but must needs half burn it in the fire, or mar it with hot water, as they say my lady does, or as the wretch, the thing does. I know that, for I have seen it eating. Nay! said Walter, this suffices, and he fell to eating the bread, which was sweet between his teeth. Then, when he had eaten a while, for hunger compelled him, he said to the dwarf, But what meanest thou by the wretch and the thing, and what lady is thy lady? The creature let out another wordless roar, as of furious anger, and then the words came. It hath a face white and red, like to thine, and hands whiter thine, yea but whiter, and the like it is underneath its raiment, only whiter still, for I have seen it, yes, I have seen it, ah, yes, and yes, and yes. And therewith his words ran into gibber, and yelling, and he rolled about, and smote at the grass. But in a while he grew quiet again, and sat still, and then fell to laughing horribly again, and then said, But thou fool, wilt think it fair if thou fallest into its hands, and wilt repent it thereafter as I did. Oh, the mocking, and jibes of it, and the tears and shrieks of it, and the knife! What? Sayest thou of my lady? What lady? Oh, alien, what other lady is there? And what shall I tell thee of her? It is like that she made me, as she made the bearmen. But she made not the wretch, the thing, and she hatheth it sorely as I do, and some day to come, there at he break off, and fell to wordless yelling a long while, and there after spake or panting. Now I have told thee over much, and oh, if my lady come to hear thereof, now I will go. And therewith he took out two more loaves from his wallet, and tossed them to Walter, and so turned and went his ways, whilst walking upright, as Walter had seen his image on the key of Langton, whilst bounding and rolling like a ball thrown by a lad, whilst scuttling along on all fours like an evil beast, and ever and none giving forth that harsh and evil cry. Walter sat a while after he was out of sight, so stricken with horror and loathing, and a fear of he knew not what, that he might not move. Then he plucked up a heart, and looked to his weapons, and put the other loaves into his script. Then he arose, and went his ways wondering, yea, and dreading what kind of creature he should next fall in with. For soothly it seemed to him that it would be worse than death if they were all such as this one, and that if it were so he must need slay and be slain. CHAPTER X Walter happiness on another creature in the strange land. But as he went on through the fair and sweet land so bright and sun-lit, and he now rested and fed, the horror and fear ran off from him, and he wandered on merrily, neither did ought before him save the coming of night, when he laid him down under a great spreading oak, with his drawn sword ready to hand, and fell asleep at once, and woke not till the sun was high. Then he arose, and went on his way again, and the land was no worse than yesterday. But even better it might be the green-sword more flowery, the oaks and chestnuts greater. Dear of diverse kinds he saw, and might easily have got his meat thereof, but he meddled not with them since he had his bread, and was timorous of lighting a fire. With all he doubted little of having some entertainment, and that might be nought-evil, since even that fearful dwarf had been courteous to him after his kind, and had done him good and not harm. But of the happening on the wretch and the thing, whereof the dwarf's spake, he was yet somewhat afeard. After he had gone a while, and when as the summer morn was at its brightest, he saw a little way ahead a gray rock rising up from a midst of a ring of oak trees. So he turned thither straight away, for in this plain land he had seen no rocks here too for, and as he went he saw that there was a fountain gushing out from under the rock, which ran thence in a fair little stream. And when he had the rock, and the fountain, and the stream clear before him, lo! a child of Adam sitting beside the fountain under the shadow of the rock. He drew a little nire, and then he saw that it was a woman, clad in green, like the sword whereon she lay. She was playing with the welling out of the water, and she had trussed up her sleeves to the shoulder that she might thrust her bare arms therein. Her shoes of black leather lay on the grass beside her, and her feet and legs yet shone with the brook. Belike amidst the splashing and clatter of the water, she did not hear him drawing nigh, so that he was close to her before she lifted up her face and saw him, and he beheld her, that it was the maiden of the thrice-seen pageant. She reddened when she saw him, and hastily covered up her legs with her gown skirt, and drew down her sleeves over her arms, but otherwise stirred not. As for him, he stood still, striving to speak to her, but no word might he bring out, and his heart beat sorely, but the maiden spake to him in a clear, sweet voice wherein was now no trouble. Thou art an alien art, thou not, for I have not seen thee before. Yea, he said, I am an alien, wilt thou be good to me? She said, and why not? I was afraid at first, for I thought it had been the king's son. I looked to see none other, for of goodly men he has been the only one here in the land this long while till thy coming. He said, didst thou look for my coming at about this time? Oh, nay! She said, how might I? Said Walter, I watch not, but the other man seemed to be looking for me, and knew of me, and he brought me bread to eat. She looked on him anxiously, and grew somewhat pale, as she said, what other one? Now Walter did not know what the dwarf might be to her, fellow servant or what not, so he would not show his loathing of him, but answered wisely, the little man in the yellow raiment. But when she heard that word, she went suddenly very pale, and leaned her head aback, and beat the air with her hands. But said presently, in a faint voice, I pray thee talk not of that one while I am by, nor even think of him if thou mayest forbear. He spake not, and she was a little while before she came to herself again. Then she opened her eyes, and looked upon Walter, and smiled kindly on him, as though to ask his pardon for having scared him. Then she rose up in her place, and stood before him, and they were nigh together, for the stream betwixt them was little. But he still looked anxiously upon her, and said, Have I hurt thee? I pray thy pardon. She looked on him more sweetly still, and said, Oh, nay, thou wouldst not hurt me, thou. Then she blushed very red, and he in likewise. But afterwards she turned pale, and laid a hand on her breast, and Walter cried out hastily, Oh, me, I have hurt thee again! Wherein have I done amiss? In naught, in naught, she said, But I am troubled, I what not wherefore. Some thought hath taken hold of me, and I know it not. May happen in a little while, I shall know what troubles me. Now I bid thee depart from me a little, and I will abide here. And when thou comest back, it will either be that I have found it out, or not. And in either case I will tell thee. She spoke earnestly to him, but he said, How long shall I abide away? Her face was troubled as she answered him, for no long while. He smiled on her, and turned away, and went to space to the other side of the oak-trees, whence she was still with an eye-shot. There he abode, until the time seemed long to him, but he schooled himself and forbore, for he said, lest she send me away again. So he abided, until again the time seemed long to him, and she called not to him, but once again he forbore to go, then at last he arose, and his heart beat, and he trembled, and he walked back again speedily, and came to the maiden who was still standing by the rock of the spring, her arms hanging down, her eyes downcast. She looked up at him as he drew nigh, and her face changed with eagerness as she said, I'm glad thou art to come back, though it be no long while since thy departure. Sooth to say it was scarce half an hour in all. Nevertheless I have been thinking many things, and thereof will I now tell thee. He said, Maiden, there is a river betwixt us, though it be no big one. Shall I not stride over, and come to thee, that we may sit down together side by side on the green grass? Nay, she said, not yet, tarry a while till I have told thee of matters. I must now tell thee of my thoughts in order. Her colour went and came now, and she plattied the folds of her gown with restless fingers. At last, she said, Now the first thing is this, that though thou hast seen me first only within this hour, thou hast set thine heart upon me to have me for thy speech-friend and thy darling. And if this be not so, then is all my speech, yea, and all my hope come to an end at once. Oh, yea, said Walter, even so it is! But how thou hast found this out, I what not, since now for the first time I say it, that thou art indeed my love, and my dear, and my darling! Hush, she said, hushless the wood have ears, and thy speech is loud! Abide, and I shall tell thee how I know it, whether this thy love shall outlast the first time that thou holdest my body in thine arms, I what not, nor dost thou. But saw is my hope that it may be so, for I also, though it be but scarce an hour since I set eyes on thee, have cast mine eyes on thee to have thee for my love and my darling and my speech-friend. And this is how I what that thou lovest me, my friend. Now is all this dear and joyful, and overflows my heart with sweetness. But now must I tell thee of the fear and the evil which lieth behind it. Then Walter stretched out his hands to her, and cried out, yea, yea, but whatever evil entangle us, now we both know these two things, to wit that thou lovest me, and I thee, wilt thou not come hither, that I may cast mine arms about thee, and kiss thee, if not thy kind lips or thy friendly face at all, yet at least thy dear hand, yea, that I may touch thy body in some wise. She looked on him steadily, and said softly, Nay, this above all things must not be, and that it may not be, is a part of the evil which entangles us. But Harken, friend, once again I tell thee, that thy voice is over-loud in this wilderness fruitful of evil. Now I have told thee, indeed, of two things whereof we both watt, but next I must need to tell thee of things whereof I watt, and thou wattest not. Yet this were better, that thou pledged thy word not to touch so much as one of my hands, and that we go together a little way hence away from these tumbled stones, and sit down upon the open greensward, whereas here is cover if there be spying abroad. Again, as she spoke, she turned very pale, but Walter said, since it must be so, I pledge thee my word to thee as I love thee. And therewith she knelt down, and did on her foot gear, and then sprang lightly over the rivulet, and then the twain of them went side by side some half-a-furlong vents, and sat down, shadowed by the boughs of a slim quicken-tree, growing up out of the greensward, whereon for a good space around was neither bush nor break. There began the maiden to talk soberly, and said, This is what I must need say to thee now, that thou art come into a land perilous for any one that loveth ought of good, from which forsooth I were feigned that thou wert gotten away safely, even though I should die of longing for thee. As for myself, my peril is, in a measure less than thine, I mean the peril of death. But lo! thou this iron on my foot is token that I am a thrall, and thou knowest in what wise thralls must pay for transgressions. Furthermore, of what I am, and how I came hither, time would fail me to tell, but some while may be I shall tell thee. I serve an evil mistress, of whom I may say that scarce I what if she be a woman or not, but by some creatures is she accounted for a god, and as a god is herried. But surely never god was crueler nor colder than she. Me she hateeth sorely, yet if she hated me little or not, small would gain to me if it were her pleasure to deal hardly by me. But as things now are, and are like to be, it would not be for her pleasure, but for her pain and loss to make an end of me. Therefore, as I said in now, my mere life is not in peril with her, unless, per chance, some sudden passion get the better of her, and she slay me, and repent of it thereafter. For so it is, that if it be the least evil of her conditions that she is wanton, at least wanton she is to the letter. Many a time hath she cast the net for the catching of some goodly young man, and her latest prey, save it be thou, is the young man whom I named, when first I saw thee, by the name of the king's son. He is with us yet, and I fear him, for of late hath he worried of her, though it is but plain truth to say of her, that she is the wonder of all beauties of the world. He hath worried of her, I say, and hath cast his eyes upon me, and if I were heedless, he would betray me to the uttermost of the wrath of my mistress. For needs must I say of him, though he be a goodly man, and now fallen into thralldom, that he hath no bowels of compassion, but is a dastard, who for an hour's pleasure would undo me, and thereafter would stand by smiling, and taking my mistresses pardon with good cheer, while for me would be no pardon. See us, thou, therefore, how it is with me between these two cruel fools, and moreover there are others, of whom I will not even speak to thee, and therewith she put her hands before her face, and wept, and murmured, who shall deliver me from this death in life. But Walter cried out, for what else am I come hither, I, I? And it was a near thing that he did not take her in his arms, but he remembered his pledged word, and drew her back from her in terror, whereas he had an inkling of why she would not suffer it, and he wept with her, but suddenly the maid left weeping, and said in a changed voice, friend, whereas thou speakest of delivering me, it is more like that I shall deliver thee, and now I pray thy pardon for thus grieving thee with my grief, and that more especially because thou mayest not solace thy grief with kisses and caresses, but so it was, that for once I was smitten by the thought of the anguish of this land, and the joy of all the world besides. Therewith she caught her breath in a half sob, but refrained her, and went on. Now, dear friend and darling, take good heed to all that I shall say to thee, whereas thou must do after the teaching of my words. And first I deem by the monster having met thee at the gates of the land, and refreshed thee, that the mistress hath looked for thy coming, nay, by thy coming hither at all that she hath cast her net, and caught thee. Hast thou noted ought that might seem to make this more like? Said Walter, three times in full daylight have I seen go past me the images of the monster, and thee, and a glorious lady, even as if ye were alive. And therewith he told her in few words how it had gone with him since that day on the key at Langton. She said, then it is no longer perhaps, but certain, that thou art her latest catch, and even so I deemed from the first, and, dear friend, this is why I have not suffered thee to kiss or caress me, so sore as I longed for thee. For the mistress will have thee for her only, and hath lurid thee hither for naught else, and she is wise in wizardry, even as some deal am I, and worked thou to touch me with hand or mouth on my naked flesh, yea, or were it even my raiment, then would she sent the savor of thy love upon me, and then, though it may be she would spare thee, she would not spare me. Then was she silent a little, and seemed very downcast, and Walter held his peace from grief, and confusion, and helplessness, for of wizardry he knew naught. At last the maids beg again, and said, nevertheless we will not die redeless. Now thou must look to this, that from hence forward it is thee, and not the king's son, whom she desireth, and that so much the more that she has not set eyes on thee. Remember this, whatsoever her seeming may be to thee, now therefore shall the king's son be free, though he know it not, to cast his love on whom so he will, and, in a way, I shall also be free to yea say him. Though forsooth so fulfilled is she with malice and spite, that even then she may turn round on me to punish me for doing that which she would have me do. Now let me think of it. Then was she silent a good while, and spoke at last. Yea, all things are perilous, and a perilous read I have thought of, whereof I will not tell thee as yet, so waste not the short while by asking me. At least the worst will be no worse than what shall come if we strive not against it. And now, my friend, amongst perils it is growing more and more perilous that we twain should be longer together. But I would say one thing yet, and may be another thereafter. Thou hast cast thy love upon one who will be true to thee, whatsoever may befall, yet is she a guileful creature, and might not help it her life long. And now for thy very sake must needs be more guileful than ever before. And as for me, the guileful, my love have I cast upon a lovely man, and one true and simple, and a stout heart, but at such a pinch is he that if he withstand all temptation, his withstanding may be like undo both him and me. Therefore swear we both of us, that by both of us shall all guile, and all falling away, be forgiven, on the day when we shall be free to love each the other as our hearts will. Walter cried out, O love, I swear it indeed, thou art my hallow, and I will swear it as on the relics of a hallow. On thy hands and thy feet I swear it. The words seemed to her a dear caress, and she laughed, and blushed, and looked full kindly on him, and then her face grew solemn, and she said, On thy life I swear it. Then she said, Now is there not for thee to do, but to go hence straight to the golden house, which is my mistress's house, and the only house in this land, save one which I may not see, and lie at southward no long way. How she will deal with thee I what not. But all I have said of her, and thee, and the king's son is true. Therefore I say to thee, Be wary and cold at heart, whatsoever outward semblance thou mayest make. If thou have to yield thee to her, then yield rather late than early, so as to gain time. Yet not so late, as to seem shamed in yielding for fear's sake. But fast to thy life, my friend, for in warding that thou wardest me from grief without remedy. Thou wilt see me ere long, it may be to-morrow, it may be some days hence. But forget not, that what I may do, that I am doing. Take heed also that thou pay no more heed to me, or rather less than if thou wert meeting a maiden of no account in the streets of thine own town. O my love, Barron is this first farewell, as was our first meeting, but surely shall there be another meeting better than the first, and the last farewell may be long and long yet. Therewith she stood up, and he knelt before her a little while without any word, and then arose and went his ways. But when he had gone a space he turned about, and saw her still standing in the same place. She stayed a moment when she saw him turn, and then herself turned about. So he departed through the fair land, and his heart was full with hope and fear as he went. CHAPTER XI. WALTER HAPPENETH ON THE MISTRESS. It was but a little afternoon when Walter left the maid behind. He steered south by the sun as the maid had bidden him, and went swiftly, for as a good night wending to battle, the time seemed long to him till he should meet the foe. So an hour before sunset he saw something white and gay gleaming through the bowls of the oak trees, and presently there was clear before him a most goodly house, build of white marble, carved all about with knots and imagery, and the carven folk were all painted of their lively colours, whether it were their raiment or their flesh, and the housings wherein they stood all done with gold and fair hues. Gay were the windows of the house, and there was a pillard porch before the great door, with images betwixt the pillars, both of men and beasts, and when Walter looked up to the roof of the house he saw that it gleamed and shone, for all the tiles were of yellow metal, which he deemed to be of very gold. All this he saw as he went, and tarried knot to gaze upon it, for he said, be like there will be time for me to look on all this before I die. But he said also, that, though the house was not of the greatest, it was beyond compare of all the houses of the world. Now he entered it by the porch, and came into a hall many pillard and vaulted over, the walls painted with gold and ultramarine, the floor dark and spangled with many colours, and the windows glazed with knots and pictures. Next thereof was a fountain of gold, whence the water ran two ways in gold-lined runnels, spanned twice with little bridges of silver. Long was that hall, and now not very light, so that Walter was come past the fountain before he saw any folk therein. Then he looked up toward the high seat, and him seemed that great light shone thence and dazzled his eyes. And he went on a little way, and then fell on his knees, for there before him on the high seat sat that wondrous lady, whose lively image had been shown to him thrice before, and she was clad in gold and jewels, as he had erstseen her. But now she was not alone, for by her side sat a young man, goodly enough so far as Walter might see him, and most richly clad, with a jewelled sword by his side, and a chaplet of gems on his head. They held each other by the hand, and seemed to be in dear converse together, but they spake softly, so that Walter might not hear what they said, till at last the man spake aloud to the lady. Seeest thou not that there is a man in the hall? Yea, she said, I see him yonder kneeling on his knees, let him come nigher and give some account of himself. So Walter stood up and drew nigh, and stood there all shame-faced and confused, looking on those twain, and wondering at the beauty of the lady. For the man who was slim and black-haired and straight-featured, for all his goodliness Walter accounted him little, and no wise deemed him to look chieftain-like. Now the lady spake not to Walter any more than est, but at last the man said, Why doest thou not kneel, as thou didst ere while? Walter was on the point of giving him back a fierce answer, but the lady spake and said, Nay, friend, it matters not whether he kneel or stand, but he may say, if he will, what he would have of me, and wherefore he has come hither. Then spake Walter. For as wroth and ashamed as he was. Lady, I have strayed into this land, and have come to thine house as I suppose, and if I be not welcome I may well depart straightway, and seek a way out of thy land, if thou wouldst drive me thence, as well as out of thine house. There at the lady turned and looked on him, and when her eyes met his, he felt a pang of fear, and desire mingled, shooped through his heart. This time she spoke to him, but coldly, without either wrath or any thought of him. Newcomer, she said, I have not bidden thee hither, but here mayest thou abide a while if thou wilt, nevertheless take heed that here is no king's court. There is forsooth a folk that serveth me, or it may be more than one, of whom thou worked best to know nought. Of others I have but two servants, whom thou wilt see, and the one is a strange creature who should scare thee or scay thee with a good will, but of a good will shall serve nought to save me. The other is a woman, a thrall of little avail, save that, being compelled, she will work woman's service for me, but whom none else shall compel. Yea, but what is all this to thee, or to me that I should tell it to thee? I will not drive thee away, but if thine entertainment pleas thee not, make no plainst thereof to me, but depart at thy will. Now is this talk betwixt us over long, since, as thou seest, I and this king's son are in converse together. Art thou a king's son? Nay, lady, said Walter, I am but of the sons of merchants. It matters not, she said, go thy ways into one of the chambers. And straight away she fell a-talking to the man who sat beside her, concerning the singing of the birds beneath her window in the morning, and of how she had bathed her that day in a pool of the woodlands, when she had been heated with hunting, and so forth, and all as if there had been none there save her and the king's son. But Walter departed all ashamed, as though he had been a poor man thrust away from a rich kinsman's door, and he said to himself that this woman was hateful and not loveworthy, and that she was little like to tempt him, despite all the fairness of her body. No one else he saw in the house that even. He found meat and drink duly served on a fair table, and thereafter he came on a goodly bed, and all things needful, but no child of Adam to do him service, or bid him welcome or warning. Nevertheless he ate and drank and slept, and put off thought of all these things till the morrow. All the more, as he hoped to see the kind maiden, some time betwixt sunrise and sunset on that new day. CHAPTER XII. THE WEARING OF FOUR DAYS IN THE WOOD BEYOND THE WORLD He arose, betimes, but found no one to greet him, neither was there any sound of folk moving within the fair house. So he but broke his fast, and then went forth and wandered amongst the trees, till he found him a stream to bathe in. And after he had washed the night off him, he lay down under a tree thereby for a while, but soon turned back toward the house, lest perchance the maid should come thither, and he should miss her. It should be said that half a bow-shot from the house on that side, i.e. due north thereof, was a little hazel-break, and round about it the trees were smaller of kind than the oaks and chestnuts he had passed through before, being mostly of birch and quicken-beam and young ash, with small wood betwixt them. So now he passed through the thicket, and coming to the edge thereof beheld the lady and the king's son walking together hand in hand, full lovingly by seeming. He deemed it unmeet to draw back and hide him, so he went forth past them toward the house. The king's son scowled on him as he passed, but the lady, over whose beauteous face flickered the joyous morning smiles, took no more heed of him than if he had been one of the trees of the wood. Which he had been so high and disdainful with him the evening before that he thought little of that. The twain went on, skirting the hazel-cops, and he could not choose but turn his eyes on them, so sorely did the lady's beauty draw them. Then befell another thing, for behind them the boughs of the hazels parted, and there stood that little evil thing, he or another of his kind, for he was quite unclad, saved by his fell of yellowy brown hair, and that he was gut with a leaven girdle, wherein was stuck an ugly two-edged knife. He stood upright a moment, and cast his eyes at Walter and grinned, but not as if he knew him, and scarce could Walter say whether it were the one he had seen or another. Then he cast himself down on his belly, and fell the creeping through the long grass like a serpent, following the footsteps of the lady and her lover, and now, as he crept, Walter deemed in his loathing, that the creature was likeer to a ferret than out else. He crept on marvellous swiftly, and was soon clean out of sight, but Walter stood staring after him for a while, and then lay down by the cop side, that he might watch the house and the entry thereof, for he thought, now perchance presently, will the kind maiden come hither to comfort me with a word or two. But hour passed by hour, and still she came not, and still he lay there, and thought of the maid, and longed for her kindness and wisdom, till he could not refrain his tears and wept for the lack of her. Then he arose, and went and sat in the porch, and was for a downcast of mood. But as he sat there, back comes the lady again, the king's son leading her by the hand. They entered the porch, and she passed by him so close, that the odour of her raiment filled all the air about him, and the sleekness of her side, and I touched him, so that he could not fail to note, that her garments were somewhat disarrayed, and that she kept her right hand, for her left the king's son held, to her bosom to hold the cloth together there, whereas the rich raiment had been torn off from her right shoulder. As they passed by him, the king's son once more scowled on him, wordless, but even more fiercely than before, and again the lady heeded him nought. After they had gone on a while, he entered the hall, and found it empty from end to end, and to no sound in it saved the tinkling of the fountain, but there was victual set on the board. He ate and drank thereof to keep life flusty within him, and then went out again to the wood side to watch, and to long, and the time hung heavy on his hands, because of the lack of the fair maiden. He was of mind not to go into the house to his rest that night, but to sleep under the boughs of the forest. But a little after sunset, he saw a bright-clad image, moving amidst the carven images of the porch. And the king's son came forth, and went straight to him, and said, Thou art to enter the house, and go into thy chamber forthwith, and by no means to go forthof it betwixt sunset and sunrise. My lady will not away with thy prowling round the house in the night-tide. Therewith he turned away, and went into the house again, and Walter followed him soberly, remembering how the maid had bidden him forbear. So he went to his chamber, and slept. But amidst of the night he awoke, and deemed that he heard a voice not far off. So he crept out of his bed, and peered around, lest perchance the maid had come to speak with him. But his chamber was dusk, and empty. Then he went to the window, and looked out, and saw the moon shining bright and white upon the greensward. And lo! the lady walking with the king's son, and he clad in thin and wanton raiment, but she in nought else save what God had given her of long, crispy yellow hair. Then was Walter ashamed to look on her, seeing that there was a man with her, and gapped him back to his bed. But yet a long while ere he slept again, he had the image before his eyes of the fair woman on the dewy moonlit grass. The next day matters went much the same way, and the next also, save that his sorrow was increased, and he sickened sorely of hope deferred. On a fourth day also the forenoon war is erst, but in the heat of the afternoon Walter sought to the hazel-cops, and laid him down there hard by a little clearing thereof, and slept from very weariness of grief. There, after a while, he woke with words still hanging in his ears, and he knew at once that it was they twain talking together. The king's son had just done his say, and now it was the lady beginning in her honey-sweet voice, low but strong, wherein even was a little of huskiness. She said, Otto, be like it were well to have a little patience, till we find out what the man is, and whence he cometh, it will always be easy to rid us of him, it is but a word to our dwarf king, and it will be done in a few minutes. Patience, said the king's son angrily, I want not how to have patience with him, for I can see of him that he is rude and violent and headstrong, and a low-born wily one. For sooth he had patience enough with me the other even, when I rated him in like the dog he is, and he had no manhood to say one word to me. Soothly, as he followed after me, I had a mind to turn about and deal him a buffet on the face, to see if I could but draw one angry word from him. The lady laughed, and said, Well, Otto, I know not, that which thou demestastedly in him may be but prudence and wisdom, and he an alien far from his friends and nigh to his foes, but chance we shall yet try him what he is. Meanwhile, I read thee, try him not with buffets, save he be weaponless and with bounden hands, else I deem that but a little while shalt thou be fain of thy blow. Now when Walter heard her words, and the voice wherein they were said, he might not forbear being stirred by them, and to him, all lonely there, they seemed friendly. But he lay still, and the king's son answered the lady, and said, I know not what is in thine heart concerning this renegade, that thou shouldst be mock me with his valiancy, whereof thou knowest not. If thou deem me unworthy of thee, send me back safe to my father's country. I may look to have worship there, yea, and the love of fair women be like. Therewith it seemed as if he had put forth his hand to the lady to caress her, for she said, Nay, lay not thine hand on my shoulder, for to-day and now it is not the hand of love, but of pride, and folly, and would be mastery. Nay, neither shalt thou rise up and leave me, until thy mood is softer and kinder to me. Then was their silence betwixt them a while, and there after the king's son spake in a weedling voice. My goddess, I pray thee pardon me, but canst thou wonder that I fear thy worrying of me, and am therefore peevish and jealous? Thou so far above the queens of the world, and I a poor youth that without thee were nothing. She answered nought, and he went on again. Was it not so, O goddess, that this man of the sons of the merchants was little heedful of thee, and thy loveliness, and thy majesty? She laughed, and said, Maybe he deemed not that he had much to gain of us, seeing thee sitting by our side, and whereas we spake to him coldly, and sternly, and disdainfully. With all the poor youth was dazzled and shame-faced before us, that we could see in the eyes and the meern of him. Now this she spoke so kindly and sweetly, that again was Walter all stirred there at, and it came into his mind that it might be she knew he was an eye, and hearing her, and that she spake as much for him as for the king's son. But that one answered, Lady, didst thou not see somewhat else in his eyes, to wit, that they had but have late looked on some fair woman other than thee? As for me, I deem it not so unlike, that on the way to thine hall he may have fallen in with thy maid. He spoke in a faltering voice, as if shrinking from some storm that might come. And forsooth the lady's voice was changed as she answered, though there was no outward heat in it, rather it was sharp, and eager, and cold at once. She said, yea, that is not ill thought of, but we may not always keep our throal in mind. If it be so as thou deemest, we shall come to know it most like when we next fall in with her. Or, if she hath been shy this time, then shall she pay the heavier for it, for we will question her by the fountain in the hall, as to what pitid by the fountain of the rock. Spake the king's son, faltering yet more. Lady, were it not better to question the man himself? The maid is stout-hearted, and will not be speedily quelled into a true tale, whereas the man are deem of no account. No, no, said the lady sharply, it shall not be. Then was she silent a while. And then she said, how if the man should prove to be our master? Nay, our lady, said the king's son, thou art gesting with me, thou and thy might and thy wisdom, and all that thy wisdom may command, to be over-mastered by a ganglal churl. But how if I will not have it, command, king's son, said the lady? I tell thee, I know thine heart, but thou knowest not mine. But be at peace, for since thou hast prayed for this woman. Nay, not with thy words, I what, but with thy trembling hands, and thine anxious eyes and knitted brow. I say, since thou hast prayed for her so earnestly, she shall escape this time. But whether it will be to her gain in the long run, I misdoubt me. See thou to that auto, thou who hast held me in thine arms so oft. And now thou mayest depart if thou wilt. It seemed to Walter, as if the king's son were dumbfounded at her words. He answered naught, and presently he rose from the ground and went his ways slowly toward the house. The lady lay there a little while, and then went her ways also, but turned away from the house toward the wood at the other end thereof, whereby Walter had first come thither. As for Walter, he was confused in mind and shaken in spirit, and with all he seemed to see guile and cruel deeds under the torque of those two, and waxed wrathful thereat. Yet he said to himself, that naught might he do, but was as one bound hand and foot, until he had seen the maid again. End of section 4