 CHAPTER 22 OF THE ROOTS OF THE MOUNTAINS by William Morris. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. FACE OF GOD COMETH HOME TO BURGSTED. But FACE OF GOD, with beaume and woodwise, faired over the waste, going at first alongside the cliffs of the shivering flood, and then afterwards turning somewhat to the west. They soon had to climb a very high and steep bent, going up to the mountain neck, and the way over the neck was rough indeed when they were on it, and they toiled out of it into a barren valley, and out of the valley again onto a rough neck. And such like was their journey the day long, for they were going a thwart all those great dykes that went from the ice mountains toward the lower dales, like the outspread fingers of a hand, or the roots of a great tree, and the ice mountains they had on their left hands, and wiles at their backs. They went very warily with their bows bended and spear in hand, but saw no man, good or bad, and but few living things. At noon they rested in a valley where there was a stream, but no grass, nought but stones and sand, but where they were at least sheltered from the wind, which was mostly very great in these high wastes. And there beaume drew meat and wine from a wallet she bore, and they ate and drank, and were merry enough, and beaume said, I would I were going all the way with thee, gold-mane, for I long soar to let my eyes rest a while on the land where I shall one day live. Ye, said face of God, art thou minded to dwell there, we shall be glad of that. Wither are thy wit straying, said she, whether I'm minded to it or not, I shall dwell there. And woodwise nodded a ye to her, but face of God said, good will be thy dwelling, but wherefore must it be so? Then woodwise laughed, and said, I shall tell thee in fewer words than she will, and time presses now. Woodfather and woodmother, and I and my two brethren, and this woman, have ever been about and denied the sun-beam, and we deem that war and other troubles have made us of closer kin to her than we were born, whether ye call it brotherhood or what not, and never shall we sonder from her in life or in death. So when thou goest to Burgdale with her, there shall we be. Then was face of God glad, when he found that they deemed his wedding so settled and sure. But woodwise fell to making ready for the road, and face of God said to him, Tell me one thing, woodwise, that whoop that thou gave us forth when we were at handy-strokes in now, is it but a cry of thine own, or is it of thy folk, and shall I hear it again? Thou mayst look to hear it many a time, said woodwise, for it is the cry of the wolf. Seldom indeed hath battle been joined where men of our blood are, but that cry is given forth. Come now to the road! So they went to their ways, and the road worsened upon them, and toilsome was the climbing up steep bends, and the scaling of doubtful paths in the cliffsides, so that the journey, though the distance of it were not so long to the fowl flying, was much eaked out for them, and it was not till near nightfall that they came on the gill of the weltering water, some six miles above Burgstead. For sooth, woodwise said that the way might be made less toilsome, though far longer, by turning back eastward a little, past the vale where they had rested at midday, and that seemed good to Goldmaine, in case they should be wending hereafter in a great company between Burgdale and Shadowy Vale. But now those two went with face of God down a path in the side of the cliff whereby him seemed he had gone before, and they came down into the gill, and sat down together on a stone by the water-side, and face of God spake to them kindly, for he deemed them good and trusty fairing-fellows. "'Bome,' said he, thou saidst a while ago, that thou wouldst be feigned to look on Burgdale, and indeed it is fair and lovely, and ye may soon be in it, if ye will. "'Yishul both be more than welcome to the house of my father, and heartily I bid you thither. For night is on us, and the way back is long and toilsome, and beset with peril. Sister Bome, thou wottest that it would be a sore grief to me, if thou came us to any harm, and thou also, fellow, woodwise. Daylight is a good fearing fellow over the waist,' said Bome. "'Thou art kind, gold-main, and that is thy want, I know, and fame were I to-night of the candles in thine hall. But we may not tarry. For thou wottest how busy we be at home, and some beam needeth me, if it were only to make us sure that no dusky man is bearing off thine head by its lovely locks. Neither shall we journey in the murk-night, for look you, the moon yonder.' "'Well,' said face of God, parting his ill at the best, and I would I could give you, Twain, a gift, and especially to thee, my sister Bome,' said woodwise. "'Thou mayst well do that, or at least promise the gift, and that is all one, as if we held it in our hands.' "'Yay,' said Bome, woodwise, and I have been thinking in one way be like, and I was at point to ask a gift of thee.' "'What is it?' said gold-main. "'Surely it is thine, if it were but a good and for thy good shooting.' She laughed and handled the skirts of his horberk, and she said, "'Show us the dint in thine helm, that the steel axe made this morning.' "'There is no such great dint,' said he. My father forged that helm, and his work is better than good.' "'Yay,' said Bome, and were I to have horberk and helm of his handiwork, and woodwise a good sword of the same, then were I a glad woman, and this man a happy carl?' Said gold-main. "'I am well pleased at thine asking, and so shall iron face be when ye heareth of thine archery, and how that's whoreface were now his only son but for thy close shooting. But now must I to the way, for my heart tells me that there may have been tidings in Burgstead this while I have been aloof.' So they rose all three, and Bome said, "'Thou art a kind brother, and soon we shall meet again, and that will be well.' Then he put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed both her cheeks, and he kissed woodwise, and turned and went his ways, threading the stony tangle about the weltering water, which was now at middle height, and running clear and strong. So turning, once he beheld woodwise and Bome climbing the path up the side of the gill, and Bome turned to him also, and waved her bow as a token of farewell. Then he went upon his way, which was rough enough to follow by night, though the moon was shining brightly higher loft. Yet, as he knew his road, he made but little of it all, and in somewhat more than an hour and a half, which came out of the pass into the broken ground at the head of the dale, and began to make his way speedily under the bright moonlight toward the gate, still going close by the water. But as he went, he heard of a sudden cries and rumour not far from him, unwonted in that place, where none dwelt, and where the only folk he might look to see were those who cast an angle into the pools and eddies of the water. Moreover, he saw about the place, whence came the cries, torches moving swiftly hither and thither, so that he looked to hear of new tidings, and stayed his feet, and looked keenly about him on every side. And just then, between his rough path and the shimmer of the dancing moonlight's water, he saw the moon smite on something gleaming. So, as quietly as he could, he got his target on his arm, and shortened his spear in his right hand, and then turned sharply toward that gleam. Even therewith, up sprang a man on his right hand, and then another in front of him just betwixt him and the water. An axe gleamed bright in the moon, and he caught a great stroke on his target, and therewith, drave his left shoulder straight forward, so that the man before him fell over into the water with a mighty splash, for they were at the very edge of the deepest eddy of the water. Then he spun round on his heel, heeding not that another stroke had fallen on his right shoulder, yet he'll aimed not with the full edge, so that it ran down his bernie and rent it not. So he sent the thrust of his spear, crashing through the face and skull of the smiter, and looked not to him as he fell, but stood still, brandishing his spear and crying out, for the burg and the face, for the burg and the face. No other foe came against him, but like to the echo of his cry, rose a clear shout not far aloof, for the face, for the face, for the burg and the face. He muttered, so ends the day as it begun, and shouted loud again, for the burg and the face, and in a minute more came breaking forth from the stone heaps, into the moonlit space before the water, the tall shapes of the men of Burgstead, the red torchlight, and the moonlight flashing back from their war gear and weapons, but every man had his sword or spear in hand. Hall face was the first of them, and he threw his arms about his brother, and said, Well met, Goulmaine, though thou comest amongst us like stone fist of the mountain, art thou hurt? With whom as thou dealt? Where be they? Whence comest thou? Nay, I am not hurt, said face of God. Stint thy questions then, till thou has told me whom thou seekest with spear and sword and candle. Two felons were they, said Hall face, even such as ye saw lying dead at woodgraze the other day. Then may ye sheath your swords and go home, said Goulmaine, for one lieth at the bottom of the eddy, and the other thy feet are well night treading on him, Hall face. Then arose a rumour of praise and victory. And they brought the torches, Nay, and looked at the fallen man, and found that he was stark dead. So they even let him lie there till the morrow, and all turned about toward the Thorpe. And many looked on face of God, and wondered concerning him, whence he was, and what had befallen him. Indeed, they would have asked him thereof, but could not get at him to ask. But who so could, went as Nay to Hall face and him as they might, to harken the talk between the brothers. So as they went along, Hall face did verily ask him whence he came. But was it not so, said he, that thou dist enter into the wood, seeking some adventure early in the morning, the day before yesterday. Sooth is that, said face of God, and I came to shadowy veil, and then some I come this morning. Said Hall face, I know not shadowy veil, nor doth any of us. This is a new word. How say ye friends, doth any man here know of shadowy veil? They all said Nay. Then said Hall face, has thou been amongst me ghosts and marvels, brother, or cometh this tale of thy minstrelsy? For all your words, said goldman, to that veil have I been, and to speak shortly, for I desire to have your tale, and I'm waiting for it. I will tell thee that I found there. No marvels or strange whites, but a folk of valiant men, a folk small in numbers, but great of heart. A folk come as we be, from the fathers and the gods, and this moreover is to be said of them, that they are the foes of these felons whom ye were chasing these twain, and these same dusky men of Silverdale would slay them every man if they might. And if we look not to it, they will soon be doing the same by us, for they are many, and as venomous as adders, as fierce as bears, and as foul as swine. But these valiant men, who bear on their banner the image of the wolf, should be our fellows in arms, and they have good will there too, and they shall show us the way to Silverdale by blind paths, so that we may fall upon these felons, while they dwell there, tormenting the poor people of the land, and thus may we destroy them as lads are horn its nest, or else the days shall be hard for us. The men who hung about them drank in his words greedily, but wholeface was silent a little while, and then he said, Brother Goldmane, these be great tidings! Time was when we might have deemed them but a minstrel's tale. For Silverdale we know not, of which thou speakest so glibly, nor the dusky men, any more than the shadowy veil. How be it, things have befallen these last two days, so strange and new, that putting them together with the murder at wood-gray's, and thy words which seem somewhat wild, it may well seem to us that tidings unlooked for are coming our way. Come, then, said face of God, give me what thou hast in thy script, and trust me, I shall not jeer at thy tail. Said wholeface, I also will be short with the tail, and that, the more, as me seemeth, it is not done yet, and that thou self shall share in the ending of it. It was the day before yesterday, that is the day when thou departest into the woods on that adventure, whereof thou shalt one day tell me more, wilt thou not? Ye, in good time, said face of God. Well, quoth wholeface, we went into the woods that day, and in the morning, but after sunrise, to the number of a score. We looked to meet a bear, and a she-bear with cubs in a certain place, for one of the woodlanders, a keen hunter, had told us of their lair. Also, we were wishful to slay some of the wild swine, the eelings, if we might. Therefore, though we had no helms or shields or coats of fence, we had bow shot at plenty, and good snore of casting weapons, besides our wood knives and an axe or so, and some of us, of whom I was one, bore out our battle-swords, as we are want ever to do, be the foe, beast, or man. Thus armed, we went up wild lakes way, and came to Carlstead, where half a score woodlanders joined themselves to us, so that we became a band. We went up the half-cleared places past Carlstead for a mile, and then turned east into the wood, and went, I know not how far, for the woodlanders led us by crooked paths, but two hours wore away and are going, so we came to the place where they looked to find the bears. It is a place that may well be noted, for it is unlike the wood round about. There is a close thicket, some two furlongs about of thorn and briar, and ill-grown ash and oak and other trees, planted by the birds and bees be like. And it stands, as it were, in an island, amidst of a wide-spreading wood-lorn of fine turf, set about in the most goodly fashion, with great tall, straight, bold oak trees, that seem to have been planted of set purpose by man's hand. Yay, does there know the place? He thinks I do, said Gormane, and I seem to have heard the woodlanders give it a name, and call it Borsbate. That may be, said Hall-face. Well, there we were, the dogs and the men, and we drew nigh the thicket and beset it, and doubted not to find prey therein, but when we would set the dogs at the thicket to enter it, they were uneasy, and would not take up the slot, but growled and turned about this way and that, so that we deemed that they winded some fierce beast at our flanks or backs. Even so it was, and fierce enough and deadly was the beast, for suddenly we heard the bow-strings twang and shafts came flying. The iron shield of the upper dale, who was close beside me, leapt up into the air and fell down dead with an arrow through his back. Then I bethought me, in the twinkling of an eye, and I cried out, the foe are upon us, take the cover of the tree-balls and be wary, for the burg and the face, for the burg and the face. So we scattered, and covered ourselves with the oak-balls, but besides iron-shield, who was slain outright, two good men were sorely hurt, to it, bald face, a man of our house, and Stonyford, the lower dale. I looked from behind my tree-bowl, a great one, and far off down the glades I saw men moving, clad in gay raiment, but nearer to me, not a hundred yards from my cover, I saw an arm clad in scarlet come out from behind a tree-bowl. So I loosed at it, and missed not, for straight there, tottered out from behind the tree, one of those dusky, foul-favoured men, like to those that were slain by wood gray. I had another shaft ready-notched, so I loosed and set the shaft in his throat, and he fell. Straightway was a yelling and howling about us like the cries of scalded currs, and the oak-wood swarmed thick with these felons rushing upon us, for it seems that the man whom I had slain was a chief amongst them, or we judge so by his goodly raiment. We thought, then, how a last day was come. What could we do but run together again after we had loosed at a venture, and so withstand them sword and spear in hand? Some fell beneath our shot, but not many, for they came on very swiftly. So they fell on us, but for all their fierceness and their numbers they might not break our array. And we slew four, and hurt many by sword-hewing and spear-casting and push of spear. And five of us were hurt, and one slain by their dart-casting. So they drew off from us a little, and strove to spread out, and fall to shooting at us again. But this we could not suffer, but pushed on as they fell back, keeping as close together as we might for the trees, for we said that we would all die together if needs must, and verily the stour was hard. Yet Harkon, in that nick of time, rose up a strange cry, not far from us. Ha, ha, ha, ha, how! Ending like the howl of a wolf, and then another, and another, and another, till the whole wood rang again. At first we deemed that here were come some fresh foemen, and that we were undone indeed. But when they heard it, the foemen before us faltered and gave way, and at last turned their backs and fled, and we followed, keeping well together still. Thereby the more part of these men escaped us, for they fled wildly here and there from those who bore that cry with them, so we knew that our work was being done for us. Therefore we stood, and saw tall men clad in sheep-brown weed, running through the glades, pursuing those felons, and smiting them down, till both fleers and pursuers passed out of our sight, like men in a dream, or as when ye roll up a pictured cloth to lay it in the coffer. But to Stoneface's mind those brown-clad men were the whites of the wood that be of the father's blood, and our very friends. And when some of us would yet have gone forward and foregathered with them, and followed the chase along with them, Stoneface gained said it, bidding us not to run into the arms of a second death, when we had but just escaped from the first. Sooth to say, moreover, we had diverse hurt men that needed looking to. So what with one thing, what with another, we turned back. But Warcliffe's brother, a tall man, had felled two of those felons with an oak sapling which he had torn from the thicket. But he had not slain them, and by now they were just awakening from their swoon, and were sitting up, looking round them with fierce rolling eyes, expecting the stroke. For Raven of Longscree was standing over them with a naked war-sword in his hand. But now that our blood was cool, we were loath to slay them as they lay in our hands. So we bound them and brought them away with us, and our own dead we carried also on such beers as we might likely make there, and with them three that were so grievously hurt that they might not go afoot. These we left at Carstead. They were tardy the son of the untamed, and swan of Bullmeadow, both of the Lower Dale, and a woodlander undoomed to it. But the dead were Ion Shield, a Forsed, and Woolsark, and the Hewer, a woodlander. So came we sadly at Eventide to Burgstead with the two dead burgdailers and the captive felons, and the wounded of us that might go afoot. And you may judge that they of Burgdale and our father deemed these tidings great enough, and what did not what next should befall. Stoneface would have had those two felons slain there and then, for no true tale could we get out of them, nor indeed any word at all. But the Olderman would not have it so, and he deemed that they might serve our turn as hostages if any of our folk should be taken. For one and all we deemed, and still deem, that war is on us, and that new folk have gathered on our skirts. So the captives were shut up in the red outpower of our house, and our father was minded that thou mightest tell us somewhat of them when thou were to come home. But about dusk to-day the word went up that they had broken out and gotten them weapons and fled up the Dale, and so it was. But tomorrow morning will a gate thing beholden, and there it will be looked for of thee that thou tell us a true tale of thy goings. For it is deemed, and it is my deeming especially, that thou mayest tell us more of these men than thou hast yet told us. Is it not so? Ye surely, said Gormane, I can make as many words as ye will about it, yet when all is said it will come to much the same tale as I have already told thee. Yet to be like, if ye are minded to take up the sword to defend you, I may tell you in what wise to lay hold on the hilts. Ah, that is well, said Hall-face, and no less do I look for of thee. But lo, here we are come to the gate of the Bergs that a Bideth battle. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Talk in the hall of the house of the face. In Soothe they were come to the very gate of Burgstead, and the great gates were shut, and only a wicket was open, and a half-score of stout men in all their war-gear were holding ward there by. They gave place to Hall-face and his company, albeit some of the warders followed them through the wicket, that they might hear the story told. The streets was full of folk, both men and women, talking together eagerly, concerning all these tidings, and when they saw the men of the hue and cry, they came thronging about them, so that they might scarce get to the door of the house of the face because of the press. So Hall-face, who was a very tall man, cried out, Good people, all is well, they'll run away as a slain, and face of God is come back with us. Give place a little that we might come into our house. Then the throng set up a shout and made way a little, so that Hall-face and Goldmane and the others could get to the door, and they entered into the hall and saw much folk therein, and a men were sitting at table, for supper was not yet over. But when they saw the newcomers, they mostly rose up from the board, and stood silent to hear the tale, for they had been talking many together, each to each, so that the hall was full of confused noise. So Hall-face again cried out, Men in this hall, Good is the tidings, the runaways are slain, and it was face of God who slew them as he came back safe from the waste. Then they shouted for joy, and the brethren and Stone-face with them, for he had entered with them from the street, went up onto the dais, while the others of the hewn cry, got them seats where they might at the end-long tables. But when face of God came up to the dais, there sat Iron-face looking down on the thronged hall with a ruddy cheerful countenance, and beside him the bride, for he had caused her to be brought thither, when he had heard of the tidings of battle. She was daintily clad in a flame-coloured curtain, embroidered with gold about the buzzerman's sleeves, and there was a fillet of golden roses on her ruddy hair. Her eyes shone bright and eager, and the pommels of her cheeks were flushed and red, contrary to their want. Needs must gold-mane sit by her, and when he came close to her, he knew not what to do, but he put forth his hand to her, yet with a troubled countenance, for he feared her grief mingled with her beauty. As for her, she wavered in her mind whether she should forbear to touch him or not, but she saw that men about were looking at them, and especially was Iron-face looking on her. Therefore she stood up, and took gold-mane's hand and kissed his face as she had been wont to do, and by then was her face as white as paper, and her anguish pierced his heart, so that he well now groaned for grief of her. But Iron-face looked on her and said kindly, Ginswoman, thou art pale, thou hast feared, for thy mate amidst all these tidings of war, and still fierest for him. But pluck up her heart, for the man is a deft warrior for all his fair face, which thou lovest as a woman should, and his hands may yet save his head. And if he be slain, yet there are other men of the kindred, and earth will not be a desert to thee even then. She looked at Iron-face, and the colour was come back to her face somewhat, and she said, It is true, I have feared for him, for he goeth into perilous places, but for thee, thou art kind, and I thank thee for it. And therewith she kissed Iron-face, and sat down in her place, and strove to overmaster her grief, that her face might not be changed by it, for now were thoughts of battle, and valiant hopes arising in men's hearts, and it seemed to her to grieve us, if she should mar that feast on the eve of battle. But Iron-face kissed, and embraced his son, and said, Art thou late come from the waste, as thou see new things? We look to have a notable tale from thee, though here also have been tidings, and it is not a like we shall presently have new work on our hands. Father, quoth face of God, I deem that when thou hast heard my tale, thou wilt think no less of it than that that our valiant folk to be holpen, poor folk to be delivered, and evil folk to be swept from off the face of the earth. It is well, son, said Iron-face, if I see that thy tale is long, let it alone for to-night, to-morrow, which will hold a gate thing, and then shall we hear all that thou hast to tell. Now, eat thy meat and drink a bowl of wine, and comfort thy troth plight maiden. So Goldman sat down by the bride, and ate and drank as he needs must, but he was ill at ease, and he durst not speak to her. For, on the one hand, he thought concerning his love for the sunbeam, and how sweet and good a thing it was that she should take him by the hand, and lead him into noble deeds and great fame, caressing him so softly and sweetly the while. And on the other hand there sat the bride beside him, sorrowful and angry, begrudging all that sweetness of love, as though it was something foul and unseemly, and heavy on him lay the weight of that grudge, but he was a man of a friendly heart. Stone-face sat outward from him on the other side of the bride, and he leaned across her towards Goldman, and said, There shall be thy tale to-morrow, if thou tellest all thine adventure, Thou wilt thou tellest less than all? said face of God. In good time shall thou know it all, foster father, but it is not unlike that, by the time that thou hast heard it, there shall be so many other things to tell of, that my tale shall seem of little account to thee, even as the sore saith that one nail driveeth out the other. Ye, said Stone-face, but one tale be like shall be knit up with the others, as it faireth with the figures that come one after other on the weaver's cloth, though one maketh not the other, yet one cometh of the other. Said face of God, Wise art thou now, foster father, but thou shalt be wiser yet in this matter by then a month hath worn, and to-morrow shall thou know enough to set thine hands awork. So the talk fell between them, and the night wore, and the men of Burgdale feasted in their ancient hall with merry hearts, little weighed down by the thought of the battle that might be, and the trouble to come, for they were valorous and kindly folk. End of chapter 23 Chapter 24 Of the Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Face of God giveth that token to the bride. Now on the morrow, when face of God arose, and other men with him, and the hall was a stir, and there was no little throng therein, the bride came up to him, for she had slept in the house of the face by the bidding of the older men, as she spake to him before all men, and bade him come forth with her into the garden, because she would speak to him apart. He yea said her, though with a heavy heart, and to the folk about that seemed meet and due, since those twain were deemed to be troth-plight, and they smiled kindly on them as they went out of the hall together. So they came into the garden, where the pear trees were blossoming over the spring lilies, and the cherries were showering their flowers on the deep green grass, and everything smelled sweetly on the warm windless spring morning. She led the way, going before him till they came by a smooth grass path between the berry bushes, to a square space of grass, about which were Barbary trees, their first tender leaves, bright green in the sun against the dry yellowish twigs. There was a sundial amid most of the grass, and betwixt the garden boughs, one could see the long grey roof of the ancient hall, and sweet familiar sounds of the nesting birds, and men and women going on their errands were all about in the scented air. She turned about at the sundial, and faced face of God, her hand lightly laid on the scored brass, and spake with no anger in her voice. I asked thee, if thou hast brought me the token, whereon thou shalt swear to give me that gift. Ye, said he, and therewith drew the ring from his bosom, and held it out to her. She reached out her hand to him slowly, and took it, and their fingers met as she did so, and he noted that her hand was warm and firm and wholesome, as he well remembered it. She said, whence hadst thou this fair fingering? said face of God. My friend there in the mountain valley drew it from off her finger for thee, and bade me bear thee a message. Her face flushed red. Ye, she said, and doth she send me a message? Then doth she know of me, and ye have talked of me together? Well, give the message. said face of God. She saith that thou shalt bear in mind that tomorrow is a new day. Ye, she said, for her it is so, and for thee, but not for me. But now I have brought thee here that thou mightest swear thine oath to me. Lay thine hand on this ring, and on this brazen plate, whereby the sun measures the hours of the day for happy folk. And swear, by the spring tide of the year, and all glad things that find a mate, and by the God of the earth, that rejoiceeth in the life of man. Then he laid his hand on the finger-ring, as it lay on the dial-plate, and said, By the spring tide, and the life things that long to multiply their kind, by the God of the earth, that rejoiceeth in the life of man. I swear to give to my kinswoman the bride, the second man-child that I beget, to be hers, to leave or cherish, to love or hate, as her will may bid her. Then he looked on her soberly, and said, It is duly sworn, is it enough? Yea, she said. But he saw how the tears ran out of her eyes, and whetted the bosom of her kirtle, and she hung her head for shame of her grief. And gold-main was all abashed, and had no word to say, for he knew that no word of his might comfort her, and he deemed it ill done to stay there, and behold her sorrow, and he knew not how to get him gone, and be glad elsewhere, and leave her alone. Then, as if she had read his thought, she looked up at him, and said, Smiling, a little amidst of her tears, I bid thee stay by me till the flood is over, for I have yet a word to say to thee. So he stood there, gazing down on the grass in his turn, and not daring to raise his eyes to her face, and the minute seemed long to him. Till at last she said, in a voice scarcely yet clear of weeping, Will thou say anything to me, and tell me what thou has done, and why, and what thou deemest will come of it? He said, I will tell the truth as I know it, because thou askest it off me, and not because I would excuse myself before thee. What have I done? Yesterday I plighted my truth to wed the woman, that I met last autumn in the wood. And why? I was not why, but that I longed for her. Yet must I tell thee, that it seemed to me, and yet, Seymouth, that I might do no otherwise, that there was nothing else in the world for me to do. What do I deem will come of it, sayest thou? This, that we shall be happy together, she and I, till the day of our death. She said, and even so long shall I be sorry, so far are we sundered now. Alas! Who looked for it? And with it shall I turn to now? Said Goldmain, she bade me tell thee, that tomorrow is a new day. Me, Seymouth, I know her meaning. No word of hers hath any meaning to me, said the bride. Nay, said he, but hast thou not heard these rumours of war that are in the dale? Shall not these things avail thee? Much may grow out of them, and thou with a mighty heart so faithful and compassionate. She said, what sayest thou? What may grow out of them? Yea, I've heard those rumours, as a man sick to death here hath men talk of their business down in the street, while he lyeth on his bed. And already he hath done with it all, and hath no world to mend or mar. For me, nought shall grow out of it. What meanest thou? Said Goldmain, is there nought in the fellowship of folks, in the aiding of the valiant, and the deliverance of the hapless? Nay, she said, there is nought to me. I cannot think of it to-day, nor yet to-morrow be like. Yet, true it is that I may mingle in it, though thinking nought of it. But this shall not avail me. She was silent a while, but presently spake, and said, Thou sayest right, it is not thou has done this, but the woman who sent me the ring, and the message of an old sore. Oh, that she should be born to sonder us! How hath it befallen that I am now so little to thee, and she so much? And again she was silent. And after a while face of God spake kindly and softly, and said, Kinswoman, will thou for ever begrudge our love? This grudge lieeth heavy on my soul, and it is I alone that have to bear it. She said, This is but a light burden for thee to bear, when thou hast not else to bear. But do I begrudge thee thy love, Goldmain? I know not that. Rather me seamoth, I do not believe in it, nor shall do ever. Then she held her peace a long while, nor did he speak one word, and they were so still that a robin came hopping about them close to the hem of her kirtle, and a starling pitched in the apple-tree hard by, and whistled and chuckled, turning about and about, heeding them nought. Then at last she lifted up her face from looking on the grass, and said, These are idle words, and avail nothing. One thing only I know, that we are sundered. And now it repenteth me that I have shown thee my tears, and my grief, and my sickness of the earth, and those that dwell thereon. I am ashamed of it, as if thou had spit on me, and I had come and shown thee the stripes, and said, See what thou hast done! Has thou no pity? Yea, thou pityest me, and we'll try to forget thy pity. Be like thou art right when thou sayest, Tomorrow is a new day. Be like matters will arise, that will call me back to life, and I shall once more take heed of the joy and sorrow of my people. Nay, it is most like that this I shall feign to do even now. But if tomorrow be a new day, it is today, now, and not tomorrow, and so shall it be for long. Hereof be like, we shall talk no more, thou and I, for as the days where the dealings between us shall be, that thou shalt but get thee away from my life, and I shall be nought to thee, but the name of a kinswoman. Thus should it be, even word thou to strive to make it otherwise, and thou shalt not strive. So let all this be, for this is not the word I had to say to thee. But Harkon, now we are sundered, and it ergoth me beyond a measure that folk know it's not, and are kind, and rejoice in our love, and deem it a happy thing for the folk, and this burden I may bear no longer. So I shall declare unto men that I will not wed thee, and be like they may wonder why it is, till they see thee wedded to the woman of the mountain. Art thou content that so it shall be? Said face of God, Nay, thou shalt not take this all upon thyself. I also shall declare unto the folk that I will wed none but her, the mountain woman. She said, This shalt thou not do. I forbid it thee, and I will take it all upon myself. Shall I have it said of me that I am on meat to wed thee, and that thou hast found me out at last, and at latest? I lay this upon thee, that wheresoever I declare this, and whatsoever I may say, thou shalt hold thy peace. This at least thou mayst do for me. Will thou? Ye, he said, though it shall put me to shame. Again she was silent for a little, then she said, Oh, gold-main, this would I take upon myself not soothly for any shame of seeming to be thy cast off, but because it is I who needs must bear all the sorrow of our sundering. And I have the will to bear its greater and heavier, that I may be as the women of old time, and they that have come from the gods. Lest I belittle my life with malice and spite and confusion, and it become poisonous to me. Be it peace, be it peace, and leave all to the wearing of the years, and forget not that which thou hast sworn. Therewith she turned and went from that green place toward the house of the face, walking slowly through the garden amongst the sweet odours. Beneath the fair blossoms, a body most dainty and beautyous of fashion, but the casket of grievous sorrow, which all that goodliness availed not. But face of God lingered in that place a little, and for that little, while the joy of his life was dulled and overworn. And the days before his wandering on the mountain seemed to him free and careless and happy days that he could not but regret. He was ashamed, moreover, that this so unquenchable grief should come but of him, and the pleasure of his life, which he himself had found out for himself, and which was but such a little portion of the earth and the deeds thereof. But presently his thought wandered from all this, and as he turned away from the sundial, and went his ways through the garden, he called to mind his longing for the day of the spring market, when he should see the sun-beam again, and be cherished by the sweetness of her love. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Of The Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain of the gate thing at Burgstead. But now must he hasten, for the gate thing was to beholden two hours before noon. So he betook himself speedily to the hall, and took his shield, and did on a goodly helm, and gird his sword to his side, for men must needs go to all folk-moats with their weapons and clad in war-gear. Thus he went forth to the gate with many others, and there already were many folk assembled in the space aforesaid, betwixt the gate of the Burg, and the sheer rocks on the face of which were the steps that led up to the ancient tower on the height. The alderman was sitting on the great stone by the gate-side, which was his appointed place, and beside him on the stone bench were the six wardens of the Burg. But of the six wardens of the Dale, there were but three, for the others had not yet heard tell of the battle, or had got the summons to the thing, since there had been about their business down the Dale. Face of God took his place silently amongst the neighbours, but men made way for him, so that he must needs stand in front, facing his father and the wardens. And there went up a murmur of expectation round about him, both because the word had gone about, that he had a tale of new tidings to tell, and also because men deemed him their best and handiest man, though he was yet so young. Now the alderman looked around and beheld a great throne gathered together, and he looked on the shadow of the gate, which the southering sun was casting on the hard white ground of the thingstead, and he saw that it had just taken in the standing stone, which was in the midst of the place. On the face of the said stone was carved in the image of a fighting man, with shield on arm and axe in hand, for it had been set there in old time, in memory of the man who had bidden the folk, build the gate and its wall, and had showed them how to fashion it, for he was a deft house-smith as well as a great warrior, and his name was Ironhand. So when the alderman saw that this stone was wholly within the shadow of the gate, he knew that it was the due time for the hallowing in of the thing, so he bade one of the wardens who sat beside him, and had a great slug horn slung about him, to rise and set the horn to his mouth. So that man arose, and blew three great blasts, that went bellowing about the towers and down the street, and beat back again from the face of the sheer rocks, and up them and over into the wild wood. And the sound of it went on the light west wind, along the lips of the dale toward the mountain wastes, and many a good man, when he heard the voice of the horn in the bright spring morning, left spade or axe or plow-stilts, or the foddering of the ewes and their younglings, and turned back home to fetch his sword and helm, and hasten to the thing, though he knew not why it was summoned. And women wending over the meadows, who had not yet heard of the battle in the wood, harkened and stood still on the green grass, or amidst the ripples of the ford, and the threat of coming trouble, smote heavy on their hearts, for they knew that great tidings must be towards, if a thing must need be summoned so close to the great folk-mote. But now the alderman stood up, and spake amidst the silence that followed the last echoes of the horn. Now is hallowed in this gate-thing, of the burgstead men, and the men of the dale, wherein they shall take counsel concerning matters late befallen, that press hard upon them. Let no man break the peace of the holy thing, lest he become a man accursed in holy places, from the plain up to the mountain, and from the mountain down to the plain, a man not to be cherished of any man of good will, not be holpened with vituals, or edge-tool, or draft-beast, a man to be sheltered under no roof-tree, and warmed at no half of man. So help us, the warrior and the god of the earth, and him of the face, and all the fathers. When he has spoken, men clashed their weapons in token of assent, and he sat down again, and there was silence for a space. But presently came thrusting forward a good man of the dales, who seemed as if he had come hurriedly to the thing. For his face was running down with sweat, his wide-rimmed iron cap sat a rye over his brow, and he was girt with a rusty sword without a scabbard, and the girdle was ill-braced up about his loins. So he said, I am red-coat of the waterless of the lower dale, early this morning as I was going afield, I met on the way a man akin to me. Fox have upped unto it, and he told me that men were being summoned to a gate-thing. So I turned back home, and caught up any weapon that came handy, and here I am, Olderman, asking thee of the tidings which hath driven thee to call this thing so hard on the great folk-moat, for I know them not. Then stood up, iron-face, the Olderman, and said, This is well asked, and soon shall ye be as wise as I am on this matter. Know ye, O men of Burgstead and the dale, that we had not called this gate-thing so hard on the great folk-moat, had not great need been to look into troubleous matters. Long have ye dwelt in peace, and it is years on years now since any foreman hath fallen on the dale. But as ye will bear in mind, last autumn were there ransackings in the dale, and a midst of the shepherds after the manner of deeds of war, and it troubleeth us that none can say who wrought these ill deeds. Next, but a little while ago, was Woodgrey, a valiant good man of the woodlanders, slaying close to his own door by evil men. These men we took at first for mere gangrel-fellons and outcasts from their own folk, though there were some who spoke against that from the beginning. But thirdly, I knew tidings again. For three days ago, while some of the folk were hunting peaceably in the wildwood, and thinking no evil, they were fallen upon hath set purpose by a host of men at arms, but naught would serve but mere battle for dear life, so that many of our neighbours were hurt, and three slain outright. And now, mark this, that those who there fell upon our folk were clad and armed even as the two felons that slew Woodgrey, and moreover were like them in aspects of body. Now, stand forth, Hallface, my son, and answer to my questions in a loud voice, so that all may hear thee. So Hallface stood forth, clad in gleaming war gear with an axe over his shoulder, and seemed a doubty warrior, and Ironface said to him, Tell me, son, those whom ye met in the wood, and of whom ye brought home two captives, how much like were they to the murder-cals at Woodgrey's? said Hallface, as like as peas out of the same cod, and to our eyes, all those whom we saw in the wood might have been sons of one father and one mother, so much alike were they? Ye, said the Olderman. Now, tell me, how many by thy deeming fell upon you in the wood? said Hallface, we deem that if they were any less than three score, they were little less. Great was the odds, said the Olderman, or how many were ye? One score and seven, said Hallface, said the Olderman, and yet ye escaped with life, all save those three. Hallface said, I deem that scarce one should have come back alive, had it not been that as we fought came a noise like the howling of wolves, and there at the four men turned and fled, and there followed on the flears, tall men clad in sheep-brown raiment, who smoked them down as they fled. Here, then, is the story, neighbours, said the Olderman, and ye may see thereby that if one of those slayers of Woodgrey were outcast, their band is a great one, but it seemeth rather that they were men of a folk whose craft is to rob with the armed hand, and to slay the robbed, and that they are now gathering on our borders for war. Yet, moreover, they are foemen in the woods who should be fellows in arms of us. How sayest thou, Stormface? Thou art old and has seen many wars in the dale, and knowest the wild wood to its innermost. The Olderman, said Stormface, and ye neighbours of the dale, maybe these foes whom ye have met are not of the race of man, but are trolls and woodwights. Now, if they be trolls it is ill, for then is the world growing worseer, and the wood shall be right perilous for those who must need fair therein. Yet, if they be men, it is a worse matter, for the trolls would not come out of the waist into the sunlight of the dale. But these foes, if they be men, are lustning after our fair dale to eat it up, and it is most like that they are gathering a huge host to fall upon us at home. Such things I have heard of when I was young, and the aspect of the evil men who overran the kindreds of all time, according to all tales and layers that I have heard, is even such as the aspect of those whom we have seen of late. As to those wolves who save the neighbours, and chase their foremen, there is one here who be like noath more of all this than we do, and that, O Olderman, is thy son whom I have fostered, face of God to it. Bid him answer to thy questioning, and tell us what he hath seen and heard of late. Then shall we verily know the whole story as far as it can be known. Then men pressed round, and were eager to hear what face of God would be saying. But, or ever, the Olderman could begin to question him. The throng was cloven by newcomers, and these were the men who had been sent to bring home the corpses of the dusky men. So they had cast loaded hooks into the weltering water, and had dragged up him whom face of God had shoved into the eddy, and who had sunk like a stone just where he fell. And now they were bringing him on a beer, along with him who had been slain a land. They were set down in the place before the Olderman, and men who had not seen them before, looked eagerly on them, that they might behold the aspect of their foremen. And nor it lovely were they to look on, for the drowned man was already bleached and swollen with the water, and the other, his face, was all ride and twisted with that spear thrust in the mouth. Then the Olderman said, I would question my son face of God, let him stand forth. And therewith he smiled merrily in his son's face, for he was standing right in front of him, and he said, Ask of me, Olderman, and I will answer. Ginsmen, said I in face, Look at these two dead men, and tell me, if thou hast seen any such besides these two murder-calls who were slain at Calstead, or if thou knowest ought of their folk. Said face of God, yesterday I saw six others light to these, both in a ray and of body, and three of them I slew, for we were in battle with them early in the morning. It was a murmur of joy at this word, since all men took these felons for deadly foremen. But I in face said, What meanest thou by we? I and the men who had guested me overnight, said face of God, and they slew the other three, or rather a woman of them slew the felons. Valiant she was, all good go with her hand, said the Olderman. But what be these people, and where do they dwell? Said face of God, as to what they are. They are of the kindred of the gods and the fathers, valiant men, and guest cherishing, rich they have been, and now are poor, and their poverty cometh of these same felons, who mastered them by numbers not to be withstood. As to where they dwell, when I say the name of their dwell in place, men mock me, as if I name some Vali in the moon. Yet came I to Burgdale thence in one day, across the mountain necks, led by shore guides, and I tell thee, that the name of their abode is Shadowy Vale. Ye, said I in face, knoweth any man here of Shadowy Vale, where it is. None answered for a while. But there was an old man who was sitting on the shafts of a wane, on the outskirts of the throng, and when he heard this word, he asked his neighbour what the Olderman was saying, and he told him. Then said that elder, give me place, but I have a word to say hereon. Therewith he arose and made his way to the front of the ring of men, and said, Olderman, thou knowest me. Ye, said I in face, though art called the fiddle, because of thy sweet speech and thy minstrelsy, whereof I mind me well in the time when I was young, and thou no longer young. So it is, said the fiddle, now harken, when I was very young, I heard of a Vale lying far away across the mountain necks, a Vale where the sun shone never in winter and scantily in summer. For my sworn foster-brother, fight-fane, a bold man and a great hunter, had happened upon it, and on a day in full midsummer he brought me thither, and even now I see the Vale before me as in a picture, a marvellous place, well-grast, treeless, narrow, betwixt great cliff-walls of black stone, with a green river running through it towards a yawning-gap and a huge force. Amidst that Vale was a doomering of black stones, and neither to a feast-hall, well-builded of the like stones, over whose door was carven the image of a wolf with the red-gaping jaws, and within it, for we entered into it, were storm-benches on the dais. Thence we came away, and thither again we went in late autumn, and so dusk and cold it was at that season that we knew not what to call it, save the Vale of deep shade. But its real name we never knew, for there was no man there to give us a name or tell us any tale thereof, but it was always there. The whimbrel laughed across its water, there even croaked from its crags, the eagles screamed over it, and the voices of its waters never ceased, and thus we left it. So the seasons passed and we went thither no more, for fight-fane died, and without him wandering over the waist was irksome to me, so never have I seen that Vale again or heard man tell thereof. Now, neighbours, have I told you of a Vale which seemeth to be shadowy Vale, and this is true, and no made up story. The Olderman nodded kindly to him, and then said to face of God, Kinsman, is this word according with what thou knowest of shadowy Vale? Ye, on all points, said face of God, he hath put before me a picture of the Vale, and whereas he saith that in his youth it was waste, this also goeth with my knowledge thereof. For once was it peopled, and then was waste, and now again is it peopled. Tell us then more of the fork thereof, said the Olderman. Are they many? Nay, said face of God, they are not. How might they be many dwelling in that narrow Vale amid the wastes? For they are valiant, both men and women, and strong and well-liking. Once they dwelt in a fair dale called Silverdale, the name whereof will be to you as a name in a lay, and there were they wealthy and happy. Then fell upon them this murderous folk whom they called the Dusty Men, and they fought and were overcome, and many of them were slain, and many enthralled, and the remnants of them escaped through the passes of the mountains, and came back to dwell in shadowy Vale, where their forefathers had dwelt long and long ago. And this overthrow befell them ten years ago. But now their old foremen have broken out from Silverdale, and have taken to scouring the wood-seeking prey. So they fall upon these Dusty Men as occasion serves, and slay them without pity, as if they were adders or evil dragons. And indeed they be worse, and these valiant men know for certain that their foremen are now of mine to fall upon this dale and destroy it, as they have done with others nyer to them. And they will slay our men, and lie with our women against their will, and then throw all our children, and torment all those that lie under their hands, till life shall be worse than death to them. Therefore, O older men and wardens, and ye neighbours all, it behove of you to take counsel what we shall do, and that speedily. There was again a murmur, as of men, nothing daunted, but intent on taking some way through the coming trouble. But no man said art till the aldermen spake. When didst thou first happen upon this earl folk, son? Late last autumn, said face of God. Said I am face. Then mightest thou have told us of this tale before? Ye, said his son, but I knew it not, a but little of it, till two days are gone. In the autumn I wandered in the woodland, and on the fell I happened on a few of this folk dwelling in a booth by the pine wood, and they were kind and guest-fane with me, and gave me meat and drink and lodging, and bade me come to shadowy veil in the spring, when I should know more of them. And that was I faint of, for they are wise and goodly men. But I deem no more of those that I saw there, save as men who had been outlawed by their own folk, for these that were unlawful be like, but not shameful, and were biding their time of return, and were living as they might, meanwhile. But of the whole folk and their foemen, knew I no more than ye did till two days are gone, when I met them again in shadowy veil. Also, I think before long ye shall see their chieftain in Burgstead, for he hath a word for us. Lastly, my mind is, that those brown-clad men who helped Hallface and his company in the wood were not but men of this earlkin seeking their foemen. For indeed they told me that they had come upon a battle in the woodland, wherein they had slain their foemen. Now I have told you all that ye need to know concerning these matters. Again there was silence, as Ironface sat pondering a question for his son. Then a good man of the Upper Dale, grits garth to it, spake and said, Gold man, mine, tell us how many is this folk. I mean their fighting men. Well asked neighbour, said Ironface, said face of God, their fighting men of full age, maybe five score. But besides that, there shall be some two or three score of women that will fight. Whoever says them nay, and many of these are little worse in the field than men, or no worse, for they shoot well in the bow. Moreover, there will be a full score of swains, not yet twenty winters old, whom ye may not hinder to fight if anything is a-doing. This is no great host, said the Olderman. Yet if they deem there is little to lose by fighting, and ought to gain by sitting still, they may go far in winning their desire, and that more especially if they may draw into their quarrel some other valiant folk, more in number than they be. I marvel not, though, they were kind to these, son Goldmane, if they knew who thou wert. They knew it, said face of God. Neighbours, said the Olderman, have ye any reed thereon, and ought to say to back your reed. Then spake the fiddle. As ye know, may see, I am now very old, and as the word goes, un-meets for battle. Yet, might I get me to the field, either on mine own legs, or on the legs of some four-foot beast. I would strike, if it were but one stroke, on these pests of the earth. An Olderman, me see, moth, we shall do amiss, if we bid not the earl-folk of shadowy veil, to be our fellows in arms in this adventure. But, look you, how few so ever they be, they will be sure to know the ways of our foremen, and the mountain passes, and the surest and nicest roads across the necks and the mayors of the waist. And though they be not a host, yet shall they be worth a host to us. When men heard his words, they shouted for joy of them, for hatred of the dusky men, who should so mar their happy life in the dale, was growing up in them, and the more that hatred waxed, the more waxed their love of these valiant ones. Now, Redcoat of Waterless, spake again, he was a big man, both tall and broad, ruddy-faced and red-haired, some forty winters old, he said. Life hath been well with us of the lower dale, and we dame that we have much to lose in losing it, yet ill would the bargain be to buy life with thrall them. We have been over merry of the two for that, therefore I say to battle, and as to these men, these well-wishers of face of God, if they also are minded for battle with our foes, we were fools indeed, if we did not join them to our company, were they but one score instead of six. Men shouted again, and they said that Redcoat has spoken well. Then, one after the other, the good men of the dale came and gave their word for fellowship in arms with the men of shadowy Vale. If there were such a space of God had said, which they doubted not, and amongst them that spake were Fox of Nethertown, and Warwell, and Gritgarth, and a Bearswain, and Warcliff, and Heart of Highcliff, and Worm of Willougham, and Bullsbane, and Hyneb of the Marsh, all these were stout men at arms and men of good counsel. Last of all the Olderman spake, and said, As to the war, that must we need meet, if all be sooth that we have heard, and I doubt it not. Now, therefore, let us look to it like wise men, while time yet serves. You shall know that the muster of the dalesmen will bring under shield eight long hundreds of men well armed, and of the shepherd folk four hundreds, and of the woodlanders two hundreds. And this is a goodly host, if it be well ordered and wisely led. Now am I your Olderman and your doomster, and I can heave up a sword as well as another maybe, nor do I think that I shall blench in the battle. Yet I mis-doubt me that I am no leader or orderer of men of war. Therefore you will do wisely to choose a wiser man at arms than I be, for your war-leader. And if at the great folk-moat, when all the houses and kindreds are gathered, men ye say you're choosing, then let him abide. But if they nay say it, let him give place to another, for time presses. Will ye so choose? Ye, ye, cried all men. Good is that, neighbours, said the Olderman. Whom will ye have for war-leader? Consider well. Short was their reed, for every man opened his mouth and cried out, Face of God! Then, said the Olderman, the man is young and untried, yet though he is so near akin to me, I will say that ye do wisely to take him, for he is both deft of his hands and brisk, and moreover, of this matter, ye knoweth more than all we together. Now therefore I declare him your war-leader till the time of the great folk-moat. Then all men shouted with great glee, and clashed their weapons. But some few put their heads together and spake apart a little while. And then one of them, red coat of waterlust to it, came forward and said, Olderman, some of us deem it good that Stormface, the old man wise in war and in the ways of the wood, should be named as counsellor to the war-leader, and Hallface, a very brisk and strong young man, to be his right hand and sword-bearer. Good is that, said Ironface. Neighbours, will you have it so? This also, they ye said, without delay, and the Olderman declared, Stormface and Hallface, the helpers of Face of God in this business. Then he said, if any I thought to say concerning what is best to be done at once, it were good that he said it now, before all, and not to murmur and grudge hereafter. Nonspake, save the fiddle, who said, Olderman and war-leader, one thing would I say, that if these foremen are anywise akin to those overrunners of the folks whom the tales went in my youth, for I also, as well as Stormface, might be well of those tales concerning them. It shall not avail us to sit still and await their onset, but then may they not be withstood, when they have gathered head and burst out and over the folk that have been happy, even as the waters that over-topper die can cover with their muddy ruin the deep green grass and the flower-butts of spring. Therefore, my reed is, as soon as may be, to go seek these folk in the woodland, and wheresoever else they may be wandering. What sayest thou, face of God? My reed is, as thine, said he, and to begin with, I do now call upon ten-tens of good men to meet me in arms at the beginning of Wildlake's way tomorrow morning at daybreak, and I bid my brother, Hallface, to summon such as our most meet there too. For this I deem good, that we scour the wood daily at present, till we hear fresh tidings from them of shadowy veil, who are nigher than we to the foreman. Now, neighbors, are ye ready to meet me? Then all shouted, Yey, we will go, we will go, said the Olderman. Now we have made provision for the war, in that which is nearest to our hands. Yet have we to deal with the matter of the fellowship with the folk whom face of God had seen. This is a matter for thee, son, at least till the great folk-mortis holden. Tell me, then, shall we send a messenger to shadowy veil to speak with this folk, or shall we abide the chieftain's coming? By my reed, said face of God, we shall abide his coming. For first, though I might well make my way thither, I doubt if I could give any the bearings, so that he could come there without me, and be like I am needed at home, since I am become war-leader. Moreover, when your messenger cometh to shadowy veil, he may well chance to find neither the chieftain there, nor the very best of his men. For while's are they here, and while's there, as they wend following after the dusky men. It is well, son, said the Olderman. Let it be as thou seest. Soothfully this matter must needs be brought before the great folk-mort. Now will I ask if any other have any word to say, or any reed to give before this gate-things sunderoth. But no man came forward, and all men seemed well content of good heart, and it was now well-passed noontide. Chapter 26 Of The Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The ending of the gate-thing. But just as the Olderman was on the point of rising to declare the breaking up of the thing, there came a stir in the throng, and it opened, and a warrior came forth into the innermost of the Ring of Men, arrayed in goodly glittering war-gear, clad in such wise, that a tunicle of precious gold-wrought web covered the horbrick, all but the sleeves thereof, and the hem of it, beset with blue-mounting-stones, smote against the ankles, and well nigh touched the feet, shod with sandals, gold-embroidered and gemmed. This warrior bore a goodly gilded helm on the head, and held in hand a spear with gold-garlanded shaft, and was girt with a sword, whose hilts and scabbard both were adorned with gold and gems. Beardless, smooth-cheeked, exceeding fairer face was the warrior, but pale and somewhat haggard-eyed, and those who were nearby beheld and wondered, for they saw that there was come the bride, arrayed for war and battle, as if she were a messenger from the House of Gods, and the Burg as Endurith forever. Then she fell to speech in a voice, which at first was somewhat hoarse and broken, but cleared as she went on, and she said, There sitest thou, O alderman of Burgdale, his face of God thy son anywhere nigh, so that he can hear me. But Ironface wondered at her word, and said, He is beside thee, as he should be. For indeed face of God was touching her, shoulder to shoulder. But she looked not to the right hand nor to the left, but said, Harken, Ironface, chief of the House of the Face, Olderman of the Dale, and ye also neighbours and good men of the Dale. I am a woman, called the bride, of the House of the Steer, and ye have heard that I have plighted my truth to face of God, to wed with him, to love him, and lie in his bed. But it is not so, we are not truth-plight, nor will I wed with him, nor any other, but will wend with you to the War, and play my part therein, according to what might is in me, nor will I be worse than the wives of shadowy Vale. Face of God heard her words with no change of countenance, but Ironface reddened all over his face and stared at her, and knit his brows, and said, Maiden, what are these words? What have we done to thee? Have I not been to thee as a father and love thee dearly? Is not my son goodly and manly and deft in arms? Hath it not ever been the ones of the House of the Face to wed in the House of the Steer? And in these two houses there hath never been a goodlier man and lovelier maiden than I ye too? What have we done then? He hath done naught against me, she said, and all that thou sayest is sooth. Yet will I not wed with Face of God? Yet Fierce waxed the face of the Olderman, and he said, in a loud voice, But how if I tell thee, that I will speak with thy kindred of the Steer, and thou shalt do after my bidding, whether thou wilt, or whether thou wilt not? And how will ye compel me there, too? she said. Are there thralls in the Dale, or will ye make me an outlaw? Who shall heed it? Or I shall betake me to shadowy Vale, and become one of their warrior maidens. Now was the Olderman's face changing from red to white, and be like he forgot the thing, and what he was doing there, and he cried out, This is an evil day, and who shall help me? Thou, Face of God, what hast thou to say? Will thou let this woman go without a word? What hath bewitched thee? But never a word spake his son, but stood looking straight forward, cold and calm by seeming. Then turned I and Face again to the bride, and said, in a softer voice, Tell me, maiden, who my erst called daughter, What hath before them that thou wilt leave my son? Thou, who worked once so kind and loving to him, Whose hand was always seeking his, Whose eyes were ever following his, Who wouldst go where he bade, and come when he called? What hath betid, that ye have cast him out, and flee from our house? She flushed red beneath her helm, and said, There is war in the land, and I have seen it coming, and that things shall change around us. I have looked about me, and seen men happy, and women content, and children weary for mere mirth and joy. And I have thought in a day, or two days, or three, all this shall be changed, and the women shall be, some anxious and wearied with waiting, some casting all hope away, and the men, some shall come back to the garth no more, and some shall come back maimed and useless, and there shall be loss of friends and fellows, and a mirth departed, and dull days and empty hours, and the children wandering about, marvelling at the sorrow of the house. All this I saw before me, and grief and pain, and wounding and death, and I said, Shall I be any better than the worst of the folk that loveth me? Nay, this shall never be. And since I have learned to be deft with mine hands in all the play of war, and that I am as strong as many a man, and as hard he hearted as any, I will give myself to the warrior and the god of the face, and the battlefield shall be my home, and the after-grief of the fight, my banquet, and holiday, that I may bear the burden of my people in the battle and out of it, and know every sorrow that the dale hath, and cast aside as a grievous and ugly thing the bed of the warrior that the maiden desires, and the toying of lips and hands, and soft words of desire, and all the joy that dwelleth in the castle of love, and the garden thereof, while the world outside is sick and sorry, and the fields lie waste, and the harvest burneth. Even so have I sworn, even so will I do. Her eyes glittered, and her cheek was flushed, and her voice was clear and ringing now, and when she ended there arose a murmur of praise from the men round about her, but eye and face said coldly, These are great words, but I know not what they mean, if thou wilt to the field and fight among the cows, and that I would not they say, for it hath off been done and praised a foretime, why shouldest thou not go side by side with face of God, and as his blighted maiden? The light which the sweetness of speech had brought into her face, had died out of it now, and she looked weary and hapless as she answered him slowly, I will not wed with face of God, but will fare a field as a virgin of war, as I have sworn to the warrior. Then waxed eye and face exceeding wroth, and he rose up before all men and cried loudly and fiercely, There is some liar broad, that windeth about us, as the gossipers in the lanes of an autumn morning, and therewith he strode up to face of God, as though he had not to do with the thing, and he stood before him and cried out at him, while all men wondered, Thou, what hast thou done to turn this maiden's heart to stone? Who is it that is devising guile with thee, to throw aside this worthy wedding in a worthy house, with whom our sons are ever want to wed? Speak, tell the tale! But face of God held his peace, and stood calm and proud before all men. Then the blood mounted to eye and face his head, and he forgot folk and kindred and the water come, and he cried so that all the place rang with the words of his anger. Thou dastard, I see thee now! It is thou that has done this, and not the maiden. Thou hast made a bearer double-burden, and set her on to speak for thee, whilst thou standest by, saying not, and will take no scruples' weight of a shame upon thee. But his son spake never a word, and eye and face cried, Out on thee! I know thee now! And why thou wouldest not to the Westland last winter? I am no fool! I know thee! Where hast thou hidden the stranger woman? Therewith he drew forth his sword, and hovered aloft as if to hew down face of God, who spake not, nor flinched, nor raised a hand from his side. But the bride threw herself in front of gold-main, while there arose an angry cry of, The peace of the holy thing, peace-breaking, peace-breaking! And some cried, For the war-leader, for the war-leader! And as men could for the press, they drew forth their swords, and there was tumult and noise all over the thingstead. But stone-face caught hold of the alderman's right arm, and dragged down the sword, and the big carl, red coat of waterless, came up behind him, and cast his arms about his middle, and drew him back. And presently he looked around him, and slowly sheathed his sword, and went back to his place and sat him down, and in a little while the noise abated, and swords were sheathed. And the men waxed quiet again, and the alderman arose, and said, in a loud voice, but in the wanted way of the headman of the thing, here hath been trouble in the holy thing, a violent man hath troubled it, and drawn a sword on a neighbour. Will the neighbours give the dooming hereof into the hands of the alderman? Now all knew iron-face, and they cried out, That will we! So he spake again, I doom the troubler of the peace of the holy thing, to pay a fine, to it, double the blood-whites that would be duly paid, for a full-grown freeman of the kindreds. Then the cry went up, and the men ye said his doom, and all said that it was well and fairly doomed, and iron-face sat still, but stone-face stood forth and said, Here hath been wild words in the air, and dreams have taken shape, and come amongst us, and have bewitched us, so that friends and kin hath wrangled, and we seemeth that this is through the wizardry of these felons, who, even dead as they are, have cast spells over us, good it were to cast them into the deftarn, and then to get to our work, but there is much to do. All men ye said that, and forkbeard of Lee went with those who had borne the corpse's dither, to cast them into the black pool, but the fiddle spake and said, Stone-face, say a sooth! O alderman, there art no young man, yet I am old enough to be thy father, so will I give thee a read and say this, face of God thy son is no liar, or dastard, or beguiler, but he is a young man, and exceeding goodly of fashion, well spoken and kind, so that few women may look on him and hear him, without desiring his kindness and love, as are such men as this, many things happen. Moreover, he hath now become our captain, and is a deft warrior with his hands, and as I deem, a sober and careful leader of men, therefore we need him and his courage and his skill of leading, serage not against him as if he had done an ill deed not to be forgiven, whatever he hath done, whereof we know not, for life is long before him, and most like, we shall still have to thank him for many good deeds towards us. As for the maiden, she is both lovely and wise, she hath a sorrow at her heart, and we deem that we know what it is, yet hath she not lied when she said that she would bear the burden of the grease of the people? Even so shall she do, and whether she will or whether she will not, that shall heal her own griefs. But tomorrow is a new day, therefore, if thou do after my read, thou wilt not meddle betwixt these twain, but wilt remember all that we have to do, and that war is coming upon us, and when that is over, we shall turn round and behold each other, and see that we are not wholly what we were before, and then shall that which were hard to forgive be forgotten, and that which is remembered be easy to forgive. So he spake, and iron face sat still, and put his left hand to his beard, as one who pondereth. But the bride looked in the face of the old man the fiddle, and then she turned and looked at Goldmane, and her face softened. As she stood before the alderman, and bent down before him, and held out both her hands to him, the palms upward, then she said, Thou hast been wroth with me, and I marvel not, for thy hope and the hope which we all had, hath deceived thee. But kind indeed has thou been to me ere now. Therefore I pray thee, take it not amiss, if I call to thy mind, the oath which thou swearest on the holy bore last yule, that thou wouldst not gain say the prayer of any man, if thou couldst perform it. Therefore I bid thee, nay say not mine, and that is, that thou wilt ask me no more about this matter, but wilt suffer me to fairer field, like any swain of the dale, and to deal so with my folk that they shall not hinder me. Also I pray thee, that thou wilt put no shame upon face of God, my playmates, and my kinsmen, nor show thine anger to him openly, even if for a little while thy love for him be abated. No more than this will I ask of thee. All men who heard her were moved to the heart by her kindness, and the sweetness of her voice, which was like to the robin singing suddenly on a frosty morning of early winter. But as for goldmane, his heart was smitten sorely by it, and her sorrow and her friendliness grieved him out of measure. But iron face answered after a little while, speaking slowly and hoarsely, and with the shame yet clinging to him of a man who has been wroth, and as speedily let his wrath run off him. So he said, it is well, my daughter, I have no will to forswear myself, nor hast thou asked me a thing which is over hard. Yet indeed I would that today were yesterday, and that many days were worn away. Then he stood up and cried in a loud voice over the throng. Let none forget the muster, but hold him ready against the time that the warden shall come to him. Let all men obey the war-leader, face of God, without question or delay. As to the fine of the peace-breaker, it shall be laid on the altar of the God at the great folk-mote, herewith is the thing broken up. Then all men shouted and clashed their weapons, and so sundered and went about their business. And the talk of men it was that the breaking of the truth-plights between those twain was ill. For they loved face of God, and as for the bride, they deemed her the dearest of the kindreds and the jewel of the folk, and as if she were the fairest and the kindest of all the gods. Neither did the wrath of Ironface mislike any. But they said he had done well and manly, both to be wrath and to let his wrath run off him. As to the war which was to come, they kept a good heart about it, and deemed it as a game to be played, wherein they might show themselves deft and valiant, and so gets back to their merry life again. So wore the day through afternoon to even a night. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of The Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Libyvox recording is in the public domain. Face of God ledeth a band through the wood. Next morning, Trist was held faithfully, and an hundred and a half were gathered together on Wildlake's way, and Face of God ordered them into three companies. He made Hallface leader over the first one, and bade him hold on his way northward, and then to make for Boar's bait, and see if he should meet with anything there about where the battle had been. Redcoat of Waterless, he made captain of the second band, and he had it in charge to end Eastwood along the edge of the dale, and not to go deep into the wood, but to go as far as he might within the time appointed toward the mountains. Furthermore, he bade both Hallface and Redcoat to bring their bands back to Wildlake's way by the morrow at Sunset, where other good men should become to take the places of their men, and then, if he and his company were back again, he would bid them further what to do. But if not, as seemed likely, then Hallface's band to go west towards the shepherd country, half a day's journey, and so back, and Redcoat's east along the dale's lip again, for the like time, and them back, so that there might be a constant watch and ward of the dale kept against the felons. Or being ordered, Goldmane led his own company north-east through the thick wood, thinking that he might so fair as to come nigh to Silverdale, or at least to hear tidings thereof. This intent he told to Stoneface, but the old man shook his head and said, Good is this if it may be done, but it is not for everyone to go down to hell in his lifetime and come back safe with a tale thereof. However, wither thou wilt lead, thither will I follow, though assure at death way layeth us. The old Carl was joyous and proud to be on this adventure, and said that it was good indeed that his foster son had with him a man well stricken in years, who had both seen many things and learned many, and had good read to give to valiant men. So they went on their ways and fared very wearily when they were gotten beyond those parts of the wood, which they knew well. By this time they were strung out in a long line, and they noted their road carefully, blazing the trees on either side when there were trees, and piling up little stone heaps where the trees failed them. For Stoneface said that oft it befell men amidst the thickets and the waste, to be misled by whites that begrudged men their lives, so that they went round and round in a ring, which they might not depart for until they died. And no man doubted his word herein. All day they went and met no foe, nay, no man at all, nought but the wild things of the wood, and that day the wood changed little about them from mile to mile. There were many thickets across the road, which they had to go round about, so that to the crow flying over the treetops, the journey had not been long to the place where night came upon them, and where they had to make the wood their bedchamber. That night they lighted no fire, but ate such gold victual as they might carry with them, nor had they shot any venison, since they had with them more than enough. They made little noise or stir, therefore, and fell asleep when they had set the watch. On the morrow they arose betimes, and broke their fast, and went their ways till noon. By then the wood had thinned somewhat, and there was little underwood betwixt the scrubby oak and ash, which were pretty nigh all the trees about. The ground also was broken, and here and there rocky, and they went into and out of rough little dales, most of which had in them a brook of water, running west and south west. And now face of God led his men somewhat more easterly, and still for some while they met no man. At last about four hours afternoon, when they were going less warily, because they had hitherto come across nothing to hinder them, rising over the brow of a somewhat steep ridge, they saw down in the valley below them, a half-score of men, sitting by the brookside, eating and drinking, their weapons lying beside them, and along with them stood a woman with her hands tied behind her back. They saw at once that these men were of the felons, so they that had their bows bent, loosed at them without more ado, while the others ran in upon them with sword and spear. The felons leapt up and ran scattering down the dale, such of them as were not smitten by the shafts. But he who was nighest to the woman, ere he ran, turned and caught up a sword from the ground, and thrust it through her, and the next moment fell across the brook with an arrow in his back. No one of the felons was nimbly enough to escape from the fleet-footed hunters of Burgdale, and they were all slain there to the number of eleven. But when they came back to the woman to tend her, she breathed her last in their hands. She was a young and fair woman, black-haired and dark-eyed. She had on her body a gown of rich web, but not else. She had been bruised and sore mishandled, and the Burgdale carls wept for pity of her, and for wrath as they straightened her limbs on the turf of the little valley. They let her lie there a little, whilst they searched round about, lest there should be any other poor soul needing their help, or any felon lurking there by. But they found not else save a bundle, wherein was another rich gown and diverse woman's gear, and sundry rings and jewels, and there with all the weapons and war gear of a knight, delicately wrought after the Westland fashion. These seemed to them to be token other foul deeds of these murder-carls. So when they had abided awhile, they laid the dead woman in mould by the Brookside, and buried with her the other woman's attire and the knight's gear, all but his sword and shield, which they had away with them. Then they cast the carcasses of the felons into the break, but brought away their weapons and the silver rings from their arms, which they wore like all others of them, whom they had fallen in with. And so they went on their way to the North East, full of wrath against those dastards of the earth. It was hard on sunset when they left the valley of murder, and they went no long way thence before they must need to make stay for the night, and when they had arrayed their sleeping-stead, the moon was up, and they saw that before them lay the close wood again, for they had made their lair on the top of a little ridge. There then they lay, and Nought stirred them in the night, and betimes on the morrow they were afoot, and entered the above-set thicket, wherein two of them, keen hunters, had been a foretime, but had not gone deep into it. Through this wood they went all day toward the North East, and met Nought but the wild things therein. At last when it was near sunset, they came out of the thicket into a small plain, or shallow dale rather, with no great trees in it, but thorn breaks here and there, where the ground sank into hollows. A little river ran through the midst of it, and winded round about a height whose face towards the river went down sheer into the water, but away from it sank down in a long slope, to where the thick wood began again, and this height or burg looked well nigh west. Thitherward they went, but as they were drawing nigh to the river, and were on the top of a bent above a bushy hollow between them and the water, they aspired a man standing in the river near the bank, who saw them not, because he was stooping down intent on something in the bank or under it. So they gapped them speedily down into the hollow without noise, that they might get some tidings of the man. Then face of God bade his men abide, hidden under the bushes, and stole forward quietly up the further bank of the hollow, his target on his arm and his spear poised. When he was behind the last bush on the top of the bent, he was within half a spear cast of the water and the man, so he looked on him and saw that he was quite naked, except for a clout about his middle. Face of God saw at once that he was not one of the dusky men. He was a black-haired man, but white-skinned and of fair stature, though not so tall as the burgdale folk. He was busyed in tickling trouts, and just as face of God came out from the bush into the western sunlight, he threw up a fish onto the bank, and looked up there with awe, and beheld the weaponed man glittering, and uttered a cry, but fled not when he saw the spear poised for casting. Then face of God spake to him and said, Come here the woodsman, we will not harm thee, but we desire speech of thee, and it will not avail thee to flee, since I have bowmen of the best in the hollow yonder. The man put forth his hands towards him, as if praying him to forbear casting, and looked at him hard, and then came dripping from out of the water, and seemed not greatly afraid, for he stooped down and picked up the trouts he had taken, and came towards face of God, stringing the last court one through the gills, onto the withy whereon were the others, and face of God saw that he was a goodly man of some thirty winters. Then face of God looked on him with friendly eyes, and said, Art thou a foreman, o wilt thou be helpful to us? He answered in the speech of the kindreds, with the hoarse voice of a much weather-beaten man, Thou seest, Lord, that I am naked and unarmed. Yet mayest thou beray us? said face of God. What man art thou? said the man, I am the runaway thrall of evil men. I have fled from Rosedale and the dusky men, as thou the heart to hurt me. We are the foremen of the dusky men, said face of God. Will thou help us against them? The man knits his brows and said, Ye, if ye will give me your word, not to suffer me to fall into their hands alive, but whence art thou to be so bold? Said face of God, we are a burgdale, and I will swear to thee on the edge of the sword that thou shalt not fall alive into the hands of the dusky men. The burgdale have I heard, said the man, and in sooth thou seest must not such a man as would be ray a hapless man. But now, had I best bring you to some lurking place, where ye shall not be easily found of these devils, who now off-time scour the woods here about? Said face of God, Come first and see my fellows, and then if thou thinkest we have a need to hide, it is well. So the man went side by side with him towards their lair, and as they went, Goldmay noted marks of stripes on his back and sides, and said, Soly hast thou been mishandled, poor man? Then the man turned on him, and said somewhat fiercely, Said I not that I have been a thrall of the dusky men? How then should I have escaped tormenting and scourging, if I have been with them for but three days? As he spake, they came about a thorn-bush, and there were the burgdale men, down in the hollow, and the man said, Are these thy fellows? Call to mind that thou hast swarmed by the edge of the sword, not to hurt me. Poor man, said face of God, These are thy friends, and lest thou be rayest us. Then he cried aloud to his folk, Here is now a good hat. This is a runaway thrall of the dusky men. Of him shall we hear tidings, so cherish him all ye may. So the carls thronged about him, and bestowed themselves to help him, and one gave him his sir-coats for a curtle, and another cast a cloak about him, and they brought him meat and drink, such as they had ready to hand. And the man looked as if he scarce believed in all this, but deemed himself to be in a dream. But presently he turned to face of God, and said, Now I see so many men and weapons, I deem that ye have no need to skulking caves tonight, though I know of good ones. Yet shall ye do well not to light a fire till moon-setting, for the flame ye may lightly hide, but the smoke may be seen from far aloof. But they bade him to meet, and he needed no second bidding, but ate lustily, and they gave him wine, and he drank a great draught, and sighed as for joy. Then he said in a trembling voice, as though he feared and they say, If ye are from Burgdale, ye shall be faring back again presently, and I pray ye to take me with you. Said face of God, Ye is surely friend that we will do, and rejoice in thee. Then he drank another cup, which Warcliffe held out to him, and spake again. Yet, if ye would abide here till about noon tomorrow, and may happen a little later, I would bring other runaways to see you, and them also might ye take with you. You may think when ye see them that ye shall have small gain of their company, for poor wretched folk they be, like to myself. Yet, since ye seek for tidings, herein might they do ye more service than I. For amongst them are some who came out of the hapless tale within this moon, and it is six months since I escaped. Moreover, though they may look spent and outworn now, yet if ye give them a little rest, and feed them well, they shall yet do many a day's work for ye. And I tell you, that if ye take them for thralls and put colours on their necks, and use them no worse than a good man, uses his oxen and his asses, beating them not save when they are idle or at fault, it shall be to them as if they were come to heaven out of hell, and to such good appers they have not thought of, saving dreams, for many a many a day. And thus I entreat you to do, because ye seem to me to be happy and merciful men, who will not be grudges this happiness. The Carls of Burgdale listened eagerly to what he said, and they looked at him with great eyes and marveled. And their hearts were moved with pity towards him, and Stoneface said, Here ain't no war-leader, need I give thee no read, for thou may see clearly that all we, deem that we should lose our manhood, and become the dastards of the warrior, if we did not abide the coming of these poor men, and take them back to the dale and cherish them. Ye, said Wolf of Whitegarth, and great thanks we owe to this man that he bidders as this. For great will be the gains, as if we become so like the gods, that we may deliver the poor from misery. Now must I knees think how they shall wonder when they come to Burgdale, and find out how happy it is to dwell there. Surely, said face of God, thus we shall do, whatever cometh of it. But, friend of the wood, as to thralls, there be none such in the dale, but there in are all men, friends and neighbours, and even so shall ye be. And he fell amusing, when he bethought him of how little he had known of sorrow. But that man, when he beheld the happy faces of the Burgdalers, and hearkened to their friendly voices, and understood what they said, and he also was become strong with the meat and drink. He bowed his head a down, and wept a long while, and they meddled not with him, till he turned again to them and said, Caesure in arms, and seem to be seeking your foremen, as opposed ye watch that these tyrants and manquellers will fall upon you in Burgdale, ere the summer is well worn. So much we deem indeed, said face of God, but we were feigned to hear the certainty of it, and how thou knowest thereof. Said the man, It was six moons ago that I fled, as I've told you, and even then it was the common talk amongst our masters, that there were fair dales to the south, which they would overrun. Man would say to man, we were over many in Silverdale, and we needed more thralls, because those we had were lessening, and especially the women. Now are we more at ease in Rosedale, though we have sent thralls to Silverdale, but yet we can bear no more men from thence to eat up our stock from us. Let them face out to the happy dales, and conquer them, and we will go with them and help their in, whether we come back to Rosedale or no. Such talk did I hear them with my own ears, but some of those whom I shall bring you to Murrah shall know better what he's doing, since they fled from Rosedale but a few days. Moreover, there is a man and a woman who have fled from Silverdale itself, and are but a month from it, journeying all the time, save when they must need hide, and these say that their masters have got to know the ways to Burgdale, and are minded for it before the winter, as I said, and not else but the ways thither do they desire to know, since they have no fear. By then was night come, and though the moon was high in heaven, and lighted all that waste, the Burgdalers must need lighter fire for cooking their meat, whatsoever that woodsman might say. Moreover, the night was cold and somewhat frosty. A little before they had come to that place, they had shot a fat book and some smaller deer, but of other meat they had no great store, though there was wine enough. So they lit their fire in the thickest of the thorn-bush to hide it all they might, and there at they cooked their venison, and the trouts which the runaway had taken, and they fell too, and ate and drank and were merry, making much of that poor man, till him seemed he was gotten into the company of the kindest of the gods. But when they were full, face of gods spake to him, and asked him his name, and he named himself Dalach. But said he, Lord, this is according to the naming of the men in Rosedale, before we were enthralled. But now, what names have thralls? Also, I am not altogether of the blood of them of Rosedale, but of better and more warrior-like kin. Said face of God, thou hast named Silverdale, knowest thou it? Dalach answered, I have never seen it, it is far hence, in a week's journey making all diligence, and not being forced to hide and sculpt, like those runaways. You shall come to the mouth thereof lying west, where its rock walls fall off toward the plain. But, said face of God, is there no other way into that dale? Nay, none that fought what off, said Dalach, except a bold cragsman with their lives in their hands. Knowest thou art of the affairs of Silverdale? said face of God, said Dalach. Somewhat I know, we want that, but a few years ago, there was a valiant folk dwelling therein, who were lords of the whole dale, and they were vanquished by the dusky men, but whether they were all slain and enthralled we what not. But we deem it otherwise. As for me, it is of their blood that I am partly come, for my father's father came thence to settle in Rosdale, and wedded a woman of the dale, who was my father's mother. When was it that you fell under the dusky men? said face of God, said Dalach. It was five years ago. They came into the dale, a great company, all in arms. Was there battle betwixt you? said face of God. Alas, not so, said Dalach. We were a happy folk there, but soft and delicate, for the dale is exceeding fertile, and beareth wealth in abundance. Both corn and oil and wine and fruit, and a beast for man's service, the best that may be. Would that there had been battle, and that I had died therein, with those that had a heart to fight. But even so, seeeth now every man, yea, every woman in the dale. But it was not so when the elders met in our council-house, on the day when the dusky men bathed us, pay them tribute, and give them houses to dwell in, and lands to live by. Then we had weapons in our hands, but no arts to use them. What be fell then? said the good man of Whitecarth. said Dalach. Look ye to it, laws, did it befall not in Burgdale. We gave them all what they asked for, and deemed we had much left. What be fell, says thou? We sat quiet. We went about our work in fear and trembling, but grim and hideous worthy to look on. At first the meddle not much with us, save to take from our houses what they would have met and drink, or raiment or plenishing. And all this we deemed we might bear, and that we needed no more than to toil a little more each day, so as to win some what more of wealth. But soon we found that it would not be so, for they had no mind to till the teeming earth, or work in the acres we had given them, or to sit at the loom or hammer in the stithy, or do any man like work. It was we that must do all that for their beoof, and it was all together for them that we laboured, a note for ourselves, and our bodies were only so much our own as they were needful to be kept alive for labour. Herein were our tasks harder than the toil of any meals or asses, save for the younger and goodlier of the women, whom they would keep fair and delicate to be their bed-thrawls. Yet not even so were our bodies safe from their malice, for these men were not only tyrants, but fools and madmen, let alone that there were few days without stripes and torments to satiate their fury or their pleasure, so that in all streets and nigh any house might hear wailing and screaming and groaning. But moreover, though a wise man would not willingly slay his own thrall any more than his own horse or ox, yet did these men so wax in folly and malice that they would often hew it a man or woman as they met them in the way, for a mere grimness of soul, and if they slew them it was well. Thereof indeed came quarrels enough betwixt master and master, for they are much given to manslaying among themselves. But what profit to us thereof? Nay, if the dead man were a chieftain, then woe betide the thralls, for thereof must many and one be slain on his grave-mound to serve him on the hell-road. To be short, we have heard of men who be fierce and men who be grim, but these we may scarce believe to be men at all, but thralls rather, and ill will it be if their race waxeth in the world. The burgdale men harkened with all their ears, and wondered that such things could befall, and they rejoiced at the work that lay before them, and their hearts rose high at the thought of battle in that behalf, and the fame that should come of it. As for the runaway, they made so much of him that the man marveled, for they dealt with him like a woman cherishing a son, and knew not how to be kind enough to him. End of Chapter 27