The Well at the World's End: A Tale

BOOK TWO The Road Unto Trouble

1 Ralph Meets With Love in the Wilderness

2 They Break Their Fast in the Wildwood

3 The Lady Telleth Ralph of the Past Days of Her Life

4 The Lady Tells of Her Deliverance

5 Yet More of the Lady's Story

6 The Lady Tells Somewhat of Her Doings After She Left the Wilderness

7 The Lady Tells of the Strife and Trouble That Befell After Her Coming

8 The Lady Maketh an End of Her Tale

9 They Go On Their Way Once More

10 Of the Desert-House and the Chamber of Love in the Wilderness

11 Ralph Cometh Out of the Wilderness

12 Ralph Falleth in With Friends and Rideth to Whitwall

13 Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End.

14 Ralph Falleth in With Another Old Friend

15 Ralph Dreams a Dream Or Sees a Vision

16 Of the Tales of Swevenham

17 Richard Bringeth Tidings of Departing

18 Ralph Departeth From Whitwall With the Fellowship of Clement Chapman

19 Master Clement Tells Ralph Concerning the Lands Whereunto They Were

20 They Come to the Mid-Mountain Guest-House

21 A Battle in the Mountains

22 Ralph Talks With Bull Shockhead

23 Of the Town of Cheaping Knowe

24 Ralph Heareth More Tidings of the Damsel

25 The Fellowship Comes to Whiteness

26 They Ride the Mountains Toward Goldburg

27 Clement Tells of Goldburg

28 Now They Come to Goldburg

29 Of Goldburg and the Queen Thereof

30 Ralph Hath Hope of Tidings Concerning the Well at the World's End

31 The Beginning of the Road To Utterbol

32 Ralph Happens on Evil Days

33 Ralph is Brought on the Road Towards Utterbol

34 The Lord of Utterbol Will Wot of Ralph's Might and Minstrelsy

35 Ralph Cometh To the Vale of the Tower

36 The Talk of Two Women Concerning Ralph

37 How Ralph Justed With the Aliens

38 A Friend Gives Ralph Warning

39 The Lord of Utterbol Makes Ralph a Free Man

40 They Ride Toward Utterness From Out of Vale Turris

41 Redhead Keeps Tryst

BOOK THREE The Road To The Well At World's End.

1 An Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountains

2 Ralph Rides the Wood Under the Mountains

3 Ralph Meeteth With Another Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountain

4 They Ride the Wood Under the Mountains

5 They Come on the Sage of Swevenham

6 Those Two Are Learned Lore by the Sage of Swevenham

7 An Adventure by the Way

8 They Come to the Sea of Molten Rocks

9 They Come Forth From the Rock-Sea

10 They Come to the Gate of the Mountains

11 They Come to the Vale of Sweet Chestnuts

12 Winter Amidst of the Mountains

13 Of Ursula and the Bear

14 Now Come the Messengers of the Innocent Folk

15 They Come to the Land of the Innocent Folk

16 They Come to the House of the Sorceress

17 They Come Through the Woodland to the Thirsty Desert

18 They Come to the Dry Tree

19 They Come Out of the Thirsty Desert

20 They Come to the Ocean Sea

21 Now They Drink of the Well at the World's End

22 Now They Have Drunk and Are Glad

BOOK FOUR The Road Home

1 Ralph and Ursula Come Back Again Through the Great Mountains

2 They Hear New Tidings of Utterbol

3 They Winter With the Sage; and Thereafter Come Again to Vale Turris

4 A Feast in the Red Pavilion

5 Bull Telleth of His Winning of the Lordship of Utterbol

6 They Ride From Vale Turris. Redhead Tells of Agatha

7 Of Their Riding the Waste, and of a Battle Thereon

8 Of Goldburg Again, and the Queen Thereof

9 They Come to Cheaping Knowe Once More. Of the King Thereof

10 An Adventure on the Way to the Mountains

11 They Come Through the Mountains Into the Plain

12 The Roads Sunder Again

13 They Come to Whitwall Again

14 They Ride Away From Whitwall

15 A Strange Meeting in the Wilderness

16 They Come to the Castle of Abundance Once More

17 They Fall in With That Hermit

18 A Change of Days in the Burg of the Four Friths

19 Ralph Sees Hampton and the Scaur

20 They Come to the Gate of Higham By the Way

21 Talk Between Those Two Brethren

22 An Old Acquaintance Comes From the Down Country to See Ralph

23 They Ride to Bear Castle

24 The Folkmote of the Shepherds

25 They Come to Wulstead

26 Ralph Sees His Father and Mother Again

27 Ralph Holds Converse With Katherine His Gossip

28 Dame Katherine Tells of the Pair of Beads, and Whence She Had Them

29 They Go Down to Battle in Upmeads

30 Ralph Brings His Father and Mother to Upmeads

31 Ralph Brings Ursula Home to the High House

32 Yet a Few Words Concerning Ralph of Upmeads

BOOK ONE

The Road Unto Love

CHAPTER 1

The Sundering of the Ways

Long ago there was a little land, over which ruled a regulus or

kinglet, who was called King Peter, though his kingdom was but little.

He had four sons whose names were Blaise, Hugh, Gregory and Ralph: of

these Ralph was the youngest, whereas he was but of twenty winters and

one; and Blaise was the oldest and had seen thirty winters.

Now it came to this at last, that to these young men the kingdom of

their father seemed strait; and they longed to see the ways of other

men, and to strive for life. For though they were king's sons, they

had but little world's wealth; save and except good meat and drink, and

enough or too much thereof; house-room of the best; friends to be merry

with, and maidens to kiss, and these also as good as might be; freedom

withal to come and go as they would; the heavens above them, the earth

to bear them up, and the meadows and acres, the woods and fair streams,

and the little hills of Upmeads, for that was the name of their country

and the kingdom of King Peter.

So having nought but this little they longed for much; and that the

more because, king's sons as they were, they had but scant dominion

save over their horses and dogs: for the men of that country were

stubborn and sturdy vavassors, and might not away with masterful

doings, but were like to pay back a blow with a blow, and a foul word

with a buffet. So that, all things considered, it was little wonder if

King Peter's sons found themselves straitened in their little land:

wherein was no great merchant city; no mighty castle, or noble abbey of

monks: nought but fair little halls of yeomen, with here and there a

franklin's court or a shield-knight's manor-house; with many a goodly

church, and whiles a house of good canons, who knew not the road to

Rome, nor how to find the door of the Chancellor's house.

So these young men wearied their father and mother a long while with

telling them of their weariness, and their longing to be gone: till at

last on a fair and hot afternoon of June King Peter rose up from the

carpet which the Prior of St. John's by the Bridge had given him (for

he had been sleeping thereon amidst the grass of his orchard after his

dinner) and he went into the hall of his house, which was called the

High House of Upmeads, and sent for his four sons to come to him. And

they came and stood before his high-seat and he said:

"Sons, ye have long wearied me with words concerning your longing for

travel on the roads; now if ye verily wish to be gone, tell me when

would ye take your departure if ye had your choice?"

They looked at one another, and the three younger ones nodded at Blaise

the eldest: so he began, and said: "Saving the love and honour that

we have for thee, and also for our mother, we would be gone at once,

even with the noon's meat still in our bellies. But thou art the lord

in this land, and thou must rule. Have I said well, brethren?" And

they all said "Yea, yea." Then said the king; "Good! now is the sun

high and hot; yet if ye ride softly ye may come to some good harbour

before nightfall without foundering your horses. So come ye in an

hour's space to the Four-want-way, and there and then will I order your

departure."

The young men were full of joy when they heard his word; and they

departed and went this way and that, gathering such small matters as

each deemed that he needed, and which he might lightly carry with him;

then they armed themselves, and would bid the squires bring them their

horses; but men told them that the said squires had gone their ways

already to the Want-way by the king's commandment: so thither they went

at once a-foot all four in company, laughing and talking together

merrily.

It must be told that this Want-way aforesaid was but four furlongs from

the House, which lay in an ingle of the river called Upmeads Water

amongst very fair meadows at the end of the upland tillage; and the

land sloped gently up toward the hill-country and the unseen mountains

on the north; but to the south was a low ridge which ran along the

water, as it wound along from west to east. Beyond the said ridge, at

a place whence you could see the higher hills to the south, that

stretched mainly east and west also, there was presently an end of the

Kingdom of Upmeads, though the neighbours on that side were peaceable

and friendly, and were wont to send gifts to King Peter. But toward

the north beyond the Want-way King Peter was lord over a good stretch

of land, and that of the best; yet was he never a rich man, for he had

no freedom to tax and tail his folk, nor forsooth would he have used it

if he had; for he was no ill man, but kindly and of measure. On these

northern marches there was war at whiles, whereas they ended in a great

forest well furnished of trees; and this wood was debateable, and King

Peter and his sons rode therein at their peril: but great plenty was

therein of all wild deer, as hart, and buck, and roe, and swine, and

bears and wolves withal. The lord on the other side thereof was a

mightier man than King Peter, albeit he was a bishop, and a baron of

Holy Church. To say sooth he was a close-fist and a manslayer; though

he did his manslaying through his vicars, the knights and men-at-arms

who held their manors of him, or whom he waged.

In that forest had King Peter's father died in battle, and his eldest

son also; therefore, being a man of peace, he rode therein but seldom,

though his sons, the three eldest of them, had both ridden therein and

ran therefrom valiantly. As for Ralph the youngest, his father would

not have him ride the Wood Debateable as yet.

So came those young men to the Want-ways, and found their father

sitting there on a heap of stones, and over against him eight horses,

four destriers, and four hackneys, and four squires withal. So they

came and stood before their father, waiting for his word, and wondering

what it would be.

Now spake King Peter: "Fair sons, ye would go on all adventure to seek

a wider land, and a more stirring life than ye may get of me at home:

so be it! But I have bethought me, that, since I am growing old and

past the age of getting children, one of you, my sons, must abide at

home to cherish me and your mother, and to lead our carles in war if

trouble falleth upon us. Now I know not how to choose by mine own wit

which of you shall ride and which abide. For so it is that ye are

diverse of your conditions; but the evil conditions which one of you

lacks the other hath, and the valiancy which one hath, the other lacks.

Blaise is wise and prudent, but no great man of his hands. Hugh is a

stout rider and lifter, but headstrong and foolhardy, and over

bounteous a skinker; and Gregory is courteous and many worded, but

sluggish in deed; though I will not call him a dastard. As for Ralph,

he is fair to look on, and peradventure he may be as wise as Blaise, as

valiant as Hugh, and as smooth-tongued as Gregory; but of all this we

know little or nothing, whereas he is but young and untried. Yet may

he do better than you others, and I deem that he will do so. All

things considered, then, I say, I know not how to choose between you,

my sons; so let luck choose for me, and ye shall draw cuts for your

roads; and he that draweth longest shall go north, and the next longest

shall go east, and the third straw shall send the drawer west; but as

to him who draweth the shortest cut, he shall go no whither but back

again to my house, there to abide with me the chances and changes of

life; and it is most like that this one shall sit in my chair when I am

gone, and be called King of Upmeads.

"Now, my sons, doth this ordinance please you? For if so be it doth

not, then may ye all abide at home, and eat of my meat, and drink of my

cup, but little chided either for sloth or misdoing, even as it hath

been aforetime."

The young men looked at one another, and Blaise answered and said:

"Sir, as for me I say we will do after your commandment, to take what

road luck may show us, or to turn back home again." They all yeasaid

this one after the other; and then King Peter said: "Now before I draw

the cuts, I shall tell you that I have appointed the squires to go with

each one of you. Richard the Red shall go with Blaise; for though he

be somewhat stricken in years, and wise, yet is he a fierce carle and a

doughty, and knoweth well all feats of arms.

"Lancelot Longtongue shall be squire to Hugh; for he is good of seeming

and can compass all courtesy, and knoweth logic (though it be of the

law and not of the schools), yet is he a proper man of his hands; as

needs must he be who followeth Hugh; for where is Hugh, there is

trouble and debate.

"Clement the Black shall serve Gregory: for he is a careful carle, and

speaketh one word to every ten deeds that he doeth; whether they be

done with point and edge, or with the hammer in the smithy.

"Lastly, I have none left to follow thee, Ralph, save Nicholas

Longshanks; but though he hath more words than I have, yet hath he more

wisdom, and is a man lettered and far-travelled, and loveth our house

right well.

"How say ye, sons, is this to your liking?"

They all said "yea." Then quoth the king; "Nicholas, bring hither the

straws ready dight, and I will give them my sons to draw."

So each young man came up in turn and drew; and King Peter laid the

straws together and looked at them, and said:

"Thus it is, Hugh goeth north with Lancelot, Gregory westward with

Clement." He stayed a moment and then said: "Blaise fareth eastward

and Richard with him. As for thee, Ralph my dear son, thou shalt back

with me and abide in my house and I shall see thee day by day; and thou

shalt help me to live my last years happily in all honour; and thy love

shall be my hope, and thy valiancy my stay."

Therewith he arose and threw his arm about the young man's neck; but he

shrank away a little from his father, and his face grew troubled; and

King Peter noted that, and his countenance fell, and he said:

"Nay nay, my son; grudge not thy brethren the chances of the road, and

the ill-hap of the battle. Here at least for thee is the bounteous

board and the full cup, and the love of kindred and well-willers, and

the fellowship of the folk. O well is thee, my son, and happy shalt

thou be!"

But the young man knit his brows and said no word in answer.

Then came forward those three brethren who were to fare at all

adventure, and they stood before the old man saying nought. Then he

laughed and said: "O ho, my sons! Here in Upmeads have ye all ye need

without money, but when ye fare in the outlands ye need money; is it

not a lack of yours that your pouches be bare? Abide, for I have seen

to it."

Therewith he drew out of his pouch three little bags, and said; "Take

ye each one of these; for therein is all that my treasury may shed as

now. In each of these is there coined money, both white and red, and

some deal of gold uncoined, and of rings and brooches a few, and by

estimation there is in each bag the same value reckoned in lawful

silver of Upmeads and the Wolds and the Overhill-Countries. Take up

each what there is, and do the best ye may therewith."

Then each took his bag, and kissed and embraced his father; and they

kissed Ralph and each other, and so got to horse and departed with

their squires, going softly because of the hot sun. But Nicholas

slowly mounted his hackney and led Ralph's war-horse with him home

again to King Peter's House.

CHAPTER 2

Ralph Goeth Back Home to the High House

Ralph and King Peter walked slowly home together, and as they went King

Peter fell to telling of how in his young days he rode in the Wood

Debateable, and was belated there all alone, and happed upon men who

were outlaws and wolfheads, and feared for his life; but they treated

him kindly, and honoured him, and saw him safe on his way in the

morning. So that never thereafter would he be art and part with those

who hunted outlaws to slay them. "For," said he, "it is with these men

as with others, that they make prey of folk; yet these for the more

part prey on the rich, and the lawful prey on the poor. Otherwise it

is with these wolfheads as with lords and knights and franklins, that

as there be bad amongst them, so also there be good; and the good ones

I happed on, and so may another man."

Hereto paid Ralph little heed at that time, since he had heard the tale

and its morality before, and that more than once; and moreover his mind

was set upon his own matters and these was he pondering. Albeit

perchance the words abode with him. So came they to the House, and

Ralph's mother, who was a noble dame, and well-liking as for her years,

which were but little over fifty, stood in the hall-door to see which

of her sons should come back to her, and when she saw them coming

together, she went up to them, and cast her arms about Ralph and kissed

him and caressed him--being exceeding glad that it was he and not one

of the others who had returned to dwell with them; for he was her

best-beloved, as was little marvel, seeing that he was by far the

fairest and the most loving. But Ralph's face grew troubled again in

his mother's arms, for he loved her exceeding well; and forsooth he

loved the whole house and all that dwelt there, down to the turnspit

dogs in the chimney ingle, and the swallows that nested in the earthen

bottles, which when he was little he had seen his mother put up in the

eaves of the out-bowers: but now, love or no love, the spur was in his

side, and he must needs hasten as fate would have him. However, when

he had disentangled himself from his mother's caresses, he enforced

himself to keep a cheerful countenance, and upheld it the whole evening

through, and was by seeming merry at supper, and went to bed singing.

CHAPTER 3

Ralph Cometh to the Cheaping-Town

He slept in an upper chamber in a turret of the House, which chamber

was his own, and none might meddle with it. There the next day he

awoke in the dawning, and arose and clad himself, and took his wargear

and his sword and spear, and bore all away without doors to the side of

the Ford in that ingle of the river, and laid it for a while in a

little willow copse, so that no chance-comer might see it; then he went

back to the stable of the House and took his destrier from the stall

(it was a dapple-grey horse called Falcon, and was right good,) and

brought him down to the said willow copse, and tied him to a tree till

he had armed himself amongst the willows, whence he came forth

presently as brisk-looking and likely a man-at-arms as you might see on

a summer day. Then he clomb up into the saddle, and went his ways

splashing across the ford, before the sun had arisen, while the

throstle-cocks were yet amidst their first song.

Then he rode on a little trot south away; and by then the sun was up he

was without the bounds of Upmeads; albeit in the land thereabout dwelt

none who were not friends to King Peter and his sons: and that was

well, for now were folk stirring and were abroad in the fields; as a

band of carles going with their scythes to the hay-field; or a maiden

with her milking-pails going to her kine, barefoot through the seeding

grass; or a company of noisy little lads on their way to the nearest

pool of the stream that they might bathe in the warm morning after the

warm night. All these and more knew him and his armour and Falcon his

horse, and gave him the sele of the day, and he was nowise troubled at

meeting them; for besides that they thought it no wonder to meet one of

the lords of Upmeads going armed about his errands, their own errands

were close at home, and it was little likely that they should go that

day so far as to Upmeads Water, seeing that it ran through the meadows

a half-score miles to the north-ward.

So Ralph rode on, and came into the high road, that led one way back

again into Upmeads, and crossed the Water by a fair bridge late builded

between King Peter and a house of Canons on the north side, and the

other way into a good cheaping-town hight Wulstead, beyond which Ralph

knew little of the world which lay to the south, and seemed to him a

wondrous place, full of fair things and marvellous adventures.

So he rode till he came into the town when the fair morning was still

young, the first mass over, and maids gathered about the fountain

amidst the market-place, and two or three dames sitting under the

buttercross. Ralph rode straight up to the house of a man whom he

knew, and had often given him guesting there, and he himself was not

seldom seen in the High House of Upmeads. This man was a merchant, who

went and came betwixt men's houses, and bought and sold many things

needful and pleasant to folk, and King Peter dealt with him much and

often. Now he stood in the door of his house, which was new and

goodly, sniffing the sweet scents which the morning wind bore into the

town; he was clad in a goodly long gown of grey welted with silver, of

thin cloth meet for the summer-tide: for little he wrought with his

hands, but much with his tongue; he was a man of forty summers,

ruddy-faced and black-bearded, and he was called Clement Chapman.

When he saw Ralph he smiled kindly on him, and came and held his

stirrup as he lighted down, and said: "Welcome, lord! Art thou come

to give me a message, and eat and drink in a poor huckster's house, and

thou armed so gallantly?"

Ralph laughed merrily, for he was hungry, and he said: "Yea, I will eat

and drink with thee and kiss my gossip, and go my ways."

Therewith the carle led him into the house; and if it were goodly

without, within it was better. For there was a fair chamber panelled

with wainscot well carven, and a cupboard of no sorry vessels of silver

and latten: the chairs and stools as fair as might be; no king's might

be better: the windows were glazed, and there were flowers and knots

and posies in them; and the bed was hung with goodly web from over sea

such as the soldan useth. Also, whereas the chapman's ware-bowers were

hard by the chamber, there was a pleasant mingled smell therefrom

floating about. The table was set with meat and drink and vessel of

pewter and earth, all fair and good; and thereby stood the chapman's

wife, a very goodly woman of two-score years, who had held Ralph at the

font when she was a slim damsel new wedded; for she was come of no mean

kindred of the Kingdom of Upmeads: her name was Dame Katherine.

Now she kissed Ralph's cheek friendly, and said: "Welcome, gossip! thou

art here in good time to break thy fast; and we will give thee a trim

dinner thereafter, when thou hast been here and there in the town and

done thine errand; and then shalt thou drink a cup and sing me a song,

and so home again in the cool of the evening."

Ralph seemed a little troubled at her word, and he said: "Nay, gossip,

though I thank thee for all these good things as though I had them, yet

must I ride away south straightway after I have breakfasted, and said

one word to the goodman. Goodman, how call ye the next town southward,

and how far is it thither?"

Quoth Clement: "My son, what hast thou to do with riding south? As

thou wottest, going hence south ye must presently ride the

hill-country; and that is no safe journey for a lonely man, even if he

be a doughty knight like to thee, lord."

Said Ralph, reddening withal: "I have an errand that way."

"An errand of King Peter's or thine own?" said Clement.

"Of King Peter's, if ye must wot," said Ralph.

Clement were no chapman had he not seen that the lad was lying; so he

said:

"Fair lord, saving your worship, how would it be as to the speeding of

King Peter's errand, if I brought thee before our mayor, and swore the

peace against thee; so that I might keep thee in courteous prison till

I had sent to thy father of thy whereabouts?"

The young man turned red with anger; but ere he could speak Dame

Katherine said sharply: "Hold thy peace, Clement! What hast thou to

meddle or make in the matter? If our young lord hath will to ride out

and see the world, why should we let him? Yea, why should his father

let him, if it come to that? Take my word for it that my gossip shall

go through the world and come back to those that love him, as goodly as

he went forth. And hold! here is for a token thereof."

Therewith she went to an ark that stood in the corner, and groped in

the till thereof and brought out a little necklace of blue and green

stones with gold knobs betwixt, like a pair of beads; albeit neither

pope nor priest had blessed them; and tied to the necklace was a little

box of gold with something hidden therein. This gaud she gave to

Ralph, and said to him: "Gossip, wear this about thy neck, and let no

man take it from thee, and I think it will be salvation to thee in

peril, and good luck to thee in the time of questing; so that it shall

be to thee as if thou hadst drunk of the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

"What is that water?" said Ralph, "and how may I find it?"

"I know not rightly," she said, "but if a body might come by it, I hear

say it saveth from weariness and wounding and sickness; and it winneth

love from all, and maybe life everlasting. Hast thou not heard tell of

it, my husband?"

"Yea," said the chapman, "many times; and how that whoso hath drunk

thereof hath the tongue that none may withstand, whether in buying or

selling, or prevailing over the hearts of men in any wise. But as for

its wherabouts, ye shall not find it in these parts. Men say that it

is beyond the Dry Tree; and that is afar, God wot! But now, lord

Ralph, I rede thee go back again this evening with Andrew, my nephew,

for company: forsooth, he will do little less gainful than riding with

thee to Upmeads than if he abide in Wulstead; for he is idle. But, my

lord, take it not amiss that I spake about the mayor and the tipstaves;

for it was but a jest, as thou mayest well wot."

Ralph's face cleared at that word, and he stood smiling, weighing the

chaplet in his hand; but Dame Katherine said:

"Dear gossip, do it on speedily; for it is a gift from me unto thee:

and from a gossip even king's sons may take a gift."

Quoth Ralph: "But is it lawful to wear it? is there no wizardry within

it?"

"Hearken to him!" she said, "and how like unto a man he speaketh; if

there were a brawl in the street, he would strike in and ask no word

thereof, not even which were the better side: whereas here is my

falcon-chick frighted at a little gold box and a pair of Saracen beads."

"Well," quoth Ralph, "the first holy man I meet shall bless them for

me."

"That shall he not," said the dame, "that shall he not. Who wotteth

what shall betide to thee or me if he do so? Come, do them on, and

then to table! For seest thou not that the goodman is wearying for

meat? and even thine eyes will shine the brighter for a mouthful,

king's son and gossip."

She took him by the hand and did the beads on his neck and kissed and

fondled him before he sat down, while the goodman looked on, grinning

rather sheepishly, but said nought to them; and only called on his boy

to lead the destrier to stable. So when they were set down, the

chapman took up the word where it had been dropped, and said: "So,

Lord Ralph, thou must needs take to adventures, being, as thou deemest,

full grown. That is all one as the duck taketh to water despite of the

hen that hath hatched her. Well, it was not to be thought that Upmeads

would hold you lords much longer. Or what is gone with my lords your

brethren?"

Said Ralph: "They have departed at all adventure, north, east, and

west, each bearing our father's blessing and a bag of pennies. And to

speak the truth, goodman, for I perceive I am no doctor at lying, my

father and mother would have me stay at home when my brethren were

gone, and that liketh me not; therefore am I come out to seek my luck

in the world: for Upmeads is good for a star-gazer, maybe, or a

simpler, or a priest, or a worthy good carle of the fields, but not for

a king's son with the blood running hot in his veins. Or what sayest

thou, gossip?"

Quoth the dame: "I could weep for thy mother; but for thee nought at

all. It is good that thou shouldest do thy will in the season of youth

and the days of thy pleasure. Yea, and I deem that thou shalt come

back again great and worshipful; and I am called somewhat foreseeing.

Only look to it that thou keep the pretty thing that I have just given

thee."

"Well," said the chapman, "this is fine talk about pleasure and the

doing of one's will; nevertheless a whole skin is good wares, though it

be not to be cheapened in any market of the world. Now, lord, go thou

where thou wilt, whether I say go or abide; and forsooth I am no man of

King Peter's, that I should stay thee. As for the name of the next

town, it is called Higham-on-the-Way, and is a big town plenteous of

victuals, with strong walls and a castle, and a very rich abbey of

monks: and there is peace within its walls, because the father abbot

wages a many men to guard him and his, and to uphold his rights against

all comers; wherein he doth wisely, and also well. For much folk

flocketh to his town and live well therein; and there is great recourse

of chapmen thither. No better market is there betwixt this and

Babylon. Well, Sir Ralph, I rede thee if thou comest unhurt to

Higham-on-the-Way, go no further for this time, but take service with

the lord abbot, and be one of his men of war; thou may'st then become

his captain if thou shouldest live; which would be no bad adventure for

one who cometh from Upmeads."

Ralph looked no brighter for this word, and he answered nought to it:

but said presently:

"And what is to be looked for beyond Higham if one goeth further? Dost

thou know the land any further?"

The carle smiled: "Yea forsooth, and down to the Wood Perilous, and

beyond it, and the lands beyond the Wood; and far away through them. I

say not that I have been to the Dry Tree; but I have spoken to one who

hath heard of him who hath seen it; though he might not come by a

draught of the Well at the World's End."

Ralph's eyes flashed, and his cheeks reddened as he listened hereto;

but he spake quietly:

"Master Clement, how far dost thou make it to Higham-on-the-Way?"

"A matter of forty miles," said the Chapman; "because, as thou wottest,

if ye ride south from hence, ye shall presently bring your nose up

against the big downs, and must needs climb them at once; and when ye

are at the top of Bear Hill, and look south away ye shall see nought

but downs on downs with never a road to call a road, and never a

castle, or church, or homestead: nought but some shepherd's hut; or at

the most the little house of a holy man with a little chapel thereby in

some swelly of the chalk, where the water hath trickled into a pool;

for otherwise the place is waterless." Therewith he took a long pull at

the tankard by his side, and went on:

"Higham is beyond all that, and out into the fertile plain; and a

little river hight Coldlake windeth about the meadows there; and it is

a fair land; though look you the wool of the downs is good, good, good!

I have foison of this year's fleeces with me. Ye shall raise none such

in Upmeads."

Ralph sat silent a little, as if pondering, and then he started up and

said: "Good master Clement, we have eaten thy meat and thank thee for

that and other matters. Wilt thou now be kinder, and bid thy boy bring

round Falcon our horse; for we have far to go, and must begone

straight-away."

"Yea, lord," said Clement, "even so will I do." And he muttered under

his breath; "Thou talkest big, my lad, with thy 'we'; but thou art

pressed lest Nicholas be here presently to fetch thee back; and to say

sooth I would his hand were on thy shoulder even now."

Then he spake aloud again, and said:

"I must now begone to my lads, and I will send one round with thy

war-horse. But take my rede, my lord, and become the man of the Abbot

of St. Mary's of Higham, and all will be well."

Therewith he edged himself out of the chamber, and the dame fell to

making a mighty clatter with the vessel and trenchers and cups on the

board, while Ralph walked up and down the chamber his war-gear jingling

upon him. Presently the dame left her table-clatter and came up to

Ralph and looked kindly into his face and said: "Gossip, hast thou

perchance any money?"

He flushed up red, and then his face fell; yet he spake gaily: "Yea,

gossip, I have both white and red: there are three golden crowns in my

pouch, and a little flock of silver pennies: forsooth I say not as many

as would reach from here to Upmeads, if they were laid one after the

other."

She smiled and patted his cheek, and said:

"Thou art no very prudent child, king's son. But it comes into my mind

that my master did not mean thee to go away empty-handed; else had he

not departed and left us twain together."

Therewith she went to the credence that stood in a corner, and opened a

drawer therein and took out a little bag, and gave it into Ralph's

hand, and said: "This is the gift of the gossip; and thou mayst take

it without shame; all the more because if thy father had been a worser

man, and a harder lord he would have had more to give thee. But now

thou hast as much or more as any one of thy brethren."

He took the bag smiling and shame-faced, but she looked on him fondly

and said:

"Now I know not whether I shall lay old Nicholas on thine heels when he

cometh after thee, as come he will full surely; or whether I shall

suffer the old sleuth-hound nose out thy slot of himself, as full

surely he will set on to it."

"Thou mightest tell him," said Ralph, "that I am gone to take service

with the Abbot of St. Mary's of Higham: hah?"

She laughed and said: "Wilt thou do so, lord, and follow the rede of

that goodman of mine, who thinketh himself as wise as Solomon?"

Ralph smiled and answered her nothing.

"Well," she said, "I shall say what likes me when the hour is at hand.

Lo, here! thine horse. Abide yet a moment of time, and then go whither

thou needs must, like the wind of the summer day."

Therewith she went out of the chamber and came back again with a scrip

which she gave to Ralph and said: "Herein is a flask of drink for the

waterless country, and a little meat for the way. Fare thee well,

gossip! Little did I look for it when I rose up this morning and

nothing irked me save the dulness of our town, and the littleness of

men's doings therein, that I should have to cut off a piece of my life

from me this morning, and say, farewell gossip, as now again I do."

Therewith she kissed him on either cheek and embraced him; and it might

be said of her and him that she let him go thereafter; for though as

aforesaid he loved her, and praised her kindness, he scarce understood

the eagerness of her love for him; whereas moreover she saw him not so

often betwixt Upmeads and Wulstead: and belike she herself scarce

understood it. Albeit she was a childless woman.

So when he had got to horse, she watched him riding a moment, and saw

how he waved his hand to her as he turned the corner of the

market-place, and how a knot of lads and lasses stood staring on him

after she lost sight of him. Then she turned her back into the chamber

and laid her head on the table and wept. Then came in the goodman

quietly and stood by her and she heeded him not. He stood grinning

curiously on her awhile, and then laid his hand on her shoulder, and

said as she raised her face to him:

"Sweetheart, it availeth nought; when thou wert young and exceeding

fair, he was but a little babe, and thou wert looking in those days to

have babes of thine own; and then it was too soon: and now that he is

such a beauteous young man, and a king's son withal, and thou art

wedded to a careful carle of no weak heart, and thou thyself art more

than two-score years old, it is too late. Yet thou didst well to give

our lord the money. Lo! here is wherewithal to fill up the lack in thy

chest; and here is a toy for thee in place of the pair of beads thou

gavest him; and I bid thee look on it as if I had given him my share of

the money and the beads."

She turned to Clement, and took the bag of money, and the chaplet which

he held out to her, and she said: "God wot thou art no ill man, my

husband, but would God I had a son like to him!"

She still wept somewhat; but the chapman said: "Let it rest there,

sweetheart! let it rest there! It may be a year or twain before thou

seest him again: and then belike he shall be come back with some woman

whom he loves better than any other; and who knows but in a way he may

deem himself our son. Meanwhile thou hast done well, sweetheart, so be

glad."

Therewith he kissed her and went his ways to his merchandize, and she

to the ordering of her house, grieved but not unhappy.

CHAPTER 4

Ralph Rideth the Downs

As for Ralph, he rode on with a merry heart, and presently came to an

end of the plain country, and the great downs rose up before him with a

white road winding up to the top of them. Just before the slopes began

to rise was a little thorp beside a stream, and thereby a fair church

and a little house of Canons: so Ralph rode toward the church to see if

therein were an altar of St. Nicholas, who was his good lord and

patron, that he might ask of him a blessing on his journey. But as he

came up to the churchyard-gate he saw a great black horse tied thereto

as if abiding some one; and as he lighted down from his saddle he saw a

man coming hastily from out the church-door and striding swiftly toward

the said gate. He was a big man, and armed; for he had a bright steel

sallet on his head, which covered his face all save the end of his

chin; and plates he had on his legs and arms. He wore a green coat

over his armour, and thereon was wrought in gold an image of a tree

leafless: he had a little steel axe about his neck, and a great sword

hung by his side. Ralph stood looking on him with his hand on the

latch of the gate, but when the man came thereto he tore it open

roughly and shoved through at once, driving Ralph back, so that he

well-nigh overset him, and so sprang to his horse and swung himself

into the saddle, just as Ralph steadied himself and ruffled up to him,

half drawing his sword from the scabbard the while. But the

man-at-arms cried out, "Put it back, put it back! If thou must needs

deal with every man that shoveth thee in his haste, thy life is like to

be but short."

He was settling himself in his saddle as he spoke, and now he shook his

rein, and rode off speedily toward the hill-road. But when he was so

far off that Ralph might but see his face but as a piece of reddish

colour, he reined up for a moment of time, and turning round in his

saddle lifted up his sallet and left his face bare, and cried out as if

to Ralph, "The first time!" And then let the head-piece fall again, and

set spurs to his horse and gallopped away.

Ralph stood looking at him as he got smaller on the long white road,

and wondering what this might mean, and how the unknown man should know

him, if he did know him. But presently he let his wonder run off him,

and went his ways into the church, wherein he found his good lord and

friend St. Nicholas, and so said a paternoster before his altar, and

besought his help, and made his offering; and then departed and gat to

horse again, and rode softly the way to the downs, for the day was hot.

The way was steep and winding, with a hollow cup of the hills below it,

and above it a bent so steep that Ralph could see but a few yards of it

on his left hand; but when he came to the hill's brow and could look

down on the said bent, he saw strange figures on the face thereof, done

by cutting away the turf so that the chalk might show clear. A tree

with leaves was done on that hill-side, and on either hand of it a

beast like a bear ramping up against the tree; and these signs were

very ancient. This hill-side carving could not be seen from the thorp

beneath, which was called Netherton, because the bent looked westward

down into the hollow of the hill abovesaid; but from nigher to Wulstead

they were clear to see, and Ralph had often beheld them, but never so

nigh: and that hill was called after them Bear Hill. At the top of it

was an earth-work of the ancient folk, which also was called Bear

Castle. And now Ralph rode over the hill's brow into it; for the walls

had been beaten down in places long and long ago.

Now he rode up the wall, and at the topmost of it turned and looked

aback on the blue country which he had ridden through stretching many a

league below, and tried if he could pick out Upmeads from amongst the

diverse wealth of the summer land: but Upmeads Water was hidden, and he

could see nothing to be sure of to tell him whereabouts the High House

stood; yet he deemed that he could make out the Debateable Wood and the

hills behind it well enough. Then he turned his horse about, and had

the down-country before him; long lines of hills to wit, one rising

behind the other like the waves of a somewhat quiet sea: no trees

thereon, nor houses that he might see thence: nought but a green road

that went waving up and down before him greener than the main face of

the slopes.

He looked at it all for a minute or two as the south-west wind went

past his ears, and played a strange tune on the innumerable stems of

the bents and the hard-stalked blossoms, to which the bees sang

counterpoint. Then the heart arose within him, and he drew the sword

from the scabbard, and waved it about his head, and shook it toward the

south, and cried out, "Now, welcome world, and be thou blessed from one

end to the other, from the ocean sea to the uttermost mountains!"

A while he held the white steel in his fist, and then sheathed the

blade, and rode down soberly over the turf bridge across the ancient

fosse, and so came on to the green road made many ages before by an

ancient people, and so trotted south along fair and softly.

Little is to be told of his journey through the downs: as he topped a

low hill whereon were seven grave-mounds of the ancient folk in a row,

he came on a shepherd lying amidst of his sheep: the man sprang to his

feet when he heard horse-hoofs anigh him and saw the glint of steel,

and he set his hand to a short spear which lay by him; but when he saw

nought but Ralph, and heard how he gave him the sele of the day, he

nodded his head in a friendly way, though he said nought in salutation;

for the loneliness of the downs made the speech slow within him.

Again some two miles further on Ralph met a flock of sheep coming down

a bent which the road climbed, and with them were three men, their

drovers, and they drew nigh him as he was amidst of the sheep, so that

he could scarce see the way. Each of these three had a weapon; one a

pole-axe, another a long spear, and the third a flail jointed and bound

with iron, and an anlace hanging at his girdle. So they stood in the

way and hailed him when the sheep were gone past; and the man with the

spear asked him whither away. "I am turned toward Higham-on-the-Way,"

quoth he; "and how many miles shall I ride ere I get there?"

Said one of them: "Little less than twenty, lord." Now it was past

noon two hours, and the day was hot; so whereas the faces of the men

looked kind and friendly, albeit somewhat rugged, he lighted down from

his horse and sat down by the way-side, and drew his bottle of good

wine from out of his wallet, and asked the men if they were in haste.

"Nay, master," said he of the pole-axe, while all eyes turned to the

bottle, "HE has gone by too long; and will neither meddle with us, nor

may we deal with him."

"Well then," quoth Ralph, "there is time for bever. Have ye ought of a

cup, that we may drink to each other?"

"Yea," said the carle with the anlace, "that have I." Therewith he drew

from his pouch a ram's horn rimmed with silver, and held it up, and

said as if he were speaking to it: "Now, Thirly, rejoice! for ye shall

have lord's wine poured into thy maw."

Therewith he held it out toward Ralph, who laughed and filled it up,

and filled for himself a little silver cup which he carried, and said:

"To you, shepherds! Much wool and little cry!" And he drank withal.

"And I," quoth the man with the horn, "call this health; Much cry and

little wool!"

"Well, well, how mean ye by that, Greasy Wat?" said the man with the

spear, taking the horn as he spake; "that is but a poor wish for a lord

that drinketh out of our cup."

Said Wat: "Why, neighbour, why! thy wit is none too hasty. The wool

that a knight sheareth is war and battle; that is wounding and death;

but the cry is the talk and boasting and minstrelsy that goeth before

all this. Which is the best wish to wish him? the wounds and the

death, or the fore-rumour and stir thereof which hurteth no man?"

Ralph laughed thereat, and was merry and blithe with them; but the

spearman, who was an old man, said:

"For all Wat sayeth, lord, and his japes, ye must not misdeem of us

that we shepherds of the Downs can do nought but run to ales and

feasts, and that we are but pot-valiant: maybe thou thyself mayst live

to see things go otherwise: and in that day may we have such as thee

for captain. Now, fair lord, I drink to thy crown of valour, and thy

good luck; and we thank thee for the wine and yet more for the blithe

fellowship."

So Ralph filled up the ram's horn till Dame Katherine's good island

wine was well-nigh spent; and at last he said:

"Now, my masters, I must to horse; but I pray you tell or we depart,

what did ye mean when ye said that HE had gone past? Who is HE?"

The merry faces of the men changed at his word, and they looked in each

other's faces, till at last the old spearman answered him:

"Fair lord, these things we have little will to talk about: for we be

poor men with no master to fleece us, and no lord to help us: also we

be folk unlearned and unlettered, and from our way of life, whereas we

dwell in the wilderness, we seldom come within the doors of a church.

But whereas we have drunk with thee, who seemest to be a man of

lineage, and thou hast been blithe with us, we will tell thee that we

have seen one riding south along the Greenway, clad in a coat as green

as the way, with the leafless tree done on his breast. So nigh to him

we were that we heard his cry as he sped along, as ye may hear the

lapwing whining; for he said: 'POINT AND EDGE, POINT AND EDGE! THE RED

WATER AMIDST OF THE HILLS!' In my lifetime such a man hath, to my

knowledge, been seen thrice before; and after each sight of him

followed evil days and the death of men. Moreover this is the Eve of

St. John, and we deem the token the worse therefor. Or how deemest

thou?"

Ralph stood silent awhile; for he was thinking of the big man whom he

had met at the churchyard gate, and all this tale seemed wonderful to

him. But at last he said:

"I cannot tell what there is in it; herein am I no help to you. To-day

I am but little; though I may one day be great. Yet this may I do for

you; tomorrow will I let sing a mass in St. Mary's Church on your

behoof. And hereafter, if I wax as my will is, and I come to be lord

in these lands, I will look to it to do what a good lord should do for

the shepherds of the Downs, so that they may live well, and die in good

hope. So may the Mother of God help me at need!"

Said the old shepherd: "Thou hast sworn an oath, and it is a good

oath, and well sworn. Now if thou dost as thou swearest, words can but

little thanks, yet deeds may. Wherefore if ever thou comest back

hither, and art in such need that a throng of men may help thee

therein; then let light a great fire upon each corner of the topmost

wall of Bear Castle, and call to mind this watch-word: 'SMITE ASIDE THE

AXE, O BEAR-FATHER,' and then shalt thou see what shall betide thee for

thy good-hap: farewell now, with the saints to aid!"

Ralph bade them live well and hail, and mounted his horse and rode off

down the Greenway, and as he rode the shepherds waved their weapons to

him in token of good-will.

CHAPTER 5

Ralph Cometh to Higham-on-the-Way

Nought more befell Ralph to tell of till he came to the end of the

Downs and saw Higham lying below him overlooked by a white castle on a

knoll, and with a river lapping it about and winding on through its

fair green meadows even as Clement had told. From amidst its houses

rose up three towers of churches above their leaden roofs, and high

above all, long and great, the Abbey Church; and now was the low sun

glittering on its gilded vanes and the wings of the angels high upon

the battlements.

So Ralph rode down the slopes and was brisk about it, for it was

drawing toward sunset, and he knew not at what hour they shut their

gates. The road was steep and winding, and it was the more part of an

hour ere he came to the gate, which was open, and like to be yet, for

many folk were thronging in, which throng also had hindered him soon

after he came into the plain country. The gate was fair and strong,

but Ralph saw no men-at-arms about it that evening. He rode into the

street unquestioned, and therein was the throng great of people clad in

fair and gay attire; and presently Ralph called to mind that this was

St. John's Eve, so that he knew that there was some feast toward.

At last the throng was so thick that he was stayed by it; and

therewithal a religious who was beside him and thrust up against his

horse, turned to him and gave him good even, and said: "By thy weapons

and gear thou art a stranger here in our burg, Sir Knight?"

"So it is," said Ralph.

"And whither away?" said the monk; "hast thou some kinsman or friend in

the town?"

"Nay," said Ralph, "I seek a good hostelry where I may abide the night

for my money."

The monk shook his head and said: "See ye the folk? It is holiday

time, and midsummer after haysel. Ye shall scarce get lodging outside

our house. But what then? Come thou thither straightway and have

harbour of the best, and see our prior, who loveth young and brisk

men-at-arms like to thee. Lo now! the throng openeth a little; I will

walk by thy bridle and lead thee the shortest road thither."

Ralph gainsaid him not, and they bored through the throng of the street

till they came into the market-square, which was very great and clean,

paved with stones all over: tall and fair houses rose up on three

sides of it, and on the fourth was the Great Church which made those

houses seem but low: most of it was new-built; for the lord Abbot that

then was, though he had not begun it, had taken the work up from his

forerunner and had pushed it forward all he might; for he was very

rich, and an open-handed man. Like dark gold it showed under the

evening sun, and the painted and gilded imagery shone like jewels upon

it.

"Yea," said the monk, as he noted Ralph's wonder at this wonder; "a

most goodly house it is, and happy shall they be that dwell there."

Therewith he led Ralph on, turning aside through the great square.

Ralph saw that there were many folk therein, though it was too big to

be thronged thick with them. Amidst of it was now a great pile of wood

hung about with flowers, and hard by it a stage built up with hangings

of rich cloth on one side thereof. He asked the monk what this might

mean, and he told him the wood was for the Midsummer bale-fire, and the

stage for the show that should come thereafter. So the brother led

Ralph down a lane to the south of the great west door, and along the

side of the minster and so came to the Abbey gate, and there was Ralph

well greeted, and had all things given him which were due to a good

knight; and then was he brought into the Guest-hall, a very fair

chamber, which was now full of men of all degrees. He was shown to a

seat on the dais within two of the subprior's, and beside him sat an

honourable lord, a vassal of St. Mary's. So was supper served well and

abundantly: the meat and drink was of the best, and the vessel and all

the plenishing was as good as might be; and the walls of that chamber

were hung with noble arras-cloth picturing the Pilgrimage of the Soul

of Man.

Every man there who spoke with Ralph, and they were many, was exceeding

courteous to him; and he heard much talk about him of the wealth of the

lands of St. Mary's at Higham, and how it was flourishing; and of the

Abbot how mighty he was, so that he might do what he would, and that

his will was to help and to give, and be blithe with all men: and folk

told of turmoil and war in other lands, and praised the peace of

Higham-on-the-Way.

Ralph listened to all this, and smiled, and said to himself that to

another man this might well be the end of his journey for that time;

but for him all this peace and well-being was not enough; for though it

were a richer land than Upmeads, yet to the peace and the quiet he was

well used, and he had come forth not for the winning of fatter peace,

but to try what new thing his youth and his might and his high hope and

his good hap might accomplish.

So when the supper was over, and the wine and spices had been brought,

the Guest-hall began to thin somewhat, and the brother who had brought

Ralph thither came to him and said:

"Fair lord, it were nowise ill if ye went forth, as others of our

guests have done, to see the deeds of Midsummer Eve that shall be done

in the great square in honour of Holy John; for our manner therein at

Higham has been much thought of. Look my son!"

He pointed to the windows of the hall therewith, and lo! they grew

yellow and bright with some fire without, as if a new fiery day had

been born out of the dusk of the summer night; for the light that shone

through the windows out-did the candle-light in the hall. Ralph

started thereat and laid his right hand to the place of his sword,

which indeed he had left with the chamberlain; but the monk laughed and

said: "Fear nothing, lord; there is no foeman in Higham: come now,

lest thou be belated of the show."

So he led Ralph forth, and into the square, where there was a space

appointed for the brethren and their guests to see the plays; and the

square was now so full of folk that it seemed like as if that there

were no one man in the streets which were erewhile so thronged.

There were rows of men-at-arms in bright armour also to keep the folk

in their places, like as hurdles pen the sheep up; howbeit they were

nowise rough with folk, but humble and courteous. Many and many were

the torches and cressets burning steadily in the calm air, so that, as

aforesaid, night was turned into day. But on the scaffold aforesaid

were standing bright and gay figures, whose names or what they were

Ralph had no time to ask.

Now the bells began to clash from the great tower of the minster, and

in a little while they had clashed themselves into order and rang clear

and tuneably for a space; and while they were ringing, lo! those

gay-clad people departed from the scaffold, and a canvas painted like a

mountain-side, rocky and with caves therein, was drawn up at the back

of it. Then came thereon one clad like a king holding a fair maiden by

the hand, and with him was a dame richly clad and with a crown on her

head. So these two kissed the maiden, and lamented over her, and went

their ways, and the maiden left alone sat down upon a rock and covered

up her face and wept; and while Ralph wondered what this might mean, or

what grieved the maiden, there came creeping, as it were from out of a

cranny of the rocks, a worm huge-headed and covered over with scales

that glittered in the torch-light. Then Ralph sprang up in his place,

for he feared for the maiden that the worm would devour her: but the

monk who sat by him pulled him down by the skirt, and laughed and said:

"Sit still, lord! for the champion also has been provided."

Then Ralph sat down again somewhat abashed and looked on; yet was his

heart in his mouth the while. And so while the maiden stood as one

astonied before the worm, who gaped upon her with wide open mouth,

there came forth from a cleft in the rocks a goodly knight who bore

silver, a red cross; and he had his sword in his hand, and he fell upon

the worm to smite him; and the worm ramped up against him, and there

was battle betwixt them, while the maiden knelt anigh with her hands

clasped together.

Then Ralph knew that this was a play of the fight of St. George with

the worm; so he sat silent till the champion had smitten off the worm's

head and had come to the maiden and kissed and embraced her, and shown

her the grisly head. Then presently came many folk on to the scaffold,

to wit, the king and queen who were the father and mother of the

maiden, and a bishop clad in very fair vestments, and knights withal;

and they stood about St. George and the maiden, and with them were

minstrels who fell to playing upon harps and fiddles; while other some

fell to singing a sweet song in honour of St. George, and the maiden

delivered.

So when it was all done, the monk said: "This play is set forth by the

men-at-arms of our lord Abbot, who have great devotion toward St.

George, and he is their friend and their good lord. But hereafter will

be other plays, of wild men and their feasting in the woods in the

Golden Age of the world; and that is done by the scribes and the

limners. And after that will be a pageant of St. Agnes ordered by the

clothiers and the webbers, which be both many and deft in this good

town. Albeit thou art a young man and hast ridden far to-day belike,

and mayhappen thou wilt not be able to endure it: so it may be well to

bring thee out of this throng straightway. Moreover I have bethought

me, that there is much of what is presently to come which we shall see

better from the minster roof, or even it may be from the tower: wilt

thou come then?"

Ralph had liefer have sat there and seen all the plays to the end, for

they seemed to him exceeding fair, and like to ravish the soul from the

body; howbeit, being shamefaced, he knew not how to gainsay the

brother, who took him by the hand, and led him through the press to the

west front of the minster, where on the north side was a little door in

a nook. So they went up a stair therein a good way till they came into

a gallery over the western door; and looking forth thence Ralph deemed

that he could have seen a long way had daylight been, for it was higher

than the tops of the highest houses.

So there they abode a space looking down on the square and its throng,

and the bells, which had been ringing when they came up, now ceased a

while. But presently there arose great shouts and clamour amongst the

folk below, and they could see men with torches drawing near to the

pile of wood, and then all of a sudden shot up from it a great spiring

flame, and all the people shouted together, while the bells broke out

again over their heads.

Then the brother pointed aloof with his finger and said: "Lo you! fair

lord, how bale speaks to bale all along the headlands of the

down-country, and below there in the thorps by the river!"

Forsooth Ralph saw fire after fire break out to the westward; and the

brother said: "And if we stood over the high altar and looked east, ye

would see more of such fires and many more; and all these bales are

piled up and lighted by vassals and villeins of my lord Abbot: now

to-night they are but mere Midsummer bale-fires; but doubt ye not that

if there came war into the land each one of these bales would mean at

least a half-score of stout men, archers and men-at-arms, all ready to

serve their lord at all adventure. All this the tyrants round about,

that hate holy Church and oppress the poor, know full well; therefore

we live in peace in these lands."

Ralph hearkened, but said nought; for amidst all this flashing of fire

and flame, and the crying out of folk, and the measured clash of the

bells so near him, his thought was confused, and he had no words ready

to hand. But the monk turned from the parapet and looked him full in

the face and said to him:

"Thou art a fair young man, and strong, and of gentle blood as I deem;

and thou seemest to me to have the lucky look in thine eyes: now I tell

thee that if thou wert to take service with my lord thou shouldest

never rue it. Yea, why shouldest thou not wax in his service, and

become his Captain of Captains, which is an office meet for kings?"

Ralph looked on him, but answered nought, for he could not gather his

thoughts for an answer; and the brother said: "Think of it, I bid thee,

fair young lord; and be sure that nowhere shalt thou have a better

livelihood, not even wert thou a king's son; for the children of my

lord Abbot are such that none dareth to do them any displeasure;

neither is any overlord as good as is Holy Church."

"Yea," said Ralph, "doubtless thou sayest sooth; yet I wot not that I

am come forth to seek a master."

Said the brother: "Nay, do but see the lord Abbot, as thou mayst do

to-morrow, if thou wilt."

"I would have his blessing," said Ralph.

"No less shalt thou have," said the brother; "but look you down yonder;

for I can see tokens that my lord is even now coming forth."

Ralph looked down and beheld the folk parting to right and left, and a

lane made amidst the throng, guarded by men-at-arms mingled with the

cross-bearers and brethren; and the sound of trumpets blared forth over

the noises of the throng.

"If the lord Abbot cometh," said Ralph, "I were fain of his blessing

to-night before I sleep: so go we down straightway that I may kneel

before him with the rest."

"What!" said the monk, "Wilt thou, my lord, kneel amongst all these

burgesses and vavassors when thou mightest see the Abbot in his own

chamber face to face alone with him?"

"Father," said Ralph, "I am no great man, and I must needs depart

betimes to-morrow; for I perceive that here are things too mighty and

over-mastering for such as I be."

"Well," said the monk, "yet mayst thou come back again; so at present I

will make no more words about it."

So they went down, and came out amidst the throng, above which the bale

still flared high, making the summer night as light as day. The

brother made way for Ralph, so that they stood in the front row of

folk: they had not been there one minute ere they heard the sound of

the brethren singing, and the Abbot came forth out of the lane that

went down to the gate. Then all folk went down upon their knees, and

thus abode him. Right so Ralph deemed that he felt some one pull his

sleeve, but in such a throng that was nought of a wonder; howbeit, he

turned and looked to his left, whence came the tug, and saw kneeling

beside him a tall man-at-arms, who bore a sallet on his head in such

wise that it covered all his face save the point of his chin. Then

Ralph bethought him of the man of the leafless tree, and he looked to

see what armoury the man bore on his coat; but he had nothing save a

loose frock of white linen over his hauberk. Nevertheless, he heard a

voice in his ear, which said, "The second time!" whereon he deemed that

it was verily that same man: yet had he nought to do to lay hold on

him, and he might not speak with him, for even therewith came the Abbot

in garments all of gold, going a-foot under a canopy of baudekyn, with

the precious mitre on his head, and the crozier borne before him, as if

he had been a patriarch: for he was an exceeding mighty lord.

Ralph looked hard on him as he passed by, blessing the folk with

upraised hand; and he saw that he was a tall spare man, clean-shaven,

and thin-faced; but no old man, belike scarce of fifty winters. Ralph

caught his eye, and he smiled on the goodly young man so kindly, that

for a moment Ralph deemed that he would dwell in St. Mary's House for a

little while; for, thought he, if my father, or Nicholas, hear of me

therein, they must even let me alone to abide here.

Therewith the Abbot went forth to his place, and sat him down under a

goodly cloth of estate, and folk stood up again; but when Ralph looked

for the man in the sallet he could see nought of him. Now when the

Abbot was set down, men made a clear ring round about the bale, and

there came into the said ring twelve young men, each clad in nought

save a goat-skin, and with garlands of leaves and flowers about their

middles: they had with them a wheel done about with straw and hemp

payed with pitch and brimstone. They set fire to the same, and then

trundled it blazing round about the bale twelve times. Then came to

them twelve damsels clad in such-like guise as the young men: then

both bands, the young men and the maidens, drew near to the bale, which

was now burning low, and stood about it, and joined hands, and so

danced round it a while, and meantime the fiddles played an uncouth

tune merrily: then they sundered, and each couple of men and maids

leapt backward and forward over the fire; and when they had all leapt,

came forward men with buckets of water which they cast over the dancers

till it ran down them in streams. Then was all the throng mingled

together, and folk trod the embers of the bale under foot, and

scattered them hither and thither all over the square.

All this while men were going about with pitchers of wine and ale, and

other good drinks; and every man drank freely what he would, and there

was the greatest game and joyance.

But now was Ralph exceeding weary, and he said: "Father, mightest thou

lead me out of this throng, and show me some lair where I may sleep in

peace, I would thank thee blithely."

As he spake there sounded a great horn over the square, and the Abbot

rose in his place and blessed all the people once more. Then said the

monk:

"Come then, fair field-lord, now shalt thou have thy will of bed." And

he laughed therewith, and drew Ralph out of the throng and brought him

into the Abbey, and into a fair little chamber, on the wall whereof was

pictured St. Christopher, and St. Julian the lord and friend of

wayfarers. Then he brought Ralph the wine and spices, and gave him

good-night, and went his ways.

As Ralph put the raiment from off him he said to himself: a long day

forsooth, so long that I should have thought no day could have held all

that has befallen me. So many strange things have I seen, that surely

my dreams shall be full of them; for even now I seem to see them,

though I waken.

So he lay down in his bed and slept, and dreamed that he was fishing

with an angle in a deep of Upmeads Water; and he caught many fish; but

after a while whatsoever he caught was but of gilded paper stuffed with

wool, and at last the water itself was gone, and he was casting his

angle on to a dry road. Therewith he awoke and saw that day was

dawning, and heard the minster clock strike three, and heard the

thrushes singing their first song in the Prior's garden. Then he

turned about and slept, and dreamed no more till he woke up in the

bright sunny morning.

CHAPTER 6

Ralph Goeth His Ways From the Abbey of St. Mary at Higham

It was the monk who had been his guide the day before who had now waked

him, and he stood by the bedside holding a great bowl of milk in his

hand, and as Ralph sat up, and rubbed his eyes, with all his youthful

sloth upon him, the monk laughed and said:

"That is well, lord, that is well! I love to see a young man so sleepy

in the morning; it is a sign of thriving; and I see thou art thriving

heartily for the time when thou shalt come back to us to lead my lord's

host in battle."

"Where be the bale-fires?" said Ralph, not yet fully awake.

"Where be they!" said the brother, "where be they! They be sunken to

cold coals long ago, like many a man's desires and hopes, who hath not

yet laid his head on the bosom of the mother, that is Holy Church.

Come, my lord, arise, and drink the monk's wine of morning, and then if

ye must need ride, ride betimes, and ride hard; for the Wood Perilous

beginneth presently as ye wend your ways; and it were well for thee to

reach the Burg of the Four Friths ere thou be benighted. For, son,

there be untoward things in the wood; and though some of them be of

those for whom Christ's Cross was shapen, yet have they forgotten hell,

and hope not for heaven, and their by-word is, 'Thou shalt lack ere I

lack.' Furthermore there are worse wights in the wood than they be--

God save us!--but against them have I a good hauberk, a neck-guard

which I will give thee, son, in token that I look to see thee again at

the lovely house of Mary our Mother."

Ralph had taken the bowl and was drinking, but he looked over the brim,

and saw how the monk drew from his frock a pair of beads, as like to

Dame Katherine's gift as one pea to another, save that at the end

thereof was a little box shapen crosswise. Ralph emptied the bowl

hastily, got out of bed, and sat on the bed naked, save that on his

neck was Dame Katherine's gift. He reached out his hand and took the

beads from the monk and reddened therewith, as was his wont when he had

to begin a contest in words: but he said:

"I thank thee, father; yet God wot if these beads will lie sweetly

alongside the collar which I bear on my neck as now, which is the gift

of a dear friend."

The monk made up a solemn countenance and said: "Thou sayest sooth, my

son; it is most like that my chaplet, which hath been blessed time was

by the holy Richard, is no meet fellow for the gift of some light love

of thine: or even," quoth he, noting Ralph's flush deepen, and his brow

knit, "or even if it were the gift of a well-willer, yet belike it is a

worldly gift; therefore, since thy journey is with peril, thou wert

best do it off and let me keep it for thee till thou comest again."

Now as he spake he looked anxiously, nay, it may be said greedily, at

the young man. But Ralph said nought; for in his heart he was

determined not to chaffer away his gossip's gift for any shaveling's

token. Yet he knew not how to set his youthful words against the

father's wisdom; so he stood up, and got his shirt into his hand, and

as he did it over his head he fell to singing to himself a song of

eventide of the High House of Upmeads, the words whereof were somewhat

like to these:

Art thou man, art thou maid, through the long grass a-going?

For short shirt thou bearest, and no beard I see,

And the last wind ere moonrise about thee is blowing.

Would'st thou meet with thy maiden or look'st thou for me?

Bright shineth the moon now, I see thy gown longer;

And down by the hazels Joan meeteth her lad:

But hard is thy palm, lass, and scarcely were stronger

Wat's grip than thine hand-kiss that maketh me glad.

And now as the candles shine on us and over,

Full shapely thy feet are, but brown on the floor,

As the bare-footed mowers amidst of the clover

When the gowk's note is broken and mid-June is o'er.

O hard are mine hand-palms because on the ridges

I carried the reap-hook and smote for thy sake;

And in the hot noon-tide I beat off the midges

As thou slep'st 'neath the linden o'er-loathe to awake.

And brown are my feet now because the sun burneth

High up on the down-side amidst of the sheep,

And there in the hollow wherefrom the wind turneth,

Thou lay'st in my lap while I sung thee to sleep.

O friend of the earth, O come nigher and nigher,

Thou art sweet with the sun's kiss as meads of the May,

O'er the rocks of the waste, o'er the water and fire,

Will I follow thee, love, till earth waneth away.

The monk hearkened to him with knitted brow, and as one that liketh not

the speech of his fellow, though it be not wise to question it: then he

went out of the chamber, but left the pair of beads lying in the

window. But Ralph clad himself in haste, and when he was fully clad,

went up to the window and took the beads in his hand, and looked into

them curiously and turned them over, but left them lying there. Then

he went forth also, and came into the forecourt of the house, and found

there a squire of the men-at-arms with his weapons and horse, who

helped him to do on his war-gear.

So then, just as he was setting his foot in the stirrup, came the

Brother again, with his face once more grown smiling and happy; and in

his left hand he held the chaplet, but did not offer it to Ralph again,

but nodded his head to him kindly, and said: "Now, lord, I can see by

thy face that thou art set on beholding the fashion of this world, and

most like it will give thee the rue."

Then came a word into Ralph's mouth, and he said: "Wilt thou tell me,

father, whose work was the world's fashion?"

The monk reddened, but answered nought, and Ralph spake again:

"Forsooth, did the craftsman of it fumble over his work?"

Then the monk scowled, but presently he enforced himself to speak

blithely, and said: "Such matters are over high for my speech or

thine, lord; but I tell thee, who knoweth, that there are men in this

House who have tried the world and found it wanting."

Ralph smiled, and said stammering:

"Father, did the world try them, and find them wanting perchance?"

Then he reddened, and said: "Are ye verily all such as this in this

House? Who then is it who hath made so fair a lordship, and so goodly

a governance for so many people? Know ye not at all of the world's

ways!"

"Fair sir," said the monk sternly, "they that work for us work for the

Lord and all his servants."

"Yea," said Ralph, "so it is; and will the Lord be content with the

service of him whom the devil hath cast out because he hath found him a

dastard?"

The monk frowned, yet smiled somewhat withal, and said: "Sir, thou art

young, but thy wits are over old for me; but there are they in this

House who may answer thee featly; men who have read the books of the

wise men of the heathen, and the doctors of Holy Church, and are even

now making books for the scribes to copy." Then his voice softened,

and he said: "Dear lord, we should be right fain of thee here, but

since thou must needs go, go with my blessing, and double blessing

shalt thou have when thou comest back to us." Then Ralph remembered

his promise to the shepherds and took a gold crown from his pouch, and

said: "Father, I pray thee say a mass for the shepherd downsmen; and

this is for the offering."

The monk praised the gift and the bidding, and kissed Ralph, who clomb

into his saddle; and the brother hospitalier brought him his wallet

with good meat and drink therein for the way. Then Ralph shook his

rein, and rode out of the abbey-gate, smiling at the lay-brethren and

the men-at-arms who hung about there.

But he sighed for pleasure when he found himself in the street again,

and looked on the shops of the chapmen and the booths of the petty

craftsmen, as shoe-smiths and glovers, and tinsmiths and coppersmiths,

and horners and the like; and the folk that he met as he rode toward

the southern gate seemed to him merry and in good case, and goodly to

look on. And he thought it pleasant to gaze on the damsels in the

street, who were fair and well clad: and there were a many of them

about his way now, especially as he drew nigh the gate before the

streets branched off: for folk were coming in from the countryside with

victual and other wares for the town and the Abbey; and surely as he

looked on some of the maidens he deemed that Hall-song of Upmeads a

good one.

CHAPTER 7

The Maiden of Bourton Abbas

So went he through the gate, and many, both of men and maids gazed at

him, for he was fair to look on, but none meddled with him.

There was a goodly fauburg outside the gate, and therein were fair

houses, not a few, with gardens and orchards about them; and when these

were past he rode through very excellent meadows lying along the water,

which he crossed thrice, once by a goodly stone bridge and twice by

fords; for the road was straight, and the river wound about much.

After a little while the road led him off the plain meads into a

country of little hills and dales, the hill-sides covered with

vineyards and orchards, and the dales plenteous of corn-fields; and now

amongst these dales Higham was hidden from him.

Through this tillage and vine-land he rode a good while, and thought he

had never seen a goodlier land; and as he went he came on husbandmen

and women of the country going about their business: yet were they not

too busy to gaze on him, and most greeted him; and with some he gave

and took a little speech.

These people also he deemed well before the world, for they were well

clad and buxom, and made no great haste as they went, but looked about

them as though they deemed the world worth looking at, and as if they

had no fear either of a blow or a hard word for loitering.

So he rode till it was noon, and he was amidst a little thorp of grey

stone houses, trim enough, in a valley wherein there was more of

wild-wood trees and less of fruit-bearers than those behind him. In

the thorp was a tavern with the sign of the Nicholas, so Ralph deemed

it but right to enter a house which was under the guard of his master

and friend; therefore he lighted down and went in. Therein he found a

lad of fifteen winters, and a maiden spinning, they two alone, who

hailed him and asked his pleasure, and he bade them bring him meat and

drink, and look to his horse, for that he had a mind to rest a while.

So they brought him bread and flesh, and good wine of the hill-side, in

a little hall well arrayed as of its kind; and he sat down and the

damsel served him at table, but the lad, who had gone to see to his

horse, did not come back.

So when he had eaten and drunk, and the damsel was still there, he

looked on her and saw that she was sad and drooping of aspect; and

whereas she was a fair maiden, Ralph, now that he was full, fell to

pitying her, and asked her what was amiss. "For," said he, "thou art

fair and ailest nought; that is clear to see; neither dwellest thou in

penury, but by seeming hast enough and to spare. Or art thou a servant

in this house, and hath any one misused thee?"

She wept at his words, for indeed he spoke softly to her; then she

said: "Young lord, thou art kind, and it is thy kindness that draweth

the tears from me; else it were not well to weep before a young man:

therefore I pray thee pardon me. As for me, I am no servant, nor has

any one misused me: the folk round about are good and neighbourly; and

this house and the croft, and a vineyard hard by, all that is mine own

and my brother's; that is the lad who hath gone to tend thine horse.

Yea, and we live in peace here for the most part; for this thorp, which

is called Bourton Abbas, is a land of the Abbey of Higham; though it be

the outermost of its lands and the Abbot is a good lord and a defence

against tyrants. All is well with me if one thing were not."

"What is thy need then?" said Ralph, "if perchance I might amend it."

And as he looked on her he deemed her yet fairer than he had done at

first. But she stayed her weeping and sobbing and said: "Sir, I fear

me that I have lost a dear friend." "How then," said he, "why fearest

thou, and knowest not? doth thy friend lie sick between life and

death?" "O Sir," she said, "it is the Wood which is the evil and

disease."

"What wood is that?" said he.

She said: "The Wood Perilous, that lieth betwixt us and the Burg of

the Four Friths, and all about the Burg. And, Sir, if ye be minded to

ride to the Burg to-day, do it not, for through the wood must thou wend

thereto; and ye are young and lovely. Therefore take my rede, and

abide till the Chapmen wend thither from Higham, who ride many in

company. For, look you, fair lord, ye have asked of my grief, and this

it is and nought else; that my very earthly love and speech-friend rode

five days ago toward the Burg of the Four Friths all alone through the

Wood Perilous, and he has not come back, though we looked to see him in

three days' wearing: but his horse has come back, and the reins and

the saddle all bloody."

And she fell a-weeping with the telling of the tale. But Ralph said

(for he knew not what to say): "Keep a good heart, maiden; maybe he is

safe and sound; oft are young men fond to wander wide, even as I

myself."

She looked at him hard and said: "If thou hast stolen thyself away

from them that love thee, thou hast done amiss. Though thou art a

lord, and so fair as I see thee, yet will I tell thee so much."

Ralph reddened and answered nought; but deemed the maiden both fair and

sweet. But she said: "Whether thou hast done well or ill, do no

worse; but abide till the Chapmen come from Higham, on their way to the

Burg of the Four Friths. Here mayst thou lodge well and safely if thou

wilt. Or if our hall be not dainty enough for thee, then go back to

Higham: I warrant me the monks will give thee good guesting as long as

thou wilt."

"Thou art kind, maiden," said Ralph, "but why should I tarry for an

host? and what should I fear in the Wood, as evil as it may be? One

man journeying with little wealth, and unknown, and he no weakling, but

bearing good weapons, hath nought to dread of strong-thieves, who ever

rob where it is easiest and gainfullest. And what worse may I meet

than strong-thieves?"

"But thou mayest meet worse," she said; and therewith fell a-weeping

again, and said amidst her tears: "O weary on my life! And why should

I heed thee when nought heedeth me, neither the Saints of God's House,

nor the Master of it; nor the father and the mother that were once so

piteous kind to me? O if I might but drink a draught from the WELL AT

THE WORLD'S END!"

He turned about on her hastily at that word; for he had risen to

depart; being grieved at her grief and wishful to be away from it,

since he might not amend it. But now he said eagerly:

"Where then is that Well? Know ye of it in this land?"

"At least I know the hearsay thereof," she said; "but as now thou shalt

know no more from me thereof; lest thou wander the wider in seeking it.

I would not have thy life spilt."

Ever as he looked on her he thought her still fairer; and now he looked

long on her, saying nought, and she on him in likewise, and the blood

rose to her cheeks and her brow, but she would not turn her from his

gaze. At last he said: "Well then, I must depart, no more learned than

I came: but yet am I less hungry and thirsty than I came; and have thou

thanks therefor."

Therewith he took from his pouch a gold piece of Upmeads, which was

good, and of the touch of the Easterlings, and held it out to her. And

she put out her open hand and he put the money in it; but thought it

good to hold her hand a while, and she gainsayed him not.

Then he said: "Well then, I must needs depart with things left as they

are: wilt thou bid thy brother bring hither my horse, for time presses."

"Yea," she said (and her hand was still in his), "Yet do thine utmost,

yet shalt thou not get to the Burg before nightfall. O wilt thou not

tarry?"

"Nay," he said, "my heart will not suffer it; lest I deem myself a

dastard."

Then she reddened again, but as if she were wroth; and she drew her

hand away from his and smote her palms together thrice and cried out:

"Ho Hugh! bring hither the Knight's horse and be speedy!"

And she went hither and thither about the hall and into the buttery and

back, putting away the victual and vessels from the board and making as

if she heeded him not: and Ralph looked on her, and deemed that each

way she moved was better than the last, so shapely of fashion she was;

and again he bethought him of the Even-song of the High House at

Upmeads, and how it befitted her; for she went barefoot after the

manner of maidens who work afield, and her feet were tanned with the

sun of hay harvest, but as shapely as might be; but she was clad goodly

withal, in a green gown wrought with flowers.

So he watched her going to and fro; and at last he said: "Maiden, wilt

thou come hither a little, before I depart?"

"Yea," she said; and came and stood before him: and he deemed that she

was scarce so sad as she had been; and she stood with her hands joined

and her eyes downcast. Then he said:

"Now I depart. Yet I would say this, that I am sorry of thy sorrow:

and now since I shall never see thee more, small would be the harm if I

were to kiss thy lips and thy face."

And therewith he took her hands in his and drew her to him, and put his

arms about her and kissed her many times, and she nothing lothe by

seeming; and he found her as sweet as May blossom.

Thereafter she smiled on him, yet scarce for gladness, and said: "It is

not all so sure that I shall not see thee again; yet shall I do to thee

as thou hast done to me."

Therewith she took his face between her hands, and kissed him

well-favouredly; so that the hour seemed good to him.

Then she took him by the hand and led him out-a-doors to his horse,

whereby the lad had been standing a good while; and he when he saw his

sister come out with the fair knight he scowled on them, and handled a

knife which hung at his girdle; but Ralph heeded him nought. As for

the damsel, she put her brother aside, and held the stirrup for Ralph;

and when he was in the saddle she said to him:

"All luck go with thee! Forsooth I deem thee safer in the Wood than my

words said. Verily I deem that if thou wert to meet a company of

foemen, thou wouldest compel them to do thy bidding."

"Farewell to thee maiden," said Ralph, "and mayst thou find thy beloved

whole and well, and that speedily. Fare-well!"

She said no more; so he shook his rein and rode his ways; but looked

over his shoulder presently and saw her standing yet barefoot on the

dusty highway shading her eyes from the afternoon sun and looking after

him, and he waved his hand to her and so went his ways between the

houses of the Thorp.

CHAPTER 8

Ralph Cometh to the Wood Perilous. An Adventure Therein

Now when he was clear of the Thorp the road took him out of the dale;

and when he was on the hill's brow he saw that the land was of other

fashion from that which lay behind him. For the road went straight

through a rough waste, no pasture, save for mountain sheep or goats,

with a few bushes scattered about it; and beyond this the land rose

into a long ridge; and on the ridge was a wood thick with trees, and no

break in them. So on he rode, and soon passed that waste, which was

dry and parched, and the afternoon sun was hot on it; so he deemed it

good to come under the shadow of the thick trees (which at the first

were wholly beech trees), for it was now the hottest of the day. There

was still a beaten way between the tree-boles, though not overwide,

albeit, a highway, since it pierced the wood. So thereby he went at a

soft pace for the saving of his horse, and thought but little of all he

had been told of the perils of the way, and not a little of the fair

maid whom he had left behind at the Thorp.

After a while the thick beech-wood gave out, and he came into a place

where great oaks grew, fair and stately, as though some lord's

wood-reeve had taken care that they should not grow over close

together, and betwixt them the greensward was fine, unbroken, and

flowery. Thereby as he rode he beheld deer, both buck and hart and

roe, and other wild things, but for a long while no man.

The afternoon wore and still he rode the oak wood, and deemed it a

goodly forest for the greatest king on earth. At last he came to where

another road crossed the way he followed, and about the crossway was

the ground clearer of trees, while beyond it the trees grew thicker,

and there was some underwood of holly and thorn as the ground fell off

as towards a little dale.

There Ralph drew rein, because he doubted in his mind which was his

right road toward the Burg of the Four Friths; so he got off his horse

and abode a little, if perchance any might come by; he looked about

him, and noted on the road that crossed his, and the sward about it,

the sign of many horses having gone by, and deemed that they had passed

but a little while. So he lay on the ground to rest him and let his

horse stray about and bite the grass; for the beast loved him and would

come at his call or his whistle.

Ralph was drowsy when he lay down, and though he said to himself that

he would nowise go to sleep, yet as oft happens, he had no defence to

make against sleepiness, and presently his hands relaxed, his head fell

aside, and he slept quietly. When he woke up in a little space of

time, he knew at once that something had awaked him and that he had not

had his sleep out; for in his ears was the trampling of horse-hoofs and

the clashing of weapons and loud speech of men. So he leapt up

hastily, and while he was yet scarce awake, took to whistling on his

horse; but even therewith those men were upon him, and two came up to

him and laid hold of him; and when he asked them what they would, they

bade him hold his peace.

Now his eyes cleared, and he saw that those men were in goodly

war-gear, and bore coats of plate, and cuir-bouilly, or of bright

steel; they held long spears and were girt with good swords; there was

a pennon with them, green, whereon was done a golden tower, embattled,

amidst of four white ways; and the same token bore many of the men on

their coats and sleeves. Unto this same pennon he was brought by the

two men who had taken him, and under it, on a white horse, sat a Knight

bravely armed at all points with the Tower and Four Ways on his green

surcoat; and beside him was an ancient man-at-arms, with nought but an

oak wreath on his bare head, and his white beard falling low over his

coat: but behind these twain a tall young man, also on a white horse

and very gaily clad, upheld the pennon. On one side of these three

were five men, unarmed, clad in green coats, with a leafless tree done

on them in gold: they were stout carles, bearded and fierce-faced:

their hands were bound behind their backs and their feet tied together

under their horses' bellies. The company of those about the Knight,

Ralph deemed, would number ten score men.

So when those twain stayed Ralph before the Knight, he turned to the

old man and said:

"It is of no avail asking this lither lad if he be of them or no: for

no will be his answer. But what sayest thou, Oliver?"

The ancient man drew closer to Ralph and looked at him up and down and

all about; for those two turned him about as if he had been a joint of

flesh on the roasting-jack; and at last he said:

"His beard is sprouting, else might ye have taken him for a maid of

theirs, one of those of whom we wot. But to say sooth I seem to know

the fashion of his gear, even as Duke Jacob knew Joseph's tabard. So

ask him whence he is, lord, and if he lie, then I bid bind him and lead

him away, that we may have a true tale out of him; otherwise let him go

and take his chance; for we will not waste the bread of the Good Town

on him."

The Knight looked hard on Ralph, and spake to him somewhat courteously:

"Whence art thou, fair Sir, and what is thy name? for we have many foes

in the wildwood."

Ralph reddened as he answered: "I am of Upmeads beyond the down

country; and I pray thee let me be gone on mine errands. It is meet

that thou deal with thine own robbers and reivers, but not with me."

Then cried out one of the bounden men: "Thou liest, lad, we be no

robbers." But he of the Knight's company who stood by him smote the man

on the mouth and said: "Hold thy peace, runagate! Thou shalt give

tongue to-morrow when the hangman hath thee under his hands."

The Knight took no heed of this; but turned to the ancient warrior and

said: "Hath he spoken truth so far?"

"Yea, Sir Aymer," quoth Oliver; "And now meseems I know him better than

he knoweth me."

Therewith he turned to Ralph and said: "How fareth Long Nicholas, my

lord?"

Ralph reddened again: "He is well," said he.

Then said the Knight: "Is the young man of a worthy house, Oliver?"

But ere the elder could speak, Ralph brake in and said: "Old warrior, I

bid thee not to tell out my name, as thou lovest Nicholas."

Old Oliver laughed and said: "Well, Nicholas and I have been friends

in a way, as well as foes; and for the sake of the old days his name

shall help thee, young lord." Then he said to his Knight: "Yea, Sir

Aymer, he is of a goodly house and an ancient; but thou hearest how he

adjureth me. Ye shall let his name alone."

The Knight looked silently on Ralph for a while; then he said: "Wilt

thou wend with us to the Burg of the Four Friths, fair Sir? Wert thou

not faring thither? Or what else dost thou in the Wood Perilous?"

Ralph turned it over in his mind; and though he saw no cause why he

should not join himself to their company, yet something in his heart

forbade him to rise to the fly too eagerly; so he did but say: "I am

seeking adventures, fair lord."

The Knight smiled: "Then mayst thou fill thy budget with them if thou

goest with us," quoth he. Now Ralph did not know how he might gainsay

so many men at arms in the long run, though he were scarce willing to

go; so he made no haste to answer; and even therewith came a man

running, through the wood up from the dale; a long, lean carle, meet

for running, with brogues on his feet, and nought else but a shirt; the

company parted before him to right and left to let him come to the

Knight, as though he had been looked for; and when he was beside him,

the Knight leaned down while the carle spake softly to him and all men

drew out of ear-shot. And when the carle had given his message the

Knight drew himself straight up in his saddle again and lifted up his

hand and cried out:

"Oliver! Oliver! lead on the way thou wottest! Spur! spur, all men!"

Therewith he blew one blast from a horn which hung at his saddle-bow;

the runner leapt up behind old Oliver, and the whole company went off

at a smart trot somewhat south-east, slantwise of the cross-roads,

where the wood was nought cumbered with undergrowth; and presently they

were all gone to the last horse-tail, and no man took any more note of

Ralph.

CHAPTER 9

Another Adventure in the Wood Perilous

Ralph left alone pondered a little; and thought that he would by no

means go hastily to the Burg of the Four Friths. Said he to himself;

This want-way is all unlike to the one near our house at home: for

belike adventures shall befall here: I will even abide here for an hour

or two; but will have my horse by me and keep awake, lest something hap

to me unawares.

Therewith he whistled for Falcon his horse, and the beast came to him,

and whinnied for love of him, and Ralph smiled and tied him to a

sapling anigh, and himself sat down on the grass, and pondered many

things; as to what folk were about at Upmeads, and how his brethren

were faring; and it was now about five hours after noon, and the sun's

rays fell aslant through the boughs of the noble oaks, and the scent of

the grass and bracken trodden by the horse-hoofs of that company went

up into the warm summer air. A while he sat musing but awake, though

the faint sound of a little stream in the dale below mingled with all

the lesser noises of the forest did its best to soothe him to sleep

again: and presently had its way with him; for he leaned his head back

on the bracken, and in a minute or two was sleeping once more and

dreaming some dream made up of masterless memories of past days.

When he awoke again he lay still a little while, wondering where in the

world he was, but as the drowsiness left him, he arose and looked

about, and saw that the sun was sinking low and gilding the oakboles

red. He stood awhile and watched the gambols of three hares, who had

drawn nigh him while he slept, and now noted him not; and a little way

he saw through the trees a hart and two hinds going slowly from grass

to grass, feeding in the cool eventide; but presently he saw them raise

their heads and amble off down the slope of the little dale, and

therewith he himself turned his face sharply toward the north-west, for

he was fine-eared as well as sharp-eyed, and on a little wind which had

just arisen came down to him the sound of horse-hoofs once more.

So he went up to Falcon and loosed him, and stood by him bridle in

hand, and looked to it that his sword was handy to him: and he

hearkened, and the sound drew nigher and nigher to him. Then lightly

he got into the saddle and gathered the reins into his left hand, and

sat peering up the trodden wood-glades, lest he should have to ride for

his life suddenly. Therewith he heard voices talking roughly and a man

whistling, and athwart the glade of the wood from the northwest, or

thereabout, came new folk; and he saw at once that there went two men

a-horseback and armed; so he drew his sword and abode them close to the

want-ways. Presently they saw the shine of his war-gear, and then they

came but a little nigher ere they drew rein, and sat on their horses

looking toward him. Then Ralph saw that they were armed and clad as

those of the company which had gone before. One of the armed men rode

a horse-length after his fellow, and bore a long spear over his

shoulder. But the other who rode first was girt with a sword, and had

a little axe hanging about his neck, and with his right hand he seemed

to be leading something, Ralph could not see what at first, as his left

side was turned toward Ralph and the want-way.

Now, as Ralph looked, he saw that at the spearman's saddle-bow was hung

a man's head, red-haired and red-bearded; for this man now drew a

little nigher, and cried out to Ralph in a loud and merry voice: "Hail,

knight! whither away now, that thou ridest the green-wood sword in

hand?"

Ralph was just about to answer somewhat, when the first man moved a

little nigher, and as he did so he turned so that Ralph could see what

betid on his right hand; and lo! he was leading a woman by a rope tied

about her neck (though her hands were loose), as though he were

bringing a cow to market. When the man stayed his horse she came

forward and stood within the slack of the rope by the horse's head, and

Ralph could see her well, that though she was not to say naked, her

raiment was but scanty, for she had nought to cover her save one short

and strait little coat of linen, and shoes on her feet. Yet Ralph

deemed her to be of some degree, whereas he caught the gleam of gold

and gems on her hands, and there was a golden chaplet on her head. She

stood now by the horse's head with her hands folded, looking on, as if

what was tiding and to betide, were but a play done for her pleasure.

So when Ralph looked on her, he was silent a while; and the spearman

cried out again: "Ho, young man, wilt thou speak, or art thou

dumb-foundered for fear of us?"

But Ralph knit his brows, and was first red and then pale; for he was

both wroth, and doubtful how to go to work; but he said:

"I ride to seek adventures; and here meseemeth is one come to hand. Or

what will ye with the woman?"

Said the man who had the woman in tow: "Trouble not thine head

therewith; we lead her to her due doom. As for thee, be glad that thou

art not her fellow; since forsooth thou seemest not to be one of them;

so go thy ways in peace."

"No foot further will I go," said Ralph, "till ye loose the woman and

let her go; or else tell me what her worst deed is."

The man laughed, and said: "That were a long tale to tell; and it is

little like that thou shalt live to hear the ending thereof."

Therewith he wagged his head at the spearman, who suddenly let his

spear fall into the rest, and spurred, and drave on at Ralph all he

might. There and then had the tale ended, but Ralph, who was wary,

though he were young, and had Falcon well in hand, turned his wrist and

made the horse swerve, so that the man-at-arms missed his attaint, but

could not draw rein speedily enough to stay his horse; and as he passed

by all bowed over his horse's neck, Ralph gat his sword two-handed and

rose in his stirrups and smote his mightiest; and the sword caught the

foeman on the neck betwixt sallet and jack, and nought held before it,

neither leather nor ring-mail, so that the man's head was nigh smitten

off, and he fell clattering from his saddle: yet his stirrups held him,

so that his horse went dragging him on earth as he gallopped over rough

and smooth betwixt the trees of the forest. Then Ralph turned about to

deal with his fellow, and even through the wrath and fury of the

slaying saw him clear and bright against the trees as he sat handling

his axe doubtfully, but the woman was fallen back again somewhat.

But even as Ralph raised his sword and pricked forward, the woman

sprang as light as a leopard on to the saddle behind the foeman, and

wound her arms about him and dragged him back just as he was raising

his axe to smite her, and as Ralph rode forward she cried out to him,

"Smite him, smite! O lovely creature of God!"

Therewith was Ralph beside them, and though he were loth to slay a man

held in the arms of a woman, yet he feared lest the man should slay her

with some knife-stroke unless he made haste; so he thrust his sword

through him, and the man died at once, and fell headlong off his horse,

dragging down the woman with him.

Then Ralph lighted down from his horse, and the woman rose up to him,

her white smock all bloody with the slain man. Nevertheless was she as

calm and stately before him, as if she were sitting on the dais of a

fair hall; so she said to him:

"Young warrior, thou hast done well and knightly, and I shall look to

it that thou have thy reward. And now I rede thee go not to the Burg

of the Four Friths; for this tale of thee shall get about and they

shall take thee, if it were out of the very Frith-stool, and there for

thee should be the scourge and the gibbet; for they of that Burg be

robbers and murderers merciless. Yet well it were that thou ride hence

presently; for those be behind my tormentors whom thou hast slain, who

will be as an host to thee, and thou mayst not deal with them. If thou

follow my rede, thou wilt take the way that goeth hence east away, and

then shalt thou come to Hampton under Scaur, where the folk are

peaceable and friendly."

He looked at her hard as she spake, and noted that she spake but

slowly, and turned red and white and red again as she looked at him.

But whatever she did, and in spite of her poor attire, he deemed he had

never seen woman so fair. Her hair was dark red, but her eyes grey,

and light at whiles and yet at whiles deep; her lips betwixt thin and

full, but yet when she spoke or smiled clad with all enticements; her

chin round and so wrought as none was ever better wrought; her body

strong and well-knit; tall she was, with fair and large arms, and limbs

most goodly of fashion, of which but little was hidden, since her coat

was but thin and scanty. But whatever may be said of her, no man would

have deemed her aught save most lovely. Now her face grew calm and

stately again as it was at the first, and she laid a hand on Ralph's

shoulder, and smiled in his face and said:

"Surely thou art fair, though thy strokes be not light." Then she took

his hand and caressed it, and said again: "Dost thou deem that thou

hast done great things, fair child? Maybe. Yet some will say that

thou hast but slain two butchers: and if thou wilt say that thou hast

delivered me; yet it may be that I should have delivered myself ere

long. Nevertheless hold up thine heart, for I think that greater

things await thee."

Then she turned about, and saw the dead man, how his feet yet hung in

the stirrups as his fellow's had done, save that the horse of this one

stood nigh still, only reaching his head down to crop a mouthful of

grass; so she said: "Take him away, that I may mount on his horse."

So he drew the dead man's feet out of the stirrups, and dragged him

away to where the bracken grew deep, and laid him down there, so to say

hidden. Then he turned back to the lady, who was pacing up and down

near the horse as the beast fed quietly on the cool grass. When Ralph

came back she took the reins in her hand and put one foot in the

stirrup as if she would mount at once; but suddenly lighted down again,

and turning to Ralph, cast her arms about him, and kissed his face many

times, blushing red as a rose meantime. Then lightly she gat her up

into the saddle, and bestrode the beast, and smote his flanks with her

heels, and went her ways riding speedily toward the south-east, so that

she was soon out of sight.

But Ralph stood still looking the way she had gone and wondering at the

adventure; and he pondered her words and held debate with himself

whether he should take the road she bade him. And he said within

himself: "Hitherto have I been safe and have got no scratch of a weapon

upon me, and this is a place by seeming for all adventures; and little

way moreover shall I make in the night if I must needs go to Hampton

under Scaur, where dwell those peaceable people; and it is now growing

dusk already. So I will abide the morning hereby; but I will be wary

and let the wood cover me if I may."

Therewith he went and drew the body of the slain man down into a little

hollow where the bracken was high and the brambles grew strong, so that

it might not be lightly seen. Then he called to him Falcon, his horse,

and looked about for cover anigh the want-way, and found a little thin

coppice of hazel and sweet chestnut, just where two great oaks had been

felled a half score years ago; and looking through the leaves thence,

he could see the four ways clearly enough, though it would not be easy

for anyone to see him thence.

Thither he betook him, and he did the rein off Falcon, but tethered him

by a halter in the thickest of the copse, and sat down himself nigher

to the outside thereof; he did off his helm and drew what meat he had

from out his wallet and ate and drank in the beginning of the summer

night; and then sat pondering awhile on what had befallen on this

second day of his wandering. The moon shone out presently, little

clouded, but he saw her not, for though he strove to wake awhile,

slumber soon overcame him, and nothing waked him till the night was

passing, nor did he see aught of that company of which the lady had

spoken, and which in sooth came not.

CHAPTER 10

A Meeting and a Parting in the Wood Perilous

When the first glimmer of dawn was in the sky he awoke in the fresh

morning, and sat up and hearkened, for even as he woke he had heard

something, since wariness had made him wakeful. Now he hears the sound

of horse-hoofs on the hard road, and riseth to his feet and goeth to

the very edge of the copse; looking thence he saw a rider who was just

come to the very crossing of the roads. The new comer was much muffled

in a wide cloak, but he seemed to be a man low of stature. He peered

all round about him as if to see if the way were clear, and then

alighted down from horseback and let the hood fall off his head, and

seemed pondering which way were the best to take. By this time it was

grown somewhat lighter and Ralph, looking hard, deemed that the rider

was a woman; so he stepped forward lightly, and as he came on to the

open sward about the way, the new comer saw him and put a foot into the

stirrup to mount, but yet looked at him over the shoulder, and then

presently left the saddle and came forward a few steps as if to meet

Ralph, having cast the cloak to the ground.

Then Ralph saw that it was none other than the damsel of the hostelry

of Bourton Abbas, and he came up to her and reached out his hand to

her, and she took it in both hers and held it and said, smiling: "It is

nought save mountains that shall never meet. Here have I followed on

thy footsteps; yet knew I not where thou wouldst be in the forest. And

now I am glad to have fallen in with thee; for I am going a long way."

Ralph looked on her and himseemed some pain or shame touched his heart,

and he said: "I am a knight adventurous; I have nought to do save to

seek adventures. Why should I not go with thee?"

She looked at him earnestly awhile and said: "Nay, it may not be; thou

art a lord's son, and I a yeoman's daughter." She stopped, and he said

nothing in answer.

"Furthermore," said she, "it is a long way, and I know not how long."

Again he made no answer, and she said: "I am going to seek the WELL AT

THE WORLD'S END, and to find it and live, or to find it not, and die."

He spake after a while: "Why should I not come with thee?"

It was growing light now, and he could see that she reddened and then

turned pale and set her lips close.

Then she said: "Because thou willest it not: because thou hadst

liefer make that journey with some one else."

He reddened in his turn, and said: "I know of no one else who shall go

with me."

"Well," she said, "it is all one, I will not have thee go with me."

"Yea, and why not?" said he. She said: "Wilt thou swear to me that

nought hath happed to thee to change thee betwixt this and Bourton? If

thou wilt, then come with me; if thou wilt not, then refrain thee. And

this I say because I see and feel that there is some change in thee

since yesterday, so that thou wouldst scarce be dealing truly in being

my fellow in this quest: for they that take it up must be

single-hearted, and think of nought save the quest and the fellow that

is with them."

She looked on him sadly, and his many thoughts tongue-tied him a while;

but at last he said: "Must thou verily go on this quest?" "Ah," she

said, "now since I have seen thee and spoken with thee again, all need

there is that I should follow it at once."

Then they both kept silence, and when she spoke again her voice was as

if she were gay against her will. She said: "Here am I come to these

want-ways, and there are three roads besides the one I came by, and I

wot that this that goeth south will bring me to the Burg of the Four

Friths; and so much I know of the folk of the said Burg that they would

mock at me if I asked them of the way to the Well at the World's End.

And as for the western way I deem that that will lead me back again to

the peopled parts whereof I know; therefore I am minded to take the

eastern way. What sayest thou, fair lord?"

Said Ralph: "I have heard of late that it leadeth presently to Hampton

under the Scaur, where dwelleth a people of goodwill."

"Who told thee this tale?" said she. Ralph answered, reddening again,

"I was told by one who seemed to know both of that folk, and of the

Burg of the Four Friths, and she said that the folk of Hampton were a

good folk, and that they of the Burg were evil."

The damsel smiled sadly when she heard him say 'She,' and when he had

done she said: "And I have heard, and not from yesterday, that at

Hampton dwelleth the Fellowship of the Dry Tree, and that those of the

fellowship are robbers and reivers. Nevertheless they will perchance

be little worse than the others; and the tale tells that the way to the

Well at the World's End is by the Dry Tree; so thither will I at all

adventure. And now will I say farewell to thee, for it is most like

that I shall not see thee again."

"O, maiden!" said Ralph, "why wilt thou not go back to Bourton Abbas?

There I might soon meet thee again, and yet, indeed, I also am like to

go to Hampton. Shall I not see thee there?"

She shook her head and said: "Nay, since I must go so far, I shall not

tarry; and, sooth to say, if I saw thee coming in at one gate I should

go out by the other, for why should I dally with a grief that may not

be amended. For indeed I wot that thou shalt soon forget to wish to

see me, either at Bourton Abbas or elsewhere; so I will say no more

than once again farewell."

Then she came close to him and put her hands on his shoulders and

kissed his mouth; and then she turned away swiftly, caught up her

cloak, and gat lightly into the saddle, and so shook her reins and rode

away east toward Hampton, and left Ralph standing there downcast and

pondering many things. It was still so early in the summer morning,

and he knew so little what to do, that presently he turned and walked

back to his lair amongst the hazels, and there he lay down, and his

thoughts by then were all gone back again to the lovely lady whom he

had delivered, and he wondered if he should ever see her again, and,

sooth to say, he sorely desired to see her. Amidst such thoughts he

fell asleep again, for the night yet owed him something of rest, so

young as he was and so hard as he had toiled, both body and mind,

during the past day.

CHAPTER 11

Now Must Ralph Ride For It

When he awoke again the sun was shining through the hazel leaves,

though it was yet early; he arose and looked to his horse, and led him

out of the hazel copse and stood and looked about him; and lo! a man

coming slowly through the wood on Ralph's right hand, and making as it

seemed for the want-way; he saw Ralph presently, and stopped, and bent

a bow which he held in his hand, and then came towards him warily, with

the arrow nocked. But Ralph went to meet him with his sword in his

sheath, and leading Falcon by the rein, and the man stopped and took

the shaft from the string: he had no armour, but there was a little axe

and a wood-knife in his girdle; he was clad in homespun, and looked

like a carle of the country-side. Now he greeted Ralph, and Ralph gave

him the sele of the day, and saw that the new-comer was both tall and

strong, dark of skin and black-haired, but of a cheerful countenance.

He spake frank and free to Ralph, and said: "Whither away, lord, out of

the woodland hall, and the dwelling of deer and strong-thieves? I would

that the deer would choose them a captain, and gather head and destroy

the thieves--and some few others with them."

Said Ralph: "I may scarce tell thee till I know myself. Awhile ago I

was minded for the Burg of the Four Friths; but now I am for Hampton

under Scaur."

"Yea?" said the carle, "when the Devil drives, to hell must we."

"What meanest thou, good fellow?" said Ralph, "Is Hampton then so evil

an abode?" And indeed it was in his mind that the adventure of the

lady led captive bore some evil with it.

Said the carle: "If thou wert not a stranger in these parts I need not

to answer thy question; but I will answer it presently, yet not till we

have eaten, for I hunger, and have in this wallet both bread and

cheese, and thou art welcome to a share thereof, if thou hungerest

also, as is most like, whereas thou art young and fresh coloured."

"So it is," said Ralph, laughing, "and I also may help to spread this

table in the wilderness, since there are yet some crumbs in my wallet.

Let us sit down and fall to at once."

"By your leave, Sir Gentleman," said the carle, "we will go a few yards

further on, where there is a woodland brook, whereof we may drink when

my bottle faileth."

"Nay, I may better that," said Ralph, "for I have wherewithal."

"Nevertheless," said the carle, "we will go thither, for here is it too

open for so small a company as ours, since this want-way hath an ill

name, and I shall lead thee whereas we shall be somewhat out of the way

of murder-carles. So come on, if thou trusteth in me."

Ralph yeasaid him, and they went together a furlong from the want-way

into a little hollow place wherethrough ran a clear stream betwixt

thick-leaved alders. The carle led Ralph to the very lip of the water

so that the bushes covered them; there they sat down and drew what they

had from their wallets, and so fell to meat; and amidst of the meat the

carle said:

"Fair Knight, as I suppose thou art one, I will ask thee if any need

draweth thee to Hampton?"

Said Ralph: "The need of giving the go-by to the Burg of the Four

Friths, since I hear tell that the folk thereof be robbers and

murderers."

"Thou shalt find that out better, lord, by going thither; but I shall

tell thee, that though men may slay and steal there time and time

about, yet in regard to Hampton under Scaur, it is Heaven, wherein men

sin not. And I am one who should know, for I have been long dwelling

in Hell, that is Hampton; and now am I escaped thence, and am minded

for the Burg, if perchance I may be deemed there a man good enough to

ride in their host, whereby I might avenge me somewhat on them that

have undone me: some of whom meseemeth must have put in thy mouth that

word against the Burg. Is it not so?"

"Maybe," said Ralph, "for thou seemest to be a true man." No more he

spake though he had half a mind to tell the carle all the tale of that

adventure; but something held him back when he thought of that lady and

her fairness. Yet again his heart misgave him of what might betide

that other maiden at Hampton, and he was unquiet, deeming that he must

needs follow her thither. The carle looked on him curiously and

somewhat anxiously, but Ralph's eyes were set on something that was not

there; or else maybe had he looked closely on the carle he might have

deemed that longing to avenge him whereof he spoke did not change his

face much; for in truth there was little wrath in it.

Now the carle said: "Thou hast a tale which thou deemest unmeet for my

ears, as it well may be. Well, thou must speak, or refrain from

speaking, what thou wilt; but thou art so fair a young knight, and so

blithe with a poor man, and withal I deem that thou mayest help me to

some gain and good, that I will tell thee a true tale: and first that

the Burg is a good town under a good lord, who is no tyrant nor

oppressor of peaceful men; and that thou mayest dwell there in peace as

to the folk thereof, who be good folk, albeit they be no dastards to

let themselves be cowed by murder-carles. And next I will tell thee

that the folk of the town of Hampton be verily as harmless and innocent

as sheep; but that they be under evil lords who are not their true

lords, who lay heavy burdens on them and torment them even to the

destroying of their lives: and lastly I will tell thee that I was one

of those poor people, though not so much a sheep as the more part of

them, therefore have these tyrants robbed me of my croft, and set

another man in my house; and me they would have slain had I not fled to

the wood that it might cover me. And happy it was for me that I had

neither wife, nor chick, nor child, else had they done as they did with

my brother, whose wife was too fair for him, since he dwelt at Hampton;

so that they took her away from him to make sport for them of the Dry

Tree, who dwell in the Castle of the Scaur, who shall be thy masters if

thou goest thither.

"This is my tale, and thine, I say, I ask not; but I deem that thou

shalt do ill if thou go not to the Burg either with me or by thyself

alone; either as a guest, or as a good knight to take service in their

host."

Now so it was that Ralph was wary; and this time he looked closely at

the carle, and found that he spake coldly for a man with so much wrath

in his heart; therefore he was in doubt about the thing; moreover he

called to mind the words of the lady whom he had delivered, and her

loveliness, and the kisses she had given him, and he was loth to find

her a liar; and he was loth also to think that the maiden of Bourton

had betaken her to so evil a dwelling. So he said:

"Friend, I know not that I must needs be a partaker in the strife

betwixt Hampton and the Burg, or go either to one or the other of these

strongholds. Is there no other way out of this wood save by Hampton or

the Burg? or no other place anigh, where I may rest in peace awhile,

and then go on mine own errands?"

Said the Carle: "There is a thorp that lieth somewhat west of the

Burg, which is called Apthorp; but it is an open place, not fenced, and

is debateable ground, whiles held by them of the Burg, whiles by the

Dry Tree; and if thou tarry there, and they of the Dry Tree take thee,

soon is thine errand sped; and if they of the Burg take thee, then

shalt thou be led into the Burg in worse case than thou wouldest be if

thou go thereto uncompelled. What sayest thou, therefore? Who shall

hurt thee in the Burg, a town which is under good and strong law, if

thou be a true man, as thou seemest to be? And if thou art seeking

adventures, as may well be, thou shalt soon find them there ready to

hand. I rede thee come with me to the Burg; for, to say sooth, I shall

find it somewhat easier to enter therein if I be in the company of

thee, a knight and a lord."

So Ralph considered and thought that there lay indeed but little peril

to him in the Burg, whereas both those men with whom he had striven

were hushed for ever, and there was none else to tell the tale of the

battle, save the lady, whose peril from them of the Burg was much

greater than his; and also he thought that if anything untoward befel,

he had some one to fall back on in old Oliver: yet on the other hand

he had a hankering after Hampton under Scaur, where, to say sooth, he

doubted not to see the lady again.

So betwixt one thing and the other, speech hung on his lips awhile,

when suddenly the carle said: "Hist! thou hast left thy horse without

the bushes, and he is whinnying" (which indeed he was), "there is now

no time to lose. To horse straightway, for certainly there are folk at

hand, and they may be foemen, and are most like to be."

Therewith they both arose and hastened to where Falcon stood just

outside the alder bushes, and Ralph leapt a-horseback without more ado,

and the carle waited no bidding to leap up behind him, and pointing to

a glade of the wood which led toward the highway, cried out, "Spur that

way, thither! they of the Dry Tree are abroad this morning. Spur! 'tis

for life or death!"

Ralph shook the rein and Falcon leapt away without waiting for the

spur, while the carle looked over his shoulder and said, "Yonder they

come! they are three; and ever they ride well horsed. Nay, nay! They

are four," quoth he, as a shout sounded behind them. "Spur, young

lord! spur! And thine horse is a mettlesome beast. Yea, it will do,

it will do."

Therewith came to Ralph's ears the sound of their horse-hoofs beating

the turf, and he spurred indeed, and Falcon flew forth.

"Ah," cried the carle! "but take heed, for they see that thy horse is

good, and one of them, the last, hath a bent Turk bow in his hand, and

is laying an arrow on it; as ever their wont is to shoot a-horseback: a

turn of thy rein, as if thine horse were shying at a weasel on the

road!"

Ralph stooped his head and made Falcon swerve, and heard therewith the

twang of the bowstring and straightway the shaft flew past his ears.

Falcon galloped on, and the carle cried out: "There is the highway

toward the Burg! Do thy best, do thy best! Lo you again!"

For the second shaft flew from the Turkish bow, and the noise of the

chase was loud behind them. Once again twanged the bow-string, but

this time the arrow fell short, and the woodland man, turning himself

about as well as he might, shook his clenched fist at the chase, crying

out in a voice broken by the gallop: "Ha, thieves! I am Roger of the

Rope-walk, I go to twist a rope for the necks of you!"

Then he spake to Ralph: "They are turning back: they are beaten, and

withal they love not the open road: yet slacken not yet, young knight,

unless thou lovest thine horse more than thy life; for they will follow

on through the thicket on the way-side to see whether thou wert born a

fool and hast learned nothing later."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and now I deem thou wilt tell me that to the Burg I

needs must."

"Yea, forsooth," said the carle, "nor shall we be long, riding thus,

ere we come to the Burg Gate."

"Yea, or even slower," said Ralph, drawing rein somewhat, "for now I

deem the chase done: and after all is said, I have no will to slay

Falcon, who is one of my friends, as thou perchance mayest come to be

another."

Thereafter he went a hand-gallop till the wood began to thin, and there

were fields of tillage about the highway; and presently Roger said:

"Thou mayst breathe thy nag now, and ride single, for we are amidst

friends; not even a score of the Dry Tree dare ride so nigh the Burg

save by night and cloud."

So Ralph stayed his horse, and he and Roger lighted down, and Ralph

looked about him and saw a stone tower builded on a little knoll amidst

a wheatfield, and below it some simple houses thatched with straw;

there were folk moreover working, or coming and going about the fields,

who took little heed of the two when they saw them standing quiet by

the horse's head; but each and all of these folk, so far as could be

seen, had some weapon.

Then said Ralph: "Good fellow, is this the Burg of the Four Friths?"

The carle laughed, and said: "Simple is the question, Sir Knight:

yonder is a watch-tower of the Burg, whereunder husbandmen can live,

because there be men-at-arms therein. And all round the outskirts of

the Frank of the Burg are there such-like towers to the number of

twenty-seven. For that, say folk, was the tale of the winters of the

Fair Lady who erewhile began the building of the Burg, when she was

first wedded to the Forest Lord, who before that building had dwelt, he

and his fathers, in thatched halls of timber here and there about the

clearings of the wild-wood. But now, knight, if thou wilt, thou mayest

go on softly toward the Gate of the Burg, and if thou wilt I will walk

beside thy rein, which fellowship, as aforesaid, shall be a gain to me."

Said Ralph: "I pray thee come with me, good fellow, and show me how

easiest to enter this stronghold." So, when Falcon was well breathed,

they went on, passing through goodly acres and wide meadows, with here

and there a homestead on them, and here and there a carle's cot. Then

came they to a thorp of the smallest on a rising ground, from the

further end of which they could see the walls and towers of the Burg.

Thereafter right up to the walls were no more houses or cornfields,

nought but reaches of green meadows plenteously stored with sheep and

kine, and with a little stream winding about them.

CHAPTER 12

Ralph Entereth Into the Burg of the Four Friths

When they came up to the wall they saw that it was well builded of good

ashlar, and so high that they might not see the roofs of the town

because of it; but there were tall towers on it, a many of them, strong

and white. The road led up straight to the master-gate of the Burg,

and there was a bailey before it strongly walled, and manned with

weaponed men, and a captain going about amongst them. But they entered

it along with men bringing wares into the town, and none heeded them

much, till they came to the very gate, on the further side of a moat

that was both deep and clean; but as now the bridge was down and the

portcullis up, so that the market-people might pass in easily, for it

was yet early in the day. But before the door on either side stood

men-at-arms well weaponed, and on the right side was their captain, a

tall man with bare grizzled head, but otherwise all-armed, who stopped

every one whom he knew not, and asked their business.

As Ralph came riding up with Roger beside him, one of the guard laid

his spear across and bade them stand, and the captain spake in a dry

cold voice: "Whence comest thou, man-at-arms?" "From the Abbey of St.

Mary at Higham," said Ralph. "Yea," said the captain, smiling grimly,

"even so I might have deemed: thou wilt be one of the Lord Abbot's

lily lads." "No I am not," quoth Ralph angrily. "Well, well," said the

captain, "what is thy name?"

"Ralph Motherson," quoth Ralph, knitting his brow. Said the captain

"And whither wilt thou?" Said Ralph, "On mine own errands." "Thou

answerest not over freely," quoth the captain. Said Ralph, "Then is it

even; for thou askest freely enough." "Well, well," said the captain,

grinning in no unfriendly wise, "thou seemest a stout lad enough; and

as to my asking, it is my craft as captain of the North Gate: but now

tell me friendly, goest thou to any kinsman or friend in the Burg?"

Then Ralph's brow cleared and he said, "Nay, fair sir." "Well then,"

said the captain, "art thou but riding straight through to another

gate, and so away again?" "Nay," said Ralph, "if I may, I would abide

here the night over, or may-happen longer." "Therein thou shalt do

well, young man," said the captain; "then I suppose thou wilt to some

hostelry? tell me which one."

Said Ralph, "Nay, I wot not to which one, knowing not the town." But

Roger close by him spake and said: "My lord shall go to the Flower de

Luce, which is in the big square."

"Truly," said the captain, "he goes to a good harbour; and moreover,

fair sir, to-morrow thou shalt see a goodly sight from thine inn; thou

mayst do no better, lord. But thou, carle, who art thou, who knowest

the inside of our Burg so well, though I know thee not, for as well as

I know our craftsmen and vavassors?"

Then Roger's words hung on his lips awhile, and the knight bent his

brow on him, till at last he said, "Sir Captain, I was minded to lie,

and say that I am this young knight's serving-man." The captain broke

in on him grimly, "Thou wert best not lie."

"Yea, sir," quoth Roger, "I deemed, as it was on my tongue's end, that

thou wouldst find me out, so I have nought to do but tell thee the very

sooth: this it is: I am a man made masterless by the thieves of the

Dry Tree. From my land at Hampton under Scaur have I been driven, my

chattels have been lifted, and my friends slain; and therefore by your

leave would I ride in the host of the Burg, that I may pay back the

harm which I had, according to the saw, 'better bale by breeding bale.'

So, lord, I ask thee wilt thou lend me the sword and give me the loaf,

that I may help both thee, and the Burg, and me?"

The captain looked at him closely and sharply, while the carle faced

him with open simple eyes, and at last he said: "Well, carle, thou wert

about to name thyself this young knight's serving-man; be thou even so

whiles he abideth in the Burg; and when he leaveth the Burg then come

back to me here any day before noon, and may be I shall then put a

sword in thy fist and horse between thy thighs. But," (and he wagged

his head threateningly at Roger) "see that thou art at the Flower de

Luce when thou art called for."

Roger held his peace and seemed somewhat abashed at this word, and the

captain turned to Ralph and said courteously: "Young knight, if thou

art seeking adventures, thou shalt find them in our host; and if thou

be but half as wise as thou seemest bold, thou wilt not fail to gain

honour and wealth both, in the service of the Burg; for we be overmuch

beset with foemen that we should not welcome any wight and wary

warrior, though he be an alien of blood and land. If thou thinkest

well of this, then send me thy man here and give me word of thy mind,

and I shall lead thee to the chiefs of the Port, and make the way easy

for thee."

Ralph thanked him and rode through the gate into the street, and Roger

still went beside his stirrup.

Presently Ralph turned to Roger and spake to him somewhat sourly, and

said: "Thou hadst one lie in thy mouth and didst swallow it; but how

shall I know that another did not come out thence? Withal thou must

needs be my fellow here, will I, nill I; for thou it was that didst put

that word into the captain's mouth that thou shouldst serve me while I

abide in the Burg. So I will say here and now, that my mind misgives

me concerning thee, whether thou be not of those very thieves and

tyrants whom thou didst mis-say but a little while ago."

"Yea," said Roger, "thou art wise indeed to set me down as one of the

Dry Tree; doubtless that is why I delivered thee from their ambush even

now. And as for my service, thou mayst need it; for indeed I deem thee

not so safe as thou deemest thyself in this Burg."

"What!" said Ralph, "Dost thou blow hot and cold? why even now, when we

were in the wood, thou wert telling me that I had nought at all to fear

in the Burg of the Four Friths, and that all was done there by reason

and with justice. What is this new thing then which thou hast found

out, or what is that I have to fear?"

Roger changed countenance thereat and seemed somewhat confused, as one

who has been caught unawares; but he gat his own face presently, and

said: "Nay, Sir Knight, I will tell thee the truth right out. In the

wood yonder thy danger was great that thou mightest run into the hands

of them of the Dry Tree; therefore true it is that I spake somewhat

beyond my warrant concerning the life of the folk of the Burg, as how

could I help it? But surely whatever thy peril may be here, it is

nought to that which awaited thee at Hampton."

"Nay, but what is the peril?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger, "If thou wilt

become their man and enter into their host, there is none; for they

will ask few questions of so good a man-at-arms, when they know that

thou art theirs; but if thou naysay that, it may well be that they will

be for turning the key on thee till thou tellest them what and whence

thou art." Ralph answered nought, thinking in his mind that this was

like enough; so he rode on soberly, till Roger said:

"Anyhow, thou mayst turn the cold shoulder on me if thou wilt. Yet

were I thee, I would not, for so it is, both that I can help thee, as I

deem, in time to come, and that I have helped thee somewhat in time

past."

Now Ralph was young and could not abide the blame of thanklessness; so

he said, "Nay, nay, fellow, go we on together to the Flower de Luce."

Roger nodded his head and grumbled somewhat, and they made no stay

except that now and again Ralph drew rein to look at goodly things in

the street, for there were many open booths therein, so that the whole

street looked like a market. The houses were goodly of building, but

not very tall, the ways wide and well-paved. Many folk were in the

street, going up and down on their errands, and both men and women of

them seemed to Ralph stout and strong, but not very fair of favour.

Withal they seemed intent on their business, and payed little heed to

Ralph and his fellow, though he was by his attire plainly a stranger.

Now Ralph sees a house more gaily adorned than most, and a sign hung

out from it whereon was done an image of St. Loy, and underneath the

same a booth on which was set out weapons and war-gear exceeding

goodly; and two knaves of the armourer were standing by to serve folk,

and crying their wares with "what d'ye lack?" from time to time. So he

stayed and fell to looking wistfully at the gleam and glitter of those

fair things, till one of the aforesaid knaves came to his side and said:

"Fair Sir, surely thou lackest somewhat; what have we here for thy

needs?" So Ralph thought and called to mind that strong little steel

axe of the man whom he had slain yesterday, and asked for the sight of

such a weapon, if he might perchance cheapen it. And the lad brought a

very goodly steel axe, gold-inlaid about the shaft, and gave him the

price thereof, which Ralph deemed he might compass; so he brought round

his scrip to his hand, that he might take out the money. But while his

hand was yet in the bag, out comes the master-armourer, a tall and very

stark carle, and said in courteous wise: "Sir Knight, thou art a

stranger to me and I know thee not; so I must needs ask for a sight of

thy license to buy weapons, under the seal of the Burg."

"Hear a wonder," said Ralph, "that a free man for his money shall not

buy wares set out to be bought, unless he have the Burg-Reeve's hand

and seal for it! Nay, take thy florins, master, and give me the axe

and let the jest end there." "I jest not, young rider," quoth the

armourer. "When we know thee for a liegeman of the Burg, thou shalt

buy what thou wilt without question; but otherwise I have told thee the

law, and how may I, the master of the craft, break the law? Be not

wrath, fair sir, I will set aside thine axe for thee, till thou bring

me the license, or bid me come see it, and thou shalt get the said

license at the Town Hall straight-way, when they may certify thee no

foeman of the Burg."

Ralph saw that it availed nothing to bicker with the smith, and so went

his way somewhat crestfallen, and that the more as he saw Roger

grinning a little.

Now they come into the market-place, on one side whereof was the master

church of the town, which was strongly built and with a tall tower to

it, but was not very big, and but little adorned. Over against it they

saw the sign of the Flower de Luce, a goodly house and great.

Thitherward they turned; but in the face of the hostelry amidmost the

place was a thing which Roger pointed at with a grin that spoke as well

as words; and this was a high gallows-tree furnished with four forks or

arms, each carved and wrought in the fashion of the very bough of a

tree, from which dangled four nooses, and above them all was a board

whereon was written in big letters THE DRY TREE. And at the foot of

this gallows were divers folk laughing and talking.

So Ralph understood at once that those four men whom he had seen led

away bound yesterday should be hanged thereon; so he stayed a franklin

who was passing by, and said to him, "Sir, I am a stranger in the town,

and I would know if justice shall be done on the four woodmen to-day."

"Nay," said the man, "but to-morrow; they are even now before the

judges."

Then said Roger in a surly voice, "Why art thou not there to look on?"

"Because," quoth the man, "there is little to see there, and not much

more to hearken. The thieves shall be speedily judged, and not

questioned with torments, so that they may be the lustier to feel what

the hangman shall work on them to-morrow; then forsooth the show shall

be goodly. But far better had it been if we had had in our hands the

great witch of these dastards, as we looked to have her; but now folk

say that she has not been brought within gates, and it is to be feared

that she hath slipped through our fingers once more."

Roger laughed, and said: "Simple are ye folk of the Burg and know

nought of her shifts. I tell thee it is not unlike that she is in the

Burg even now, and hath in hand to take out of your prison the four

whom ye have caught."

The franklin laughed scornfully in his turn and said: "If we be simple,

thou art a fool merely: are we not stronger and more than the Dry

Tree? How should she not be taken? How should she not be known if she

were walking about these streets? Have we no eyes, fool-carle?" And he

laughed again, for he was wroth.

Ralph hearkened, and a kind of fear seemed griping his heart, so he

asked the franklin: "Tell me, sir, are ye two speaking of a woman who

is Queen of these strong-thieves?" "Yea," said he, "or it might better

be said that she is their goddess, their mawmet, their devil, the very

heart and soul of their wickedness. But one day shall we have her body

and soul, and then shall her body have but an evil day of it till she

dieth in this world."

"Yea, forsooth, if she can die at all," quoth Roger.

The franklin looked sourly on him and said: "Good man, thou knowest

much of her, meseemeth--Whence art thou?" Said Roger speedily: "From

Hampton under Scaur; and her rebel I am, and her dastard, and her

runaway. Therefore I know her forsooth."

"Well," the Franklin said, "thou seemest a true man, and yet I would

counsel thee to put a rein on thy tongue when thou art minded to talk

of the Devil of the Dry Tree, or thou mayst come to harm in the Burg."

He walked away towards the gallows therewith; and Roger said, almost as

if he were talking to himself; "A heavy-footed fool goeth yonder; but

after this talk we were better hidden by the walls of the

Flower-de-Luce." So therewith they went on toward the hostel.

But the market place was wide, and they were yet some minutes getting

to the door, and ere they came there Ralph said, knitting his brows

anxiously: "Is this woman fair or foul to look on?" "That is nought so

easy to tell of," said Roger, "whiles she is foul, whiles very fair,

whiles young and whiles old; whiles cruel and whiles kind. But note

this, when she is the kindest then are her carles the cruellest; and

she is the kinder to them because they are cruel."

Ralph pondered what he said, and wondered if this were verily the woman

whom he had delivered, or some other. As if answering to his unspoken

thought, Roger went on: "They speak but of one woman amongst them of

the Dry Tree, but in sooth they have many others who are like unto her

in one way or other; and this again is a reason why they may not lay

hands on the very Queen of them all."

Therewithal they came unto the hostel, and found it fair enough within,

the hall great and goodly for such a house, and with but three

chapmen-carles therein. Straightway they called for meat, for it was

now past noon, and the folk of the house served them when the grooms

had taken charge of Falcon. And Roger served Ralph as if he were

verily his man. Then Ralph went to his chamber aloft and rested a

while, but came down into the hall a little before nones, and found

Roger there walking up and down the hall floor, and no man else, so he

said to him: "Though thou art not of the Burg, thou knowest it; wilt

thou not come abroad then, and show it me? for I have a mind to learn

the ways of the folk here."

Said Roger, and smiled a little: "If thou commandest me as my lord, I

will come; yet I were better pleased to abide behind; for I am weary

with night-waking and sorrow; and have a burden of thought, one which I

must bear to the end of the road; and if I put it down I shall have to

go back and take it up again."

Ralph thought that he excused himself with more words than were needed;

but he took little heed of it, but nodded to him friendly, and went out

of the house afoot, but left his weapons and armour behind him by the

rede of Roger.

CHAPTER 13

The Streets of the Burg of the Four Friths

He went about the streets and found them all much like to the one which

they had entered by the north gate; he saw no poor or wretched houses,

and none very big as of great lords; they were well and stoutly

builded, but as aforesaid not much adorned either with carven work or

painting: there were folk enough in the streets, and now Ralph, as was

like to be, looked specially at the women, and thought many of them

little better-favoured than the men, being both dark and low; neither

were they gaily clad, though their raiment, like the houses, was stout

and well wrought. But here and there he came on a woman taller and

whiter than the others, as though she were of another blood; all such

of these as he saw were clad otherwise than the darker women: their

heads uncoifed, uncovered save for some garland or silken band: their

gowns yellow like wheat-straw, but gaily embroidered; sleeveless withal

and short, scarce reaching to the ancles, and whiles so thin that they

were rather clad with the embroidery than the cloth; shoes they had

not, but sandals bound on their naked feet with white thongs, and each

bore an iron ring about her right arm.

The more part of the men wore weapons at their sides and had staves in

hand, and were clad in short jerkins brown or blue of colour, and

looked ready for battle if any moment should call them thereto; but

among them were men of different favour and stature from these, taller

for the most part, unarmed, and clad in long gowns of fair colours with

cloths of thin and gay-coloured web twisted about their heads. These

he took for merchants, as they were oftenest standing in and about the

booths and shops, whereof there were some in all the streets, though

the market for victuals and such like he found over for that day, and

but scantily peopled.

Out of one of these markets, which was the fish and fowl market, he

came into a long street that led him down to a gate right over against

that whereby he had entered the Burg; and as he came thereto he saw

that there was a wide way clear of all houses inside of the wall, so

that men-at-arms might go freely from one part to the other; and he had

also noted that a wide way led from each port out of the great place,

and each ended not but in a gate. But as to any castle in the town, he

saw none; and when he asked a burgher thereof, the carle laughed in his

face, and said to him that the whole Burg, houses and all, was a

castle, and that it would turn out to be none of the easiest to win.

And forsooth Ralph himself was much of that mind.

Now he was just within the south gate when he held this talk, and there

were many folk thereby already, and more flocking thereto; so he stood

there to see what should betide; and anon he heard great blowing of

horns and trumpets all along the wall, and, as he deemed, other horns

answered from without; and so it was; for soon the withoutward horns

grew louder, and the folk fell back on either side of the way, and next

the gates were thrown wide open (which before had been shut save for a

wicket) and thereafter came the first of a company of men-at-arms,

foot-men, with bills some, and some with bows, and all-armed knights

and sergeants a-horseback.

So streamed in these weaponed men till Ralph saw that it was a great

host that was entering the Burg; and his heart rose within him, so

warrior-like they were of men and array, though no big men of their

bodies; and many of them bore signs of battle about them, both in the

battering of their armour and the rending of their raiment, and the

clouts tied about the wounds on their bodies.

After a while among the warriors came herds of neat and flocks of sheep

and strings of horses, of the spoil which the host had lifted; and then

wains filled, some with weapons and war gear, and some with bales of

goods and household stuff. Last came captives, some going afoot and

some for weariness borne in wains; for all these war-taken thralls were

women and women-children; of males there was not so much as a little

lad. Of the women many seemed fair to Ralph despite their grief and

travel; and as he looked on them he deemed that they must be of the

kindred and nation of the fair white women he had seen in the streets;

though they were not clad like those, but diversely.

So Ralph gazed on this pageant till all had passed, and he was weary

with the heat and the dust and the confused clamour of shouting and

laughter and talking; and whereas most of the folk followed after the

host and their spoil, the streets of the town there about were soon

left empty and peaceful. So he turned into a street narrower than

most, that went east from the South Gate and was much shaded from the

afternoon sun, and went slowly down it, meaning to come about the

inside of the wall till he should hit the East Gate, and so into the

Great Place when the folk should have gone their ways home.

He saw no folk in the street save here and there an old woman sitting

at the door of her house, and maybe a young child with her. As he came

to where the street turned somewhat, even such a carline was sitting on

a clean white door-step on the sunny side, somewhat shaded by a tall

rose-laurel tree in a great tub, and she sang as she sat spinning, and

Ralph stayed to listen in his idle mood, and he heard how she sang in a

dry, harsh voice:

Clashed sword on shield In the harvest field;

And no man blames The red red flames,

War's candle-wick On roof and rick.

Now dead lies the yeoman unwept and unknown

On the field he hath furrowed, the ridge he hath sown:

And all in the middle of wethers and neat

The maidens are driven with blood on their feet;

For yet 'twixt the Burg-gate and battle half-won

The dust-driven highway creeps uphill and on,

And the smoke of the beacons goes coiling aloft,

While the gathering horn bloweth loud, louder and oft.

Throw wide the gates

For nought night waits;

Though the chase is dead

The moon's o'erhead

And we need the clear

Our spoil to share.

Shake the lots in the helm then for brethren are we,

And the goods of my missing are gainful to thee.

Lo! thine are the wethers, and his are the kine;

And the colts of the marshland unbroken are thine,

With the dapple-grey stallion that trampled his groom;

And Giles hath the gold-blossomed rose of the loom.

Lo! leaps out the last lot and nought have I won,

But the maiden unmerry, by battle undone.

Even as her song ended came one of those fair yellow-gowned damsels

round the corner of the street, bearing in her hand a light basket full

of flowers: and she lifted up her head and beheld Ralph there; then she

went slowly and dropped her eyelids, and it was pleasant to Ralph to

behold her; for she was as fair as need be. Her corn-coloured gown was

dainty and thin, and but for its silver embroidery had hidden her limbs

but little; the rosiness of her ancles showed amidst her white

sandal-thongs, and there were silver rings and gold on her arms along

with the iron ring.

Now she lifted up her eyes and looked shyly at Ralph, and he smiled at

her well-pleased, and deemed it would be good to hear her voice; so he

went up to her and greeted her, and she seemed to take his greeting

well, though she glanced swiftly at the carline in the doorway.

Said Ralph: "Fair maiden, I am a stranger in this town, and have seen

things I do not wholly understand; now wilt thou tell me before I ask

the next question, who will be those war-taken thralls whom even now I

saw brought into the Burg by the host? of what nation be they, and of

what kindred?"

Straightway was the damsel all changed; she left her dainty tricks, and

drew herself up straight and stiff. She looked at him in the eyes,

flushing red, and with knit brows, a moment, and then passed by him

with swift and firm feet as one both angry and ashamed.

But the carline who had beheld the two with a grin on her wrinkled face

changed aspect also, and cried out fiercely after the damsel, and said:

"What! dost thou flee from the fair young man, and he so kind and soft

with thee, thou jade? Yea, I suppose thou dost fetch and carry for

some mistress who is young and a fool, and who has not yet learned how

to deal with the daughters of thine accursed folk. Ah! if I had but

money to buy some one of you, and a good one, she should do something

else for me than showing her fairness to young men; and I would pay her

for her long legs and her white skin, till she should curse her fate

that she had not been born little and dark-skinned and free, and with

heels un-bloodied with the blood of her back."

Thus she went on, though the damsel was long out of ear-shot of her

curses; and Ralph tarried not to get away from her spiteful babble,

which he now partly understood; and that all those yellow-clad damsels

were thralls to the folk of the Burg; and belike were of the kindred of

those captives late-taken whom he had seen amidst the host at its

entering into the Burg.

So he wandered away thence thinking on what he should do till the sun

was set, and he had come into the open space underneath the walls, and

had gone along it till he came to the East Gate: there he looked around

him a little and found people flowing back from the Great Place,

whereto they had gathered to see the host mustered and the spoil

blessed; then he went on still under the wall, and noted not that here

and there a man turned about to look upon him curiously, for he was

deep in thought, concerning the things which he had seen and heard of,

and pondered much what might have befallen his brethren since they

sundered at the Want-way nigh to the High House of Upmeads. Withal the

chief thing that he desired was to get him away from the Burg, for he

felt himself unfree therein; and he said to himself that if he were

forced to dwell among this folk, that he had better never have stolen

himself away from his father and mother; and whiles even he thought

that he would do his best on the morrow to get him back home to Upmeads

again. But then when he thought of how his life would go in his old

home, there seemed to him a lack, and when he questioned himself as to

what that lack was, straightway he seemed to see that Lady of the

Wildwood standing before the men-at-arms in her scanty raiment the

minute before his life was at adventure because of them. And in sooth

he smiled to himself then with a beating heart, as he told himself that

above all things he desired to see that Lady, whatever she might be,

and that he would follow his adventure to the end until he met her.

Amidst these thoughts he came unto the North Gate, whereby he had first

entered the Burg, and by then it was as dark as the summer night would

be; so he woke up from his dream, as it were, and took his way briskly

back to the Flower de Luce.

CHAPTER 14

What Ralph Heard of the Matters of the Burg of the Four Friths

There was no candle in the hall when he entered, but it was not so dark

therein but he might see Roger sitting on a stool near the chimney, and

opposite to him on the settle sat two men; one very tall and big, the

other small; Roger was looking away from these, and whistling; and it

came into Ralph's mind that he would have him think that he had nought

to do with them, whether that were so or not. But he turned round as

Ralph came up the hall and rose and came up to him, and fell to talking

with him and asking him how he liked the Burg; and ever he spake fast

and loud, so that again it came on Ralph that he was playing a part.

Ralph heeded him little, but ever looked through the hall-dusk on those

twain, who presently arose and went toward the hall door, but when they

were but half-way across the floor a chamberlain came in suddenly,

bearing candles in his hands, and the light fell on those guests and

flashed back from a salade on the head of the big man, and Ralph saw

that he was clad in a long white gaberdine, and he deemed that he was

the very man whom he had seen last in the Great Place at Higham, nigh

the church, and before that upon the road. As for the smaller man

Ralph had no knowledge of him, for he could see but little of his face,

whereas he was wrapped up in a cloak, for as warm as the evening was,

and wore a slouch hat withal; but his eyes seemed great and wondrous

bright.

But when they were gone Ralph asked Roger if he knew aught of them, or

if they had told him aught. "Nay," said Roger, "they came in here as I

sat alone, and had their meat, and spake nought to me, and little to

each other. I deem them not to be of the Burg. Nay, sooth to say, I

doubt if they be true men."

As he spake came in a sort of the townsmen somewhat merry and noisy,

and called for meat and drink and more lights; so that the board was

brought and the hall was speedily astir. These men, while supper was

being dight, fell to talking to Ralph and Roger, and asking them

questions of whence and whither, but nowise uncourteously: to whom

Roger answered with the tale which he had told Ralph, and Ralph told

what he would, and that was but little.

But when the board was dight they bade them sit down with them and eat.

Ralph sat down at once, and Roger would have served him, but Ralph bade

him do it not, and constrained him to sit by his side, and they two sat

a little apart from the townsmen.

So when they had eaten their fill, and wine was brought, and men were

drinking kindly, Ralph began to ask Roger concerning those women whom

he had seen in the street, and the captives whom he had seen brought in

by the host, and if they were of one kindred, and generally how it was

with them: and he spake somewhat softly as if he would not break into

the talk of the townsmen: but Roger answered him in a loud voice so

that all could hear:

"Yea, lord, I will tell thee the tale of them, which setteth forth well

both the wise policy and the great mercy of the folk of the Burg and

their rulers."

Said Ralph: "Are these women also of the Dry Tree? For I perceive

them to be born of the foes of the Burg."

Now the townsmen had let their talk drop a while to listen to the talk

of the aliens; and Roger answered still in a loud voice: "Nay, nay, it

is not so. These queens are indeed war-taken thralls, but not from

them of the Dry Tree, or they would have been slain at once, like as

the carles of those accursed ones. But these are of the folk of the

Wheat-wearers, even as those whom thou sawest brought to-day amidst the

other spoil. And to this folk the Burg showeth mercy, and whenso the

host goeth against them and over-cometh (and that is well-nigh whenever

they meet) these worthy lords slay no woman of them, but the men only,

whether they be old or young or youngest. As for their women they are

brought hither and sold at the market-cross to the highest bidder. And

this honour they have, that such of them as be fair, and that is the

more part of the younger ones, fetch no ill penny. Yet for my part I

were loth to cheapen such wares: for they make but evil servants,

being proud, and not abiding stripes lightly, or toiling the harder for

them; and they be somewhat too handy with the knife if they deem

themselves put upon. Speak I sooth, my masters?" quoth he, turning

toward them of the town.

Said a burgher somewhat stricken in years, "Nought but sooth; peaceable

men like to me eschew such servants; all the more because of this, that

if one of these queens misbehave with the knife, or strayeth from her

master's bed, the laws of the Burg meddle not therein. For the wise

men say that such folk are no more within the law than kine be, and may

not for their deeds be brought before leet or assize any more than

kine. So that if the master punish her not for her misdoings,

unpunished she needs must go; yea even if her deed be mere murder."

"That is sooth," said a somewhat younger man; "yet whiles it fareth ill

with them at the hands of our women. To wit, my father's brother has

even now come from the war to find his thrall all spoilt by his wife:

and what remedy may he have against his wife? his money is gone, even

as if she had houghed his horse or his best cow."

"Yea," said a third, "we were better without such cattle. A thrust

with a sword and all the tale told, were the better way of dealing with

them."

Said another; "Yet are the queens good websters, and, lacking them,

figured cloth of silk would be far-fetched and dear-bought here."

A young man gaily clad, who had been eyeing the speakers disdainfully,

spake next and said: "Fair sirs, ye are speaking like hypocrites, and

as if your lawful wives were here to hearken to you; whereas ye know

well how goodly these thralls be, and that many of them can be kind

enough withal; and ye would think yourselves but ill bestead if ye

might not cheapen such jewels for your money. Which of you will go to

the Cross next Saturday and there buy him a fairer wife than he can wed

out of our lineages? and a wife withal of whose humours he need take no

more account of than the dullness of his hound or the skittish temper

of his mare, so long as the thong smarts, and the twigs sting."

One or two grinned as he spake, but some bent their brows at him, yet

scarce in earnest, and the talk thereover dropped, nor did Ralph ask

any more questions; for he was somewhat down-hearted, calling to mind

the frank and free maidens of Upmead, and their friendly words and

hearty kisses. And him seemed the world was worse than he had looked

to find it.

Howsoever, the oldest and soberest of the guests, seeing that he was a

stranger and of noble aspect, came unto him and sat by him, and fell to

telling him tales of the wars of the men of the Burg with the

Wheat-wearers; and how in time past, when the town was but little

fenced, the Wheat-wearers had stormed their gates and taken the city,

and had made a great slaughter; but yet had spared many of the

fighting-men, although they had abided there as the masters of them,

and held them enthralled for three generations of men: after which time

the sons' sons of the old Burg-dwellers having grown very many again,

and divers of them being trusted in sundry matters by the conquerors,

who oppressed them but little, rose up against them as occasion served,

in the winter season and the Yule feast, and slew their masters, save

for a few who were hidden away.

"And thereafter," quoth he, "did we make the Burg strong and hard to

win, as ye see it to-day; and we took for our captain the Forest Lord,

who ere-while had dwelt in the clearings of the wildwood, and he wedded

the Fair Lady who was the son's daughter of him who had been our lord

ere the Wheat-wearers overcame us; and we grew safe and free and mighty

again. And the son of the Forest Lord, he whom we call the War-smith,

he it was who beheld the Burg too much given to pleasure, and

delighting in the softness of life; and he took order to harden our

hearts, and to cause all freemen to learn the craft of war and battle,

and let the women and thralls and aliens see to other craftsmanship and

to chaffer; and even so is it done as he would; and ye shall find us

hardy of heart enough, though belike not so joyous as might be. Yet at

least we shall not be easy to overcome."

"So indeed it seemeth," said Ralph. "Yet will I ask of you first one

question, and then another."

"Ask on," said the burgher.

Said Ralph: "How is it that ye, being so strong, should still suffer

them of the Dry Tree, taking a man here and a man there, when ye might

destroy them utterly?"

The Burgher reddened and cleared his throat and said: "Sir, it must be

made clear to you that these evil beasts are no peril to the Burg of

the Four Friths; all the harm they may do us, is as when a cur dog

biteth a man in the calf of the leg; whereby the man shall be grieved

indeed, but the dog slain. Such grief as that they have done us at

whiles: but the grief is paid for thus, that the hunting and slaying

of them keeps our men in good trim, and pleasures them; shortly to say

it, they are the chief deer wherewith our wood is stocked."

He stopped awhile and then went on again and said: "To say sooth they

be not very handy for crushing as a man crushes a wasp, because sorcery

goes with them, and the wiles of one who is their Queen, the evilest

woman who ever spat upon the blessed Host of the Altar: yet is she

strong, a devouring sea of souls, God help us!" And he blessed himself

therewith.

Said Ralph: "Yet a word on these Wheat-wearers; it seemeth that ye

never fail to overcome them in battle?"

"But seldom at least," quoth the Burgher.

Said Ralph: "Then it were no great matter for you to gather a host

overwhelming, and to take their towns and castles, and forbid them

weapons, and make them your thralls to till the land for you which now

they call theirs; so that ye might have of their gettings all save what

were needful for them to live as thralls."

"I deem it were an easy thing," said the burgher.

Quoth Ralph: "Then why do ye not so?"

"It were but a poor game to play," said the burgher. "Such of their

wealth as we have a mind to, we can have now at the cost of a battle or

two, begun one hour and ended the next: were we their masters sitting

down amidst of their hatred, and amidst of their plotting, yea, and in

the very place where that were the hottest and thickest, the battle

would be to begin at every sun's uprising, nor would it be ended at any

sunset. Hah! what sayest thou?"

Said Ralph: "This seemeth to me but the bare truth; yet it is little

after the manner of such masterful men as ye be. But why then do ye

slay all their carles that are taken; whereas ye bear away the women

and make thralls of them at home, that is to say, foes in every house?"

"It may be," said the Burgher, "that this is not amongst the wisest of

our dealings. Yet may we do no otherwise; for thus we swore to do by

all the greatest oaths that we might swear, in the days when we first

cast off their yoke, and yet were not over strong at the first; and now

it hath so grown into a part of our manners, yea, and of our very

hearts and minds, that the slaying of a Wheat-wearer is to us a lighter

matter than the smiting of a rabbit or a fowmart. But now, look you,

fair sir, my company ariseth from table; so I bid thee a good night.

And I give thee a good rede along with the good wish, to wit, that thou

ask not too many questions in this city concerning its foemen: for here

is the stranger looked upon with doubt, if he neither will take the

wages of the Burg for battle, nor hath aught to sell."

Ralph reddened at his word, and the other looked at him steadily as he

spoke, so that Ralph deemed that he mistrusted him: he deemed moreover

that three or four of the others looked hard at him as they went

towards the door, while Roger stood somewhat smiling, and humming a

snatch of an old song.

But when the other guests had left the hostelry, Roger left his

singing, and turned to Ralph and said: "Master, meseems that they

mistrust us, and now maybe is that peril that I spake of nigher than I

deemed when we came into the Burg this morning. And now I would that

we were well out of the Burg and in the merry greenwood again, and it

repents me that I brought thee hither."

"Nay, good fellow," quoth Ralph, "heed it not: besides, it was me, not

thee, that they seemed to doubt of. I will depart hence to-morrow

morning no worser than I came, and leave thee to seek thy fortune here;

and good luck go with thee."

Roger looked hard at him and said: "Not so, young lord; if thou goest

I will go with thee, for thou hast won my heart, I know not how: and I

would verily be thy servant, to follow thee whithersoever thou goest;

for I think that great deeds will come of thee."

This word pleased Ralph, for he was young and lightly put faith in

men's words, and loved to be well thought of, and was fain of good

fellowship withal. So he said: "This is a good word of thine, and I

thank thee for it; and look to it that in my adventures, and the reward

of them thou shalt have thy due share. Lo here my hand on it!"

Roger took his hand, yet therewith his face seemed a little troubled,

but he said nought. Then spoke Ralph: "True it is that I am not fain

to take the wages of the Burg; for it seems to me that they be hard

men, and cruel and joyless, and that their service shall be rather

churlish than knightly. Howbeit, let night bring counsel, and we will

see to this to-morrow; for now I am both sleepy and weary." Therewith

he called the chamberlain, who bore a wax light before him to his

chamber, and he did off his raiment and cast himself on his bed, and

fell asleep straightway, before he knew where Roger was sleeping,

whether it were in the hall or some place else.

CHAPTER 15

How Ralph Departed From the Burg of the Four Friths

Himseemed he had scarce been asleep a minute ere awoke with a sound of

someone saying softly, "Master, master, awake!" So he sat up and

answered softly in his turn: "Who is it? what is amiss, since the

night is yet young?"

"I am thy fellow-farer, Roger," said the speaker, "and this thou hast

to do, get on thy raiment speedily, and take thy weapons without noise,

if thou wouldst not be in the prison of the Burg before sunrise."

Ralph did as he was bidden without more words; for already when he lay

down his heart misgave him that he was in no safe place; he looked to

his weapons and armour that they should not clash, and down they came

into the hall and found the door on the latch; so out they went and

Ralph saw that it was somewhat cloudy; the moon was set and it was

dark, but Ralph knew by the scent that came in on the light wind, and a

little stir of blended sounds, that it was hard on dawning; and even

therewith he heard the challenge of the warders on the walls and their

crying of the hour; and the chimes of the belfry rang clear and loud,

and seeming close above him, two hours and a half after midnight.

Roger spake not, and Ralph was man-at-arms enough to know that he must

hold his peace; and though he longed sore to have his horse Falcon with

him, yet he wotted that it availed not to ask of his horse, since he

durst not ask of his life.

So they went on silently till they were out of the Great Place and came

into a narrow street, and so into another which led them straight into

the houseless space under the wall. Roger led right on as if he knew

the way well, and in a twinkling were they come to a postern in the

wall betwixt the East Gate and the South. By the said postern Ralph

saw certain men standing; and on the earth near by, whereas he was

keen-eyed, he saw more than one man lying moveless.

Spake Roger softly to the men who stood on their feet: "Is the rope

twined?" "Nay, rope-twiner," said one of them. Then Roger turned and

whispered to Ralph: "Friends. Get out thy sword!" Wherewithal the

gate was opened, and they all passed out through the wall, and stood

above the ditch in the angle-nook of a square tower. Then Ralph saw

some of the men stoop and shoot out a broad plank over the ditch, which

was deep but not wide thereabout, and straightway he followed the

others over it, going last save Roger. By then they were on the other

side he saw a glimmer of the dawn in the eastern heaven, but it was

still more than dusk, and no man spoke again. They went on softly

across the plain fields outside the wall, creeping from bush to bush,

and from tree to tree, for here, if nowhere about the circuit of the

Burg, were a few trees growing. Thus they came into a little wood and

passed through it, and then Ralph could see that the men were six

besides Roger; by the glimmer of the growing dawn he saw before them a

space of meadows with high hedges about them, and a dim line that he

took for the roof of a barn or grange, and beyond that a dark mass of

trees.

Still they pressed on without speaking; a dog barked not far off and

the cocks were crowing, and close by them in the meadow a cow lowed and

went hustling over the bents and the long, unbitten buttercups. Day

grew apace, and by then they were under the barn-gable which he had

seen aloof he saw the other roofs of the grange and heard the bleating

of sheep. And now he saw those six men clearly, and noted that one of

them was very big and tall, and one small and slender, and it came into

his mind that these two were none other than the twain whom he had come

upon the last night sitting in the hall of the Flower de Luce.

Even therewith came a man to the gate of the sheep-cote by the grange,

and caught sight of them, and had the wits to run back at once shouting

out: "Hugh, Wat, Richard, and all ye, out with you, out a doors! Here

be men! Ware the Dry Tree! Bows and bills! Bows and bills!"

With that those fellows of Ralph made no more ado, but set off running

at their best toward the wood aforesaid, which crowned the slope

leading up from the grange, and now took no care to go softly, nor

heeded the clashing of their armour. Ralph ran with the best and

entered the wood alongside the slim youth aforesaid, who stayed not at

the wood's edge but went on running still: but Ralph stayed and turned

to see what was toward, and beheld how that tall man was the last of

their company, and ere he entered the wood turned about with a bent bow

in his hand, and even as he nocked the shaft, the men from the Grange,

who were seven in all, came running out from behind the barn-gable,

crying out: "Ho thieves! ho ye of the Dry Tree, abide till we come!

flee not from handy strokes." The tall man had the shaft to his ear in

a twinkling, and loosed straightway, and nocked and loosed another

shaft without staying to note how the first had sped. But Ralph saw

that a man was before each of the shafts, and had fallen to earth,

though he had no time to see aught else, for even therewith the tall

man caught him by the hand, and crying out, "The third time!" ran on

with him after the rest of their company; and whereas he was

long-legged and Ralph lightfooted, they speedily came up with them, who

were running still, but laughing as they ran, and jeering at the men of

the Burg; and the tall man shouted out to them: "Yea, lads, the

counterfeit Dry Tree that they have raised in the Burg shall be dry

enough this time." "Truly," said another, "till we come to water it

with the blood of these wretches."

"Well, well, get on," said a third, "waste not your wind in talk; those

carles will make but a short run of it to the walls long as it was for

us, creeping and creeping as we behoved to."

The long man laughed; "Thou sayest sooth," said he, "but thou art the

longest winded of all in talking: get on, lads."

They laughed again at his word and sped on with less noise; while Ralph

thought within himself that he was come into strange company, for now

he knew well that the big man was even he whom he had first met at the

churchyard gate of the thorp under Bear Hill. Yet he deemed that there

was nought for it now but to go on.

Within a while they all slacked somewhat, and presently did but walk,

though swiftly, through the paths of the thicket, which Ralph deemed

full surely was part of that side of the Wood Perilous that lay south

of the Burg of the Four Friths. And now Roger joined himself to him,

and spake to him aloud and said: "So, fair master, thou art out of the

peril of death for this bout."

"Art thou all so sure of that?" quoth Ralph, "or who are these that be

with us? meseems they smell of the Dry Tree."

"Yea, or rebels and runaways therefrom," said Roger, with a dry grin.

"But whosoever they may be, thou shalt see that they will suffer us to

depart whither we will, if we like not their company. I will be thy

warrant thereof."

"Moreover," said Ralph, "I have lost Falcon my horse; it is a sore miss

of him."

"Maybe," quoth Roger, "but at least thou hast saved thy skin; and

whereas there are many horses on the earth, there is but one skin of

thine: be content; if thou wilt, thou shall win somewhat in exchange

for thine horse."

Ralph smiled, but somewhat sourly, and even therewith he heard a shrill

whistle a little aloof, and the men stayed and held their peace, for

they were talking together freely again now. Then the big man put his

fingers to his mouth and whistled again in answer, a third whistle

answered him; and lo, presently, as their company hastened on, the

voices of men, and anon they came into a little wood-lawn wherein

standing about or lying on the grass beside their horses were more than

a score of men well armed, but without any banner or token, and all in

white armour with white Gaberdines thereover; and they had with them,

as Ralph judged, some dozen of horses more than they needed for their

own riding.

Great was the joy at this meeting, and there was embracing and kissing

of friends: but Ralph noted that no man embraced that slender youth,

and that he held him somewhat aloof from the others, and all seemed to

do him reverence.

Now spake one of the runaways: "Well, lads, here be all we four well

met again along with those twain who came to help us at our pinch, as

their wont is, and Roger withal, good at need again, and a friend of

his, as it seemeth, and whom we know not. See ye to that."

Then stood forth the big man and said: "He is a fair young knight, as

ye may see; and he rideth seeking adventures, and Roger did us to wit

that he was abiding in the Burg at his peril, and would have him away,

even if it were somewhat against his will: and we were willing that it

should be so, all the more as I have a guess concerning what he is; and

a foreseeing man might think that luck should go with him." Therewith

he turned to Ralph and said: "How say ye, fair sir, will ye take

guesting with us a while and learn our ways?"

Said Ralph: "Certain I am that whither ye will have me go, thither

must I; yet I deem that I have an errand that lies not your way.

Therefore if I go with you, ye must so look upon it that I am in your

fellowship as one compelled. To be short with you, I crave leave to

depart and go mine own road."

As he spoke he saw the youth walking up and down in short turns; but

his face he could scarce see at all, what for his slouched hat, what

for his cloak; and at last he saw him go up to the tall man and speak

softly to him awhile. The tall man nodded his head, and as the youth

drew right back nigh to the thicket, spake to Ralph again.

"Fair sir, we grant thine asking; and add this thereto that we give

thee the man who has joined himself to thee, Roger of the Rope-walk to

wit, to help thee on the road, so that thou mayst not turn thy face

back to the Burg of the Four Friths, where thine errand, and thy life

withal, were soon sped now, or run into any other trap which the Wood

Perilous may have for thee. And yet if thou think better of it, thou

mayst come with us straightway; for we have nought to do to tarry here

any longer. And in any case, here is a good horse that we will give

thee, since thou hast lost thy steed; and Roger who rideth with thee,

he also is well horsed."

Ralph looked hard at the big man, who now had his salade thrown back

from his face, to see if he gave any token of jeering or malice, but

could see nought such: nay, his face was grave and serious, not

ill-fashioned, though it were both long and broad like his body: his

cheek-bones somewhat high, his eyes grey and middling great, and

looking, as it were, far away.

Now deems Ralph that as for a trap of the Wood Perilous, he had already

fallen into the trap; for he scarce needed to be told that these were

men of the Dry Tree. He knew also that it was Roger who had led him

into this trap, although he deemed it done with no malice against him.

So he said to himself that if he went with Roger he but went a

roundabout road to the Dry Tree; so that he was well nigh choosing to

go on with their company. Yet again he thought that something might

well befall which would free him from that fellowship if he went with

Roger alone; whereas if he went with the others it was not that he

might be, but that he was already of the fellowship of the Dry Tree,

and most like would go straight thence to their stronghold. So he

spake as soberly as the tall man had done.

"Since ye give me the choice, fair sir, I will depart hence with Roger

alone, whom ye call my man, though to me he seemeth to be yours.

Howbeit, he has led me to you once, and belike will do so once more."

"Yea," quoth the big man smiling no whit more than erst, "and that will

make the fourth time. Depart then, fair sir, and take this word with

thee that I wish thee good and not evil."

CHAPTER 16

Ralph Rideth the Wood Perilous Again

Now Roger led up to Ralph a strong horse, red roan of hue, duly

harnessed for war, and he himself had a good grey horse, and they

mounted at once, and Ralph rode slowly away through the wood at his

horse's will, for he was pondering all that had befallen him, and

wondering what next should hap. Meanwhile those others had not

loitered, but were a-horseback at once, and went their ways from Ralph

through the wildwood.

Nought spake Ralph for a while till Roger came close up to him and

said: "Whither shall we betake us, fair lord? hast thou an inkling of

the road whereon lies thine errand?"

Now to Ralph this seemed but mockery, and he answered sharply: "I wot

not, thou wilt lead whither thou wilt, even as thou hast trained me

hitherward with lies and a forged tale. I suppose thou wilt lead me

now by some roundabout road to the stronghold of the Dry Tree. It

matters little, since thou durst not lead me back into the Burg. Yet

now I come to think of it, it is evil to be alone with a found out

traitor and liar; and I had belike have done better to go with their

company."

"Nay nay," quoth Roger, "thou art angry, and I marvel not thereat; but

let thy wrath run off thee if thou mayest; for indeed what I have told

thee of myself and my griefs is not all mere lying. Neither was it any

lie that thou wert in peril of thy life amongst those tyrants of the

Burg; thou with thy manly bearing, and free tongue, and bred, as I

judge, to hate cruel deeds and injustice. Such freedom they cannot

away with in that fellowship of hard men-at-arms; and soon hadst thou

come to harm amongst them. And further, let alone that it is not ill

to be sundered from yonder company, who mayhap will have rough work to

do or ever they win home, I have nought to do to bring thee to Hampton

under Scaur if thou hast no will to go thither: though certes I would

lead thee some whither, whereof thou shalt ask me nought as now; yet

will I say thereof this much, that there thou shalt be both safe and

well at ease. Now lastly know this, that whatever I have done, I have

done it to do thee good and not ill; and there is also another one,

whom I will not name to thee, who wisheth thee better yet, by the token

of those two strokes stricken by thee in the Wood Perilous before

yesterday was a day."

Now when Ralph heard those last words, such strong and sweet hope and

desire stirred in him to see that woman of the Want-ways of the Wood

Perilous that he forgat all else, except that he must nowise fall to

strife with Roger, lest they should sunder, and he should lose the help

of him, which he now deemed would bring him to sight of her whom he had

unwittingly come to long for more than aught else; so he spake to Roger

quietly and humbly: "Well, faring-fellow, thou seest how I am little

more than a lad, and have fallen into matters mighty and perilous,

which I may not deal with of my own strength, at least until I get

nigher to them so that I may look them in the eyes, and strike a stroke

or two on them if they be at enmity with me. So I bid thee lead me

whither thou wilt, and if thou be a traitor to me, on thine own head be

it; in good sooth, since I know nought of this wood and since I might

go astray and so come back to the Burg where be those whom thou hast

now made my foemen, I am content to take thee on thy word, and to hope

the best of thee, and ask no question of thee, save whitherward."

"Fair sir," said Roger, "away from this place at least; for we are as

yet over nigh to the Burg to be safe: but as to elsewhither we may

wend, thereof we may speak on the road as we have leisure."

Therewith he smote his horse with his heel and they went forward at a

smart trot, for the horses were unwearied, and the wood thereabouts of

beech and clear of underwood; and Roger seemed to know his way well,

and made no fumbling over it.

Four hours or more gone, the wood thinned and the beeches failed, and

they came to a country, still waste, of little low hills, stony for the

more part, beset with scraggy thorn-bushes, and here and there some

other berry-tree sown by the birds. Then said Roger: "Now I deem us

well out of the peril of them of the Burg, who if they follow the chase

as far as the sundering of us and the others, will heed our slot

nothing, but will follow on that of the company: so we may breathe our

horses a little, though their bait will be but small in this rough

waste: therein we are better off than they, for lo you, saddle bags on

my nag and meat and drink therein."

So they lighted down and let their horses graze what they could, while

they ate and drank; amidst which Ralph again asked Roger of whither

they were going. Said Roger: "I shall lead thee to a good harbour,

and a noble house of a master of mine, wherein thou mayst dwell certain

days, if thou hast a mind thereto, not without solace maybe."

"And this master," said Ralph, "is he of the Dry Tree?" Said Roger: "I

scarce know how to answer thee without lying: but this I say, that

whether he be or not, this is true; amongst those men I have friends

and amongst them foes; but fate bindeth me to them for a while." Said

Ralph reddening: "Be there any women amongst them?" "Yea, yea," quoth

Roger, smiling a little, "doubt not thereof."

"And that Lady of the Dry Tree," quoth Ralph, reddening yet more, but

holding up his head, "that woman whereof the Burgher spoke so bitterly,

threatening her with torments and death if they might but lay hold of

her; what wilt thou tell me concerning her?" "But little," said Roger,

"save this, that thou desirest to see her, and that thou mayest have

thy will thereon if thou wilt be guided by me."

Ralph hearkened as if he heeded little what Roger said; but presently

he rose up and walked to and fro in short turns with knit brows as one

pondering a hard matter. He spake nought, and Roger seemed to heed him

nothing, though in sooth he looked at him askance from time to time,

till at last he came and lay down again by Roger, and in a while he

spake: "I wot not why ye of the Dry Tree want me, or what ye will do

with me; and but for one thing I would even now ride away from thee at

all adventure."

Roger said: "All this ye shall learn later on, and shalt find it but a

simple matter; and meanwhile I tell thee again that all is for thy gain

and thy pleasure. So now ride away if thou wilt; who hindereth thee?

certes not I."

"Nay," said Ralph, "I will ride with thee first to that fair house; and

afterwards we shall see what is to hap." "Yea," quoth Roger, "then let

us to horse straightway, so that we may be there if not before dark

night yet at least before bright morn; for it is yet far away."

CHAPTER 17

Ralph Cometh to the House of Abundance

Therewithal they gat to horse and rode away through that stony land,

wherein was no river, but for water many pools in the bottoms, with

little brooks running from them. But after a while they came upon a

ridge somewhat high, on the further side whereof was a wide valley

well-grassed and with few trees, and no habitation of man that they

might see. But a wide river ran down the midst of it; and it was now

four hours after noon. Quoth Roger: "The day wears and we shall by no

means reach harbour before dark night, even if we do our best: art thou

well used to the water, lord?" "Much as a mallard is," said Ralph.

Said Roger: "That is well, for though there is a ford some mile and a

half down stream, for that same reason it is the way whereby men mostly

cross the water into the wildwood; and here again we are more like to

meet foes than well-wishers; or at the least there will be question of

who we are, and whence and whither; and we may stumble in our answers."

Said Ralph: "There is no need to tarry, ride we down to the water."

So did they, and took the water, which was deep, but not swift. On the

further side they clomb up a hill somewhat steep; at the crown they

drew rein to give their horses breath, and Ralph turned in his saddle

and looked down on to the valley, and as aforesaid he was clear-sighted

and far-sighted; now he said: "Fellow-farer, I see the riding of folk

down below there, and meseems they be spurring toward the water; and

they have weapons: there! dost thou not see the gleam?"

"I will take thy word for it, fair sir," said Roger, "and will even

spur, since they be the first men whom we have seen since we left the

thickets." And therewith he went off at a hand gallop, and Ralph

followed him without more ado.

They rode up hill and down dale of a grassy downland, till at last they

saw a wood before them again, and soon drew rein under the boughs; for

now were their horses somewhat wearied. Then said Ralph: "Here have

we ridden a fair land, and seen neither house nor herd, neither

sheep-cote nor shepherd. I wonder thereat."

Said Roger: "Thou wouldst wonder the less didst thou know the story of

it." "What story?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger: "A story of war and

wasting." "Yea?" said Ralph, "yet surely some bold knight or baron hath

rights in the land, and might be free to build him a strong house and

gather men to him to guard the shepherds and husbandmen from burners

and lifters." "Sooth is that," said Roger; "but there are other things

in the tale." "What things?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger: "Ill hap and

sorrow and the Hand of Fate and great Sorcery." "And dastards withal?"

said Ralph. "Even so," said Roger, "yet mingled with valiant men.

Over long is the tale to tell as now, so low as the sun is; so now ride

we on with little fear of foemen. For look you, this wood, like the

thickets about the Burg of the Four Friths, hath an evil name, and few

folk ride it uncompelled; therefore it is the safer for us. And yet I

will say this to thee, that whereas awhile agone thou mightest have

departed from me with little peril of aught save the stumbling on some

of the riders of the Burg of the Four Friths, departing from me now

will be a hard matter to thee; for the saints in Heaven only know

whitherward thou shouldest come, if thou wert to guide thyself now.

This a rough word, but a true one, so help me God and Saint Michael!

What sayest thou; art thou content, or wilt thou cast hard words at me

again?"

So it was that for all that had come and gone Ralph was light-hearted

and happy; so he laughed and said: "Content were I, even if I were not

compelled thereto. For my heart tells me of new things, and marvellous

and joyous that I shall see ere long."

"And thine heart lieth not," said Roger, "for amidst of this wood is

the house where we shall have guesting to-night, which will be to thee,

belike, the door of life and many marvels. For thence have folk sought

ere now to the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph turned to him sharply and said: "Many times in these few days

have I heard that word. Dost thou know the meaning thereof? For as to

me I know it not." Said Roger: "Thou mayest well be as wise as I am

thereon: belike men seek to it for their much thriving, and oftenest

find it not. Yet have I heard that they be the likeliest with whom all

women are in love."

Ralph held his peace, but Roger noted that he reddened at the word.

Now they got on horseback again, for they had lighted down to breathe

their beasts, and they rode on and on, and never was Roger at fault:

long was the way and perforce they rested at whiles, so that night fell

upon them in the wood, but the moon rose withal. So night being fairly

come, they rested a good while, as it would be dawn before moonset.

Then they rode on again, till now the summer night grew old and waned,

but the wood hid the beginnings of dawn.

At last they came out of the close wood suddenly into an open plain,

and now, as the twilight of the dawn was passing into early day, they

saw that wide grassy meadows and tilled fields lay before them, with a

little river running through the plain; and amidst the meadows, on a

green mound, was a white castle, strong, and well built, though not of

the biggest.

Roger pointed to it, and said, "Now we are come home," and cried on his

wearied beast, who for his part seemed to see the end of his journey.

They splashed through a ford of the river and came to the gate of the

castle as day drew on apace; Roger blew a blast on a great horn that

hung on the gate, and Ralph looking round deemed he had never seen

fairer building than in the castle, what he could see of it, and yet it

was built from of old. They waited no long while before they were

answered; but whereas Ralph looked to see armed gatewards peer from the

battlements or the shot window, and a porter espying them through a

lattice, it happened in no such way, but without more ado the wicket

was opened to them by a tall old woman, gaunt and grey, who greeted

them courteously: Roger lighted down and Ralph did in likewise, and

they led their horses through the gate into the court of the castle;

the old woman going before them till they came to the hall door, which

she opened to them, and taking the reins of their horses led them away

to the stable, while those twain entered the hall, which was as goodly

as might be. Roger led Ralph up to a board on the dais, whereon there

was meat and drink enow, and Ralph made his way-leader sit down by him,

and they fell to. There was no serving-man to wait on them nor a carle

of any kind did they see; the old woman only, coming back from the

horses, served them at table. Ever as she went about she looked long

on Ralph, and seemed as if she would have spoken to him, but as often,

she glanced at Roger and forbore.

So when they were well nigh done with their meat Ralph spake to the

carline and said: "Belike the lord or the lady of this house are abed

and we shall not see them till the morrow?"

Ere the carline could speak Roger broke in and said: "There is neither

lord nor lady in the castle as now, nor belike will there be to-morrow

morning, or rather, before noon on this day; so now ye were better to

let this dame lead thee to bed, and let the next hours take care of

themselves."

"So be it," said Ralph, who was by this time heartily wearied, "shall

we two lie in the same chamber?"

"Nay," said the carline shortly, "lodging for the master and lodging

for the man are two different things."

Roger laughed and said nought, and Ralph gave him good night, and

followed the carline nothing loth, who led him to a fair chamber over

the solar, as if he had been the very master of the castle, and he lay

down in a very goodly bed, nor troubled himself as to where Roger lay,

nor indeed of aught else, nor did he dream of Burg, or wood, or castle,

or man, or woman; but lay still like the image of his father's father

on the painted tomb in the choir of St. Laurence of Upmeads.

CHAPTER 18

Of Ralph in the Castle of Abundance

Broad lay the sun upon the plain amidst the wildwood when he awoke and

sprang out of bed and looked out of the window (for the chamber was in

the gable of the hall and there was nought of the castle beyond it). It

was but little after noon of a fair June day, for Ralph had slumbered

as it behoved a young man. The light wind bore into the chamber the

sweet scents of the early summer, the chief of all of them being the

savour of the new-cut grass, for about the wide meadows the carles and

queens were awork at the beginning of hay harvest; and late as it was

in the day, more than one blackbird was singing from the bushes of the

castle pleasance. Ralph sighed for very pleasure of life before he had

yet well remembered where he was or what had befallen of late; but as

he stood at the window and gazed over the meadows, and the memory of

all came back to him, he sighed once more for a lack of somewhat that

came into his heart, and he smiled shamefacedly, though there was no

one near, as his thought bade him wonder if amongst the haymaking women

yonder there were any as fair as those yellow-clad thrall-women of the

Burg; and as he turned from the window a new hope made his heart beat,

for he deemed that he had been brought to that house that he might meet

some one who should change his life and make him a new man.

So he did on his raiment and went his ways down to the hall, and looked

about for Roger, but found him not, nor any one else save the carline,

who presently came in from the buttery, and of whom he asked, where was

Roger. Quoth she: "He has been gone these six hours, but hath left a

word for thee, lord, to wit, that he beseeches thee to abide him here

for two days at the least, and thereafter thou art free to go if thou

wilt. But as for me" (and therewith she smiled on him as sweetly as

her wrinkled old face might compass) "I say to thee, abide beyond those

two days if Roger cometh not, and as long as thou art here I will make

thee all the cheer I may. And who knoweth but thou mayest meet worthy

adventures here. Such have ere now befallen good knights in this house

or anigh it."

"I thank thee, mother," quoth Ralph, "and it is like that I may abide

here beyond the two days if the adventure befall me not ere then. But

at least I will bide the eating of my dinner here to-day."

"Well is thee, fair lord," said the carline. "If thou wilt but walk in

the meadow but a little half hour all shall be ready for thee.

Forsooth it had been dight before now, but that I waited thy coming

forth from thy chamber, for I would not wake thee. And the saints be

praised for the long sweet sleep that hath painted thy goodly cheeks."

So saying she hurried off to the buttery, leaving Ralph laughing at her

outspoken flattering words.

Then he got him out of the hall and the castle, for no door was shut,

and there was no man to be seen within or about the house. So he

walked to and fro the meadow and saw the neat-herds in the pasture, and

the hay-making folk beyond them, and the sound of their voices came to

him on the little airs that were breathing. He thought he would talk

to some of these folk ere the world was much older, and also he noted

between the river and the wood many cots of the husbandmen trimly

builded and thatched, and amidst them a little church, white and

delicate of fashion; but as now his face was set toward the river

because of the hot day. He came to a pool a little below where a

wooden foot-bridge crossed the water, and about the pool were willows

growing, which had not been shrouded these eight years, and the water

was clear as glass with a bottom of fine sand. There then he bathed

him, and as he sported in the water he bethought him of the long smooth

reaches of Upmeads Water, and the swimming low down amidst the long

swinging weeds between the chuckle of the reed sparrows, when the sun

was new risen in the July morning. When he stood on the grass again,

what with the bright weather and fair little land, what with the

freshness of the water, and his good rest, and the hope of adventure to

come, he felt as if he had never been merrier in his life-days. Withal

it was a weight off his heart that he had escaped from the turmoil of

the wars of the Burg of the Four Friths, and the men of the Dry Tree,

and the Wheat-wearers, with the thralldom and stripes and fire-raising,

and the hard life of strife and gain of the walled town and strong

place.

When he came back to the castle gate there was the carline in the

wicket peering out to right and left, seeking him to bring him in to

dinner. And when she saw him so joyous, with his lips smiling and his

eyes dancing for mirth, she also became joyous, and said: "Verily, it

is a pity of thee that there is never a fair damsel or so to look on

thee and love thee here to-day. Far would many a maiden run to kiss thy

mouth, fair lad. But now come to thy meat, that thou mayest grow the

fairer and last the longer."

He laughed gaily and went into the hall with her, and now was it well

dight with bankers and dorsars of goodly figured cloth, and on the

walls a goodly halling of arras of the Story of Alexander. So he sat

to table, and the meat and drink was of the best, and the carline

served him, praising him ever with fulsome words as he ate, till he

wished her away.

After dinner he rested awhile, and called to the carline and bade her

bring him his sword and his basnet. "Wherefore?" said she. "Whither

wilt thou?"

Said he, "I would walk abroad to drink the air."

"Wilt thou into the wildwood?" said she.

"Nay, mother," he said, "I will but walk about the meadow and look on

the hay-making folk."

"For that," said the carline, "thou needest neither sword nor helm. I

was afeard that thou wert about departing, and thy departure would be a

grief to my heart: in the deep wood thou mightest be so bestead as to

need a sword in thy fist; but what shouldst thou do with it in this

Plain of Abundance, where are nought but peaceful husbandmen and frank

and kind maidens? and all these are as if they had drunk a draught of

the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph started as she said the word, but held his peace awhile. Then he

said: "And who is lord of this fair land?" "There is no lord, but a

lady," said the carline. "How hight she?" said Ralph. "We call her

the Lady of Abundance," said the old woman. Said Ralph: "Is she a

good lady?" "She is my lady," said the carline, "and doeth good to me,

and there is not a carle in the land but speaketh well of her--it may

be over well." "Is she fair to look on?" said Ralph. "Of women-folk

there is none fairer," said the carline; "as to men, that is another

thing."

Ralph was silent awhile, then he said: "What is the Well at the

World's End?"

"They talk of it here," said she, "many things too long to tell of now:

but there is a book in this house that telleth of it; I know it well by

the look of it though I may not read in it. I will seek it for thee

to-morrow if thou wilt."

"Have thou thanks, dame," said he; "and I pray thee forget it not; but

now I will go forth."

"Yea," said the carline, "but abide a little."

Therewith she went into the buttery, and came back bearing with her a

garland of roses of the garden, intermingled with green leaves, and she

said: "The sun is yet hot and over hot, do this on thine head to shade

thee from the burning. I knew that thou wouldst go abroad to-day, so I

made this for thee in the morning; and when I was young I was called

the garland-maker. It is better summer wear than thy basnet."

He thanked her and did it on smiling, but somewhat ruefully; for he

said to himself: "This is over old a dame that I should wear a

love-token from her." But when it was on his head, the old dame

clapped her hands and cried: "O there, there! Now art thou like the

image of St. Michael in the Choir of Our Lady of the Thorn: there is

none so lovely as thou. I would my Lady could see thee thus; surely

the sight of thee should gladden her heart. And withal thou art not

ill clad otherwise."

Indeed his raiment was goodly, for his surcoat was new, and it was of

fine green cloth, and the coat-armour of Upmead was beaten on it, to

wit, on a gold ground an apple-tree fruited, standing by a river-side.

Now he laughed somewhat uneasily at her words, and so went forth from

the castle again, and made straight for the hay-making folk on the

other side of the water; for all this side was being fed by beasts and

sheep; but at the point where he crossed, the winding of the stream

brought it near to the castle gate. So he came up with the country

folk and greeted them, and they did as much by him in courteous words:

they were goodly and well-shapen, both men and women, gay and joyous of

demeanour and well clad as for folk who work afield. So Ralph went

from one to another and gave them a word or two, and was well pleased

to watch them at their work awhile; but yet he would fain speak

somewhat more with one or other of them. At last under the shade of a

tall elm-tree he saw an old man sitting heeding the outer raiment of

the haymakers and their victual and bottles of drink; and he came up to

him and gave him the sele of the day; and the old man blessed him and

said: "Art thou dwelling in my lady's castle, fair lord?" "A while at

least," said Ralph. Said the old man: "We thank thee for coming to see

us; and meseemeth from the look of thee thou art worthy to dwell in my

Lady's House."

"What sayest thou?" said Ralph. "Is she a good lady and a gracious?"

"O yea, yea," said the carle. Said Ralph: "Thou meanest, I suppose,

that she is fair to look on, and soft-spoken when she is pleased?"

"I mean far more than that," said the carle; "surely is she most

heavenly fair, and her voice is like the music of heaven: but withal

her deeds, and the kindness of her to us poor men and husbandmen, are

no worse than should flow forth from that loveliness."

"Will you be her servants?" said Ralph, "or what are ye?" Said the

carle: "We be yeomen and her vavassors; there is no thralldom in our

land." "Do ye live in good peace for the more part?" said Ralph. Said

the carle: "Time has been when cruel battles were fought in these

wood-lawns, and many poor people were destroyed therein: but that was

before the coming of the Lady of Abundance."

"And when was that?" said Ralph. "I wot not," said the old carle; "I

was born in peace and suckled in peace; and in peace I fell to the

loving of maidens, and I wedded in peace, and begat children in peace,

and in peace they dwell about me, and in peace shall I depart."

"What then," said Ralph (and a grievous fear was born in his heart),

"is not the Lady of Abundance young?" Said the carle: "I have seen her

when I was young and also since I have been old, and ever was she fair

and lovely, and slender handed, as straight as a spear, and as sweet as

white clover, and gentle-voiced and kind, and dear to our souls."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and she doth not dwell in this castle always; where

else then doth she dwell?" "I wot not," said the carle, "but it should

be in heaven: for when she cometh to us all our joys increase in us by

the half."

"Look you, father," said Ralph, "May it not have been more than one

Lady of Abundance that thou hast seen in thy life-days; and that this

one that now is, is the daughter's daughter of the one whom thou first

sawest--how sayest thou?" The carle laughed: "Nay, nay," said he,

"It is not so: never has there been another like to her in all ways, in

body and voice, and heart and soul. It is as I say, she is the same as

she was always." "And when," said Ralph, with a beating heart, "does

she come hither? Is it at some set season?" "Nay, from time to time,

at all seasons," said the carle; "and as fair she is when she goeth

over the snow, as when her feet are set amidst the June daisies."

Now was Ralph so full of wonder that he scarce knew what to say; but he

bethought him of that fair waste on the other side of the forest, the

country through which that wide river flowed, so he said: "And that

land north-away beyond the wildwood, canst thou tell me the tale of its

wars, and if it were wasted in the same wars that tormented this land?"

The carle shook his head: "As to the land beyond this wood," quoth he,

"I know nought of it, for beyond the wood go we never: nay, most often

we go but a little way into it, no further than we can see the glimmer

of the open daylight through its trees,--the daylight of the land of

Abundance--that is enough for us."

"Well," said Ralph, "I thank thee for the tale thou hast told me, and

wish thee more years of peace."

"And to thee, young man," said the carle, "I wish a good wish indeed,

to wit that thou mayest see the Lady of Abundance here before thou

departest."

His words once more made Ralph's heart beat and his cheek flush, and he

went back to the castle somewhat speedily; for he said to himself,

after the folly of lovers, "Maybe she will be come even now, and I not

there to meet her." Yet when he came to the castle-gate his heart

misgave him, and he would not enter at once, but turned about to go

round the wall by the north and west. In the castle he saw no soul

save the old dame looking out of the window and nodding to him, but in

the pasture all about were neatherds and shepherds, both men and women;

and at the north-west corner, whereas the river drew quite close to the

wall, he came upon two damsels of the field-folk fishing with an angle

in a quiet pool of the stream. He greeted them, and they, who were

young and goodly, returned his greeting, but were shamefaced at his

gallant presence, as indeed was he at the thoughts of his heart mingled

with the sight of their fairness. So he passed on at first without

more words than his greeting. Yet presently he turned back again, for

he longed to hear some word more concerning the Lady whose coming he

abode. They stood smiling and blushing as he came up to them again,

and heeded their angles little.

Said Ralph: "Fair maidens, do ye know at all when the Lady of the

castle may be looked for?" They were slow to answer, but at last one

said: "No, fair sir, such as we know nothing of the comings and goings

of great folk."

Said Ralph, smiling on her for kindness, and pleasure of her fairness:

"Is it not so that ye will be glad of her coming?"

But she answered never a word, only looked at him steadily, with her

great grey eyes fixed in wonderment, while the other one looked down as

if intent on her angling tools.

Ralph knew not how to ask another question, so he turned about with a

greeting word again, and this time went on steadily round about the

wall.

And now in his heart waxed the desire of that Lady, once seen, as he

deemed, in such strange wise; but he wondered within himself if the

devil had not sown that longing within him: whereas it might be that

this woman on whom he had set his heart was herself no real woman but a

devil, and one of the goddesses of the ancient world, and his heart was

sore and troubled by many doubts and hopes and fears; but he said to

himself that when he saw her then could he judge between the good and

the evil, and could do or forbear, and that the sight of her would cure

all.

Thus thinking he walked swiftly, and was soon round at the castle gate

again, and entered, and went into the hall, where was the old dame,

busied about some household matter. Ralph nodded to her and hastened

away, lest she should fall to talk with him; and he set himself now to

go from chamber to chamber, that he might learn the castle, what it

was. He came into the guard-chamber and found the walls thereof all

hung with armour and weapons, clean and in good order, though there was

never a man-at-arms there, nor any soul except the old woman. He went

up a stair therefrom on to the battlements, and went into the towers of

the wall, and found weapons both for hand, and for cast and shot in

each one of them, and all ready as if for present battle; then he came

down into the court again and went into a very goodly ambulatory over

against the hall, and he entered a door therefrom, which was but on the

latch, and went up a little stair into a chamber, which was the

goodliest and the richest of all. Its roof was all done with gold and

blue from over sea, and its pavement wrought delicately in Alexandrine

work. On the dais was a throne of carven ivory, and above it a canopy

of baudekin of the goodliest fashion, and there was a foot-carpet

before it, wrought with beasts and the hunting of the deer. As for the

walls of that chamber, they were hung with a marvellous halling of

arras, wherein was wrought the greenwood, and there amidst in one place

a pot-herb garden, and a green garth with goats therein, and in that

garth a little thatched house. And amidst all this greenery were

figured over and over again two women, whereof one old and the other

young; and the old one was clad in grand attire, with gold chains and

brooches and rings, and sat with her hands before her by the house

door, or stood looking on as the young one worked, spinning or digging

in the garth, or milking the goats outside of it, or what not; and this

one was clad in sorry and scanty raiment.

What all this might mean Ralph knew not; but when he had looked long at

the greenery and its images, he said to himself that if he who wrought

that cloth had not done the young woman after the likeness of the Lady

whom he had helped in the wildwood, then it must have been done from

her twin sister.

Long he abode in that chamber looking at the arras, and wondering

whether the sitter in the ivory throne would be any other than the

thrall in the greenwood cot. He abode there so long that the dusk

began to gather in the house, and he could see the images no more; for

he was filled with the sweetness of desire when he looked on them.

Then he went back slowly to the hall, and found the carline, who had

lighted the waxlights and made meat ready for him; and when she saw him

she cried out joyously: "Ah, I knew that thou wouldst come back. Art

thou well content with our little land?"

"I like it well, dame," said he; "but tell me, if thou canst, what is

the meaning of the halling in the chamber with the ivory throne?"

Said the carline: "Thereof shall another tell thee, who can tell of it

better than I; but it is nought to hide that yonder chamber is the

chamber of estate of our Lady, and she sitteth there to hear the cases

of folk and to give dooms."

The old woman crossed herself as she spoke, and Ralph wondered thereat,

but asked no more questions, for he was scarce sorry that the carline

would not tell him thereof, lest she should spoil the tale.

So passed the evening, and he went to bed and slept as a young man

should, and the next day he was up betimes and went abroad and mingled

with the carles and queens afield; but this time he spake not of the

Lady, and heard nought to heed from any of that folk. So he went back

to the castle and gat him a bow and arrows, and entered the thicket of

the wood nigh where he and Roger first came out of it. He had prayed a

young man of the folk to go with him, but he was not over willing to

go, though he would not say wherefore. So Ralph went himself by

himself and wandered some way into the wood, and saw nought worse than

himself. As he came back, making a circuit toward the open meadows, he

happened on a herd of deer in a lonely place, half wood half meadow,

and there he slew a hart with one shaft, for he was a deft bowman.

Then he went and fetched a leash of carles, who went with him somewhat

less than half willingly, and between them they broke up the hart and

carried him home to the castle, where the carline met them. She smiled

on Ralph and praised the venison, and said withal that the hunting was

well done; "For, as fond and as fair as thou mayst be, it is not good

that young men should have their minds set on one thing only."

Therewith she led him in to his meat, and set him down and served him;

and all the while of his dinner he was longing to ask her if she deemed

that the Lady would come that day, since it was the last day of those

which Roger had bidden him wait; but the words would not out of his

mouth.

She looked at him and smiled, as though she had a guess of his thought,

and at last she said to him: "Thy tongue is tied to-day. Hast thou,

after all, seen something strange in the wood?" He shook his head for

naysay. Said she: "Why, then, dost thou not ask more concerning the

Well at the World's End?"

He laughed, and said: "Maybe because I think that thou canst not tell

me thereof." "Well," she said, "if I cannot, yet the book may, and

this evening, when the sun is down, thou shalt have it."

"I thank thee, mother," said he; "but this is now the last day that

Roger bade me wait. Dost thou think that he will come back to-night?"

and he reddened therewith. "Nay," she said, "I know not, and thou

carest not whether he will come or not. Yet I know that thou wilt

abide here till some one else come, whether that be early or late."

Again he reddened, and said, in a coaxing way: "And wilt thou give me

guesting, mother, for a few more summer days?"

"Yea," she said, "and till summer is over, if need be, and the corn is

cut and carried, and till the winter is come and the latter end of

winter is gone." He smiled faintly, though his heart fell, and he

said: "Nay, mother, and can it by any chance be so long a-coming?"

"O, fair boy," she said, "thou wilt make it long, howsoever short it

be. And now I will give thee a rede, lest thou vex thyself sick and

fret thy very heart. To-morrow go see if thou canst meet thy fate

instead of abiding it. Do on thy war-gear and take thy sword and try

the adventure of the wildwood; but go not over deep into it." Said he:

"But how if the Lady come while I am away from this house?"

"Sooth to say," said the carline, "I deem not that she will, for the

way is long betwixt us and her."

"Dost thou mean," said Ralph, standing up from the board, "that she

will not come ever? I adjure thee not to beguile me with soft words,

but tell me the very sooth." "There, there!" said she, "sit down,

king's son; eat thy meat and drink thy wine; for to-morrow is a new

day. She will come soon or late, if she be yet in the world. And now

I will say no more to thee concerning this matter."

Therewith she went her ways from the hall, and when she came back with

hand-basin and towel, she said no word to him, but only smiled kindly.

He went out presently into the meadow (for it was yet but early

afternoon) and came among the haymaking folk and spake with them,

hoping that perchance some of them might speak again of the Lady of

Abundance; but none of them did so, though the old carle he had spoken

with was there, and there also were the two maidens whom he had seen

fishing; and as for him, he was over faint-hearted to ask them any more

questions concerning her.

Yet he abode with them long, and ate and drank amidst the hay with them

till the moon shone brightly. Then he went back to the castle and

found the carline in the hall, and she had the book with her and gave

it to him, and he sat down in the shot-window under the waxlights and

fell to reading of it.

CHAPTER 19

Ralph Readeth in a Book Concerning the Well at the World's End

Fairly written was that book, with many pictures therein, the meaning

of which Ralph knew not; but amongst them was the image of the fair

woman whom he had holpen at the want-ways of the wood, and but four

days ago was that, yet it seemed long and long to him. The book told

not much about the Well at the World's End, but much it told of a

certain woman whom no man that saw her could forbear to love: of her

it told that erewhile she dwelt lonely in the wildwood (though how she

came there was not said) and how a king's son found her there and

brought her to his father's kingdom and wedded her, whether others were

lief or loth: and in a little while, when the fame of her had spread,

he was put out of his kingdom and his father's house for the love of

her, because other kings and lords hankered after her; whereof befel

long and grievous war which she abode not to the end, but sought to her

old place in the wildwood; and how she found there another woman a

sorceress, who made her her thrall; and tormented her grievously with

toil and stripes. And how again there came a knight to that place who

was seeking the Well at the World's End, and bore her away with him;

and how the said knight was slain on the way, and she was taken by

tyrants and robbers of the folk: but these being entangled in her love

fought amongst themselves and she escaped, and went seeking that Well,

and found it at the long last, and drank thereof, and throve ever

after: and how she liveth yet, and is become the servant of the Well to

entangle the seekers in her love and keep them from drinking thereof;

because there was no man that beheld her, but anon he was the thrall of

her love, and might not pluck his heart away from her to do any of the

deeds whereby men thrive and win the praise of the people.

Ralph read on and on till the short night waned, and the wax-lights

failed one after the other, and the windows of the hall grew grey and

daylight came, and the throstles burst out a-singing at once in the

castle pleasaunce, and the sun came up over the wood, and the sound of

men-folk bestirring themselves a-field came to his ears through the

open windows; and at last he was done with the tale, and the carline

came not near him though the sun had clomb high up the heavens. As for

Ralph, what he had read was sweet poison to him; for if before he was

somewhat tormented by love, now was his heart sick and sore with it.

Though he knew not for certain whether this tale had to do with the

Lady of the Forest, and though he knew not if the Lady who should come

to the castle were even she, yet he needs must deem that so it was, and

his heart was weary with love, and his manhood seemed changed.

CHAPTER 20

Ralph Meeteth a Man in the Wood

But the morning began to wear as he sat deep in these thoughts and

still the Carline came not to him; and he thought: "She leaveth me

alone that I may do her bidding: so will I without tarrying." And he

arose and did on his hauberk and basnet, and girt his sword to his

side, and went forth, a-foot as before. He crossed the river by a wide

ford and stepping stones somewhat below the pool wherein he had bathed

on that first day; and already by then he had got so far, what with the

fresh air of the beauteous morning, what with the cheerful tinkling of

his sword and hauberk, he was somewhat amended of his trouble and

heaviness of spirit. A little way across the river, but nigher to the

wood, was a house or cot of that country-folk, and an old woman sat

spinning in the door. So Ralph went up thither, and greeted her, and

craved of her a draught of milk; so the goody turned about and cried

out to one within, and there came forth one of the maidens whom Ralph

had met fishing that other day, and the old woman bade her bring forth

milk and bread. Then the carline looked hard at Ralph, and said: "Ah!

I have heard tell of thee: thou art abiding the turn of the days up at

the castle yonder, as others have done before thee. Well, well, belike

thou shalt have thy wish, though whether it shall be to thy profit, who

shall say?"

Thereat Ralph's heart fell again, and he said: "Sayest thou, mother,

that there have been others abiding like me in the tower? I know not

what thy words mean."

The carline laughed. "Well," said she, "here comes thy morning's bait

borne by shapely hands enough; eat and drink first; and then will I

tell thee my meaning."

Therewith came the maiden forth with the bowl and the loaf; and indeed

she was fair enough, and shy and kind; but Ralph heeded her little, nor

was his heart moved by her at all. She set a stool for him beside the

door and he sat down and ate and drank, though his heart was troubled;

and the maiden hung about, and seemed to find it no easy matter to keep

her eyes off him.

Presently the carline, who had been watching the two, said: "Thou

askest of the meaning of my words; well, deemest thou that I have had

more men than one to love me?" "I know not, mother," said Ralph, who

could scarce hold himself patient. "There now!" quoth the carline,

"look at my damsel! (she is not my daughter, but my brother's,) there

is a man, and a brisk lad too, whom she calleth her batchelor, and is

as I verily deem well-pleased with him: yet lo you how she eyeth thee,

thou fair man, and doth so with her raiment that thou mayst best see

how shapely she is of limb and foot, and toyeth her right hand with her

left wrist, and the like.--Well, as for me, I have had more lovers than

one or two. And why have I had just so many and no more? Nay, thou

needest not make any long answer to me. I am old now, and even before

I was old I was not young: I am now foul of favour, and even before I

became foul, I was not so fair--well then?"

"Yea, what then?" said Ralph. "This then, fair young fool," said she:

"the one whom thou lovest, long hath she lived, but she is not old to

look on, nor foul; but fair--O how fair!"

Then Ralph forgot his fear, and his heart grew greedy and his eyes

glistened, and he said, yet he spoke faintly: "Yea, is she fair?"

"What! hast thou not seen her?" said the carline. Ralph called to mind

the guise in which he had seen her and flushed bright red, as he

answered: "Yea, I deem that I have: surely it was she." The carline

laughed: "Well," said she; "however thou hast seen her, thou hast

scarce seen her as I have." Said Ralph, "How was that?" Said she: "It

is her way here in the summer-tide to bathe her in yonder pool up the

water:" (and it was the same pool wherein Ralph had bathed) "And she

hath me and my niece and two other women to hold up the silken cloth

betwixt her body and the world; so that I have seen her as God made

her; and I shall tell thee that when he was about that work he was

minded to be a craftsmaster; for there is no blemish about her that she

should hide her at all or anywhere. Her sides are sleek, and her

thighs no rougher than her face, and her feet as dainty as her hands:

yea, she is a pearl all over, withal she is as strong as a knight, and

I warrant her hardier of heart than most knights. A happy man shalt

thou be; for surely I deem thou hast not come hither to abide her

without some token or warrant of her."

Ralph held down his head, and he could not meet the old woman's eyes as

she spake thus; and the maiden took herself out of earshot at the first

words of the carline hereof, and was halfway down to the river by now.

Ralph spake after a while and said: "Tell me, is she good, and a good

woman?" The dame laughed scornfully and said: "Surely, surely; she is

the saint of the Forest Land, and the guardian of all poor folk. Ask

the carles else!"

Ralph held his peace, and rose to be gone and turning saw the damsel

wading the shallow ford, and looking over her shoulder at him. He gave

the dame good day, and departed light-foot but heavy hearted. Yet as

he went, he kept saying to himself: "Did she not send that Roger to

turn my ways hither? yet she cometh not. Surely she hath changed in

these last days, or it may be in these last hours: yea, or this very

hour."

Amidst such thoughts he came into the wood, and made his way by the

paths and open places, going south and east of the House: whereas the

last day he had gone west and north. He went a soft pace, but wandered

on without any stay till it was noon, and he had seen nought but the

wild things of the wood, nor many of them. But at last he heard the

tinkle of a little bell coming towards him: so he stood still and got

the hilt of his sword ready to his hand; and the tinkle drew nearer,

and he heard withal the trample of some riding-beast; so he went toward

the sound, and presently in a clearer place of the wood came upon a man

of religion, a clerk, riding on a hackney, to whose neck hung a

horse-bell: the priest had saddle bags beside him and carried in his

right hand a book in a bag. When he met Ralph he blessed him, and

Ralph gave him the sele of the day, and asked him whither he would.

Said the Priest: "I am for the Little Plain and the Land of Abundance;

whence art thou, my son, and whither wilt thou?" "From that very land I

come," said Ralph, "and as to whither, I seek adventures; but unless I

see more than I have this forenoon, or thou canst tell me of them, back

will I whence I came: yet to say sooth, I shall not be sorry for a

fellow to help me back, for these woodland ways are some-what blind."

Said the Priest: "I will bear thee company with a good will; and I

know the road right well; for I am the Vicar appointed by the fathers

of the Thorn to serve the church of the Little Plain, and the chapel of

St. Anthony yonder in the wood, and to-day I go to the church of the

good folk there."

So Ralph turned, and went along with him, walking by his bridle-rein.

And as they went the priest said to him: "Art thou one of my lady's

lords?" Ralph reddened as he sighed, and said: "I am no captain of

hers." Then smiled the priest and said: "Then will I not ask thee of

thine errand; for belike thou wouldest not tell me thereof."

Ralph said nought, but waxed shamefaced as he deemed that the priest

eyed him curiously. At last he said: "I will ask thee a question in

turn, father." "Yea," said the priest. Said Ralph: "This lady of the

land, the Lady of Abundance, is she a very woman?" "Holy Saints!"

quoth the priest, blessing himself, "what meanest thou?" Said Ralph:

"I mean, is she of those who outwardly have a woman's semblance, but

within are of the race of the ancient devils, the gods of the Gentiles?"

Then the priest crossed himself again, and spake as solemnly as a judge

on the bench: "Son, I pray that if thou art not in thy right mind,

thou will come thereinto anon. Know this, that whatever else she may

be, she is a right holy woman. Or hast thou perchance heard any evil

tales concerning her?"

Now Ralph was confused at his word, and knew not what to say; for

though in his mind he had been piecing together all that he had heard

of the lady both for good and for evil, he had no clear tale to tell

even to himself: so he answered nothing.

But the priest went on: "Son, I shall tell thee that such tales I have

heard, but from whose mouth forsooth? I will tell thee; from a sort of

idle jades, young women who would be thought fairer than they be, who

are afraid of everything save a naked man, and who can lie easier than

they can say their paternoster: from such as these come the stories; or

from old crones who live in sour anger with themselves and all else,

because they have lived no goodly life in their youth, and have not

learned the loveliness of holy church. Now, son, shall the tales of

such women, old and young, weigh in thy mind beside the word I tell

thee of what I have seen and know concerning this most excellent of

ladies? I trow not. And for my part I tell thee, that though she is

verily as fair as Venus (God save us) yet is she as chaste as Agnes, as

wise as Katherine, and as humble and meek as Dorothy. She bestoweth

her goods plentifully to the church, and is merciful to poor men

therewith; and so far as occasion may serve her she is constant at the

Holy Office; neither doth she spare to confess her sins, and to do all

penance which is bidden her, yea and more. For though I cannot say to

my knowledge that she weareth a hair; yet once and again have I seen

her wending this woodland toward the chapel of her friend St. Anthony

by night and cloud, so that few might see her, obedient to the

Scripture which sayeth, 'Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand

doeth,' and she barefoot in her smock amidst the rugged wood, and so

arrayed fairer than any queen in a golden gown. Yea, as fair as the

woodwives of the ancient heathen."

Therewith the priest stayed his words, and seemed as if he were fallen

into a dream; and he sighed heavily. But Ralph walked on by his

bridle-rein dreamy no less; for the words that he had heard he heeded

not, save as they made pictures for him of the ways of that woman of

the forest.

So they went on soberly till the priest lifted up his head and looked

about like one come out of slumber, and said in a firm voice: "I tell

thee, my son, that thou mayest set thy love upon her without sin." And

therewith suddenly he fell a-weeping; and Ralph was ill at ease of his

weeping, and went along by him saying nought; till the priest plucked

up heart again, and said, turning to Ralph, but not meeting his eye:

"My son, I weep because men and women are so evil, and mis-say each

other so sorely, even as they do by this holy woman." As he spake his

tears brake out again, and Ralph strode on fast, so as to outgo him,

thinking it unmannerly to seem as if he noted not his sorrow; yet

withal unable to say aught to him thereof. Moreover it irked him to

hear a grown man weeping for grief, even though it were but a priest.

Within a while the priest caught up with him, his tears all staunched,

and fell to talk with him cheerfully concerning the wood, and the

Little Land and the dwellers therein and the conditions of them, and he

praised them much, save the women. Ralph answered him with good cheer

in likewise; and thus they came to the cot of the old woman, and both

she and the maiden were without the house, the old carline hithering

and thithering on some errand, the maiden leaning against a tree as if

pondering some matter. As they passed by, the priest blessed them in

words, but his eyes scowled on them, whereat the carline grinned, but

the damsel heeded him not, but looked wistfully on Ralph. The priest

muttered somewhat as he passed, which Ralph caught not the meaning of,

and fell moody again; and when he was a little past the ford he drew

rein and said: "Now, son, I must to my cell hard by the church yonder:

but yet I will say one word to thee ere we sunder; to wit, that to my

mind the Holy Lady will love no one but the saints of heaven, save it

be some man with whom all women are in love."

Therewith he turned away suddenly, and rode smartly towards his church;

and Ralph deemed that he was weeping once more. As for Ralph, he went

quietly home toward the castle, for the sun was setting now, and as he

went he pondered all these things in his heart.

CHAPTER 21

Ralph Weareth Away Three Days Uneasily

He read again in the book that night, till he had gotten the whole tale

into his head, and he specially noted this of it, that it told not

whence that Lady came, nor what she was, nor aught else save that there

she was in the wood by herself, and was found therein by the king's

son: neither told the tale in what year of the world she was found

there, though it told concerning all the war and miseries which she had

bred, and which long endured. Again, he could not gather from that

book why she had gone back to the lone place in the woods, whereas she

might have wedded one of those warring barons who sorely desired her:

nor why she had yielded herself to the witch of that place and endured

with patience her thralldom, with stripes and torments of her body,

like the worst of the thralls of the ancient heathen men. Lastly, he

might not learn from the book where in the world was that lone place,

or aught of the road to the Well at the World's End. But amidst all

his thinking his heart came back to this: "When I meet her, she will

tell me of it all; I need be no wiser than to learn how to meet her and

to make her love me; then shall she show me the way to the Well at the

World's End, and I shall drink thereof and never grow old, even as she

endureth in youth, and she shall love me for ever, and I her for ever."

So he thought; but yet amidst these happy thoughts came in this evil

one, that whereas all the men-folk spoke well of her and worshipped

her, the women-folk feared her or hated her; even to the lecherous old

woman who had praised the beauty of her body for his torment. So he

thought till his head grew heavy, and he went and lay down in his bed

and slept, and dreamed of the days of Upmead; and things forgotten in

his waking time came between him and any memories of his present

longing and the days thereof.

He awoke and arose betimes in the morning, and when he had breakfasted

he bade the carline bring him his weapons. "Wilt thou again to the

wood?" said she. "Didst thou not bid me fare thither yesterday?" said

he. "Yea," she said; "but to-day I fear lest thou depart and come not

back." He laughed and said: "Seest thou not, mother, that I go afoot,

and I in hauberk and helm? I cannot run far or fast from thee. Also"

(and here he broke off his speech a little) "where should I be but

here?"

"Ah," she said, "but who knows what may happen?" Nevertheless she went

and fetched his war-gear and looked at him fondly as he did it on, and

went his ways from the hall.

Now he entered the wood more to the south than he had done yesterday,

and went softly as before, and still was he turning over in his mind

the thoughts of last night, and ever they came back. "Might I but see

her! Would she but love me! O for a draught of the Well at the

World's End, that the love might last long and long!"

So he went on a while betwixt the trees and the thickets, till it was a

little past noon. But all on a sudden a panic fear took him, lest she

should indeed come to the castle while he was away, and not finding

him, depart again, who knows whither; and when this thought came upon

him, he cried aloud, and hastened at his swiftest back again to the

castle, and came there breathless and wearied, and ran to the old

woman, and cried out to her; "Is she come? is she come?"

The carline laughed and said, "Nay, she is not, but thou art come:

praise be to the saints! But what aileth thee? Nay, fear not, she

shall come at last."

Then grew Ralph shamefaced and turned away from her, and miscalled

himself for a fool and a dastard that could not abide the pleasure of

his lady at the very place whereto she had let lead him. So he wore

through the remnant of the day howso he might, without going out-adoors

again; and the carline came and spake with him; but whatever he asked

her about the lady, she would not tell aught of any import, so he

refrained him from that talk, and made a show of hearkening when she

spake of other matters; as tales concerning the folk of the land, and

the Fathers of the Thorn, and so forth.

On the next morning he arose and said to himself, that whatever betid,

he would bide in the castle and the Plain of Abundance till the lady

came; and he went amongst the haymaking folk in the morning and ate his

dinner with them, and strove to be of good cheer, and belike the carles

and queens thought him merry company; but he was now wearying his heart

with longing, and might not abide any great while in one place; so

when, dinner over, they turned to their work again, he went back to the

Castle, and read in that book, and looked at the pictures thereof, and

kept turning his wonder and hope and fear over and over again in his

mind, and making to himself stories of how he should meet the Lady and

what she would say to him, and how he should answer her, till at last

the night came, and he went to his bed, and slept for the very

weariness of his longing.

When the new day came he arose and went into the hall, and found the

carline there, who said to him, "Fair sir, will thou to the wood again

to-day?" "Nay," said Ralph, "I must not, I dare not." "Well," she said,

"thou mayest if thou wilt; why shouldst thou not go?" Said Ralph,

reddening and stammering: "Because I fear to; thrice have I been away

long from the castle and all has gone well; but the fourth time she

will come and find me gone."

The carline laughed: "Well," she said, "I shall be here if thou goest;

for I promise thee not to stir out of the house whiles thou art away."

Said Ralph: "Nay, I will abide here." "Yea," she said, "I see: thou

trustest me not. Well, no matter; and to-day it will be handy if thou

abidest. For I have an errand to my brother in the flesh, who is one

of the brethren of the Thorn over yonder. If thou wilt give me leave,

it will be to my pleasure and gain."

Ralph was glad when he heard this, deeming that if she left him alone

there, he would be the less tempted to stray into the wood again.

Besides, he deemed that the Lady might come that day when he was alone

in the Castle, and that himseemed would make the meeting sweeter yet.

So he yea-said the carline's asking joyously, and in an hour's time she

went her ways and left him alone there.

Ralph said to himself, when he saw her depart, that he would have the

more joy in the castle of his Lady if he were alone, and would wear

away the day in better patience therefor. But in sooth the hours of

that day were worse to wear than any day there had yet been. He went

not without the house at all that day, for he deemed that the folk

abroad would note of him that he was so changed and restless.

Whiles he read in that book, or turned the leaves over, not reading it;

whiles he went into the Chamber of Estate, and pored over the woven

pictures there wherein the Lady was figured. Whiles he wandered from

chamber to chamber, not knowing what to do.

At last, a little after dark, back comes the carline again, and he met

her at the door of the hall, for he was weary of his own company, and

the ceaseless turning over and over of the same thoughts.

As for her, she was so joyous of him that she fairly threw her arms

about him and kissed and clipped him, as though she had been his very

mother. Whereof he had some shame, but not much, for he deemed that

her goodwill to him was abundant, which indeed it was.

Now she looks on him and says: "Truly it does my heart good to see

thee: but thou poor boy, thou art wearing thyself with thy longing, and

thy doubting, and if thou wilt do after my rede, thou wilt certainly go

into the wood to-morrow and see what may befall; and indeed and in

sooth thou wilt leave behind thee a trusty friend."

He looked on her kindly, and smiled, and said, "In sooth, mother, I

deem thou art but right; though it be hard for me to leave this house,

to which in a way my Lady hath bidden me. Yet I will do thy bidding

herein." She thanked him, and he went to his bed and slept; for now

that he had made up his mind to go, he was somewhat more at rest.

CHAPTER 22

An Adventure in the Wood

Ralph arrayed himself for departure next morning without more words;

and when he was ready the carline said to him: "When thou wentest

forth before, I was troubled at thy going and feared for thy returning:

but now I fear not; for I know that thou wilt return; though it may be

leading a fair woman by the hand. So go, and all luck go with thee."

Ralph smiled at her words and went his ways, and came into the wood

that lay due south from the Castle, and he went on and on and had no

thought of turning back. He rested twice and still went on, till the

fashion of the thickets and the woods changed about him; and at last

when the sun was getting low, he saw light gleaming through a great

wood of pines, which had long been dark before him against the tall

boles, and soon he came to the very edge of the wood, and going

heedfully, saw between the great stems of the outermost trees, a green

strand, and beyond it a long smooth water, a little lake between green

banks on either side. He came out of the pinewood on to the grass; but

there were thornbushes a few about, so that moving warily from one to

the other, he might perchance see without being seen. Warily he went

forsooth, going along the green strand to the east and the head of that

water, and saw how the bank sloped up gently from its ending toward the

pine-wood, in front of whose close-set trees stood three great-boled

tall oak-trees on a smooth piece of green sward. And now he saw that

there were folk come before him on this green place, and keen-sighted

as he was, could make out that three men were on the hither side of the

oak-trees, and on the further side of them was a white horse.

Thitherward then he made, stealing from bush to bush, since he deemed

that he needed not be seen of men who might be foes, for at the first

sight he had noted the gleam of weapons there. And now he had gone no

long way before he saw the westering sun shine brightly from a naked

sword, and then another sprang up to meet it, and he heard faintly the

clash of steel, and saw withal that the third of the folk had long and

light raiment and was a woman belike. Then he bettered his pace, and

in a minute or two came so near that he could see the men clearly, that

they were clad in knightly war-gear, and were laying on great strokes

so that the still place rang with the clatter. As for the woman, he

could see but little of her, because of the fighting men before her;

and the shadow of the oak boughs fell on her withal.

Now as he went, hidden by the bushes, they hid the men also from him,

and when he was come to the last bush, some fifty paces from them, and

peered out from it, in that very nick of time the two knights were

breathing them somewhat, and Ralph saw that one of them, the furthest

from him, was a very big man with a blue surcoat whereon was beaten a

great golden sun, and the other, whose back was towards Ralph, was clad

in black over his armour. Even as he looked and doubted whether to

show himself or not, he of the sun raised his sword aloft, and giving

forth a great roar as of wrath and grief mingled together, rushed on

his foe and smote so fiercely that he fell to the earth before him, and

the big man fell upon him as he fell, and let knee and sword-pommel and

fist follow the stroke, and there they wallowed on the earth together.

Straightway Ralph came forth from the bushes with his drawn sword in

his hand, and even therewith what with the two knights being both low

upon the earth, what with the woman herself coming from out the shadow

of the oak boughs, and turning her toward Ralph, he saw her clearly,

and stood staring and amazed--for lo! it was the Lady whom he had

delivered at the want-ways. His heart well nigh stood still with joy,

yet was he shamefaced also: for though now she was no longer clad in

that scanty raiment, yet did he seem to see her body through that which

covered it. But now her attire was but simple; a green gown, thin and

short, and thereover a cote-hardy of black cloth with orphreys of gold

and colours: but on her neck was a collar that seemed to him like to

that which Dame Katherine had given him; and the long tresses of her

hair, which he had erst seen floating loose about her, were wound as a

garland around her head. She looked with a flushed and joyous face on

Ralph, and seemed as if she heeded nought the battle of the knights,

but saw him only: but he feared her, and his love for her and stood

still, and durst not move forward to go to her.

Thus they abode for about the space of one minute: and meanwhile the

big man rose up on one knee and steadied him with his sword for a

moment of time, and the blade was bloody from the point half way up to

the hilt; but the black knight lay still and made no sign of life.

Then the Knight of the Sun rose up slowly and stood on his feet and

faced the Lady and seemed not to see Ralph, for his back was towards

him. He came slowly toward the Lady, scowling, and his face white as

chalk; then he spake to her coldly and sternly, stretching out his

bloody sword before her.

"I have done thy bidding, and slain my very earthly friend of friends

for thy sake. Wherewith wilt thou reward me?"

Then once more Ralph heard the voice, which he remembered so sweet

amidst peril and battle aforetime, as she said as coldly as the Knight:

"I bade thee not: thine own heart bade thee to strive with him because

thou deemedst that he loved me. Be content! thou hast slain him who

stood in thy way, as thou deemedst. Thinkest thou that I rejoice at

his slaying? O no! I grieve at it, for all that I had such good cause

to hate him."

He said: "My own heart! my own heart! Half of my heart biddeth me

slay thee, who hast made me slay him. What wilt thou give me?" She

knit her brow and spake angrily: "Leave to depart," she said. Then

after a while, and in a kinder voice: "And thus much of my love, that

I pray thee not to sorrow for me, but to have a good heart, and live as

a true knight should." He frowned: "Wilt thou not go with me?" said

he. "Not uncompelled," she said: "if thou biddest me go with threats

of hewing and mangling the body which thou sayest thou lovest, needs

must I go then. Yet scarce wilt thou do this."

"I have a mind to try it," said he; "If I set thee on thine horse and

bound thine hands for thee, and linked thy feet together under the

beast's belly; belike thou wouldest come. Shall I have slain my

brother-in-arms for nought?"

"Thou hast the mind," said she, "hast thou the might?" "So I deem,"

said he, smiling grimly.

She looked at him proudly and said: "Yea, but I misdoubt me thereof."

He still had his back to Ralph and was staring at the lady; she turned

her head a little and made a sign to Ralph, just as the Knight of the

Sun said: "Thou misdoubtest thee? Who shall help thee in the desert?"

"Look over thy left shoulder," she said. He turned, and saw Ralph

drawing near, sword in hand, smiling, but somewhat pale. He drew aback

from the Lady and, spinning round on his heel, faced Ralph, and cried

out: "Hah! Hast thou raised up a devil against me, thou sorceress, to

take from me my grief and my lust, and my life? Fair will the game be

to fight with thy devil as I have fought with my friend! Yet now I

know not whether I shall slay him or thee."

She spake not, but stood quietly looking on him, not unkindly, while a

wind came up from the water and played with a few light locks of hair

that hung down from that ruddy crown, and blew her raiment from her

feet and wrapped it close round her limbs; and Ralph beheld her, and

close as was the very death to him (for huge and most warrior-like was

his foeman) yet longing for her melted the heart within him, and he

felt the sweetness of life in his inmost soul as he had never felt it

before.

Suddenly the Knight of the Sun turned about to the Lady again, and fell

down on his knees before her, and clasped his hands as one praying, and

said: "Now pardon me all my words, I pray thee; and let this young man

depart unhurt, whether thou madest him, or hast but led him away from

country and friends and all. Then do thou come with me, and make some

semblance of loving me, and suffer me to love thee. And then shall all

be well, for in a few days we will go back to thy people, and there

will I be their lord or thy servant, or my brother's man, or what thou

wilt. O wilt thou not let the summer days be sweet?"

But she spake, holding up her head proudly and speaking in a clear

ringing voice: "I have said it, that uncompelled I will not go with

thee at all." And therewithal she turned her face toward Ralph, as she

might do on any chance-met courteous man, and he saw her smiling, but

she said nought to him, and gave no token of knowing him. Then the

Knight of the Sun sprang to his feet, and shook his sword above his

head and ran furiously on Ralph, who leapt nimbly on one side (else had

he been slain at once) and fetched a blow at the Sun-Knight, and smote

him, and brake the mails on his left shoulder, so that the blood

sprang, and fell on fiercely enough, smiting to right and left as the

other gave back at his first onset. But all was for nought, for the

Knight of the Sun, after his giving aback under that first stroke drew

himself up stark and stiff, and pressing on through all Ralph's

strokes, though they rent his mail here and there, ran within his

sword, and smote him furiously with the sword-pommel on the side of the

head, so that the young man of Upmeads could not stand up under the

weight of the blow, but fell to the earth swooning, and the Knight of

the Sun knelt on him, and drew out an anlace, short, thick and sharp,

and cried out: "Now, Devil, let see whether thou wilt bleed black."

Therewith he raised up his hand: but the weapon was stayed or ever it

fell, for the Lady had glided up to them when she saw that Ralph was

overcome, and now she stretched out her arm and caught hold of the

Knight's hand and the anlace withal, and he groaned and cried out:

"What now! thou art strong-armed as well as white-armed;" (for she had

rent the sleeve back from her right arm) and he laughed in the

extremity of his wrath. But she was pale and her lips quivered as she

said softly and sweetly: "Wilt thou verily slay this young man?"

"And why not?" said he, "since I have just slain the best friend that I

ever had, though he was nought willing to fight with me, and only for

this, that I saw thee toying with him; though forsooth thou hast said

truly that thou hadst more reason to hate him than love him. Well,

since thou wilt not have this youngling slain, I may deem at least that

he is no devil of thy making, else wouldst thou be glad of his slaying,

so that he might be out of the path of thee; so a man he is, and a

well-favoured one, and young; and valiant, as it seemeth: so I suppose

that he is thy lover, or will be one day--well then--"

And he lifted his hand again, but again she stayed him, and said: "Look

thou, I will buy him of thee: and, indeed, I owe him a life." "How is

that?" said he. "Why wouldst thou know?" she said; "thou who, if thou

hadst me in thine hands again, wouldst keep me away from all men. Yea,

I know what thou wouldst say, thou wouldst keep me from sinning again."

And she smiled, but bitterly. "Well, the tale is no long one: five

days ago I was taken by them of the Burg: and thou wottest what they

would do with me; yea, even if they deemed me less than they do deem

me: well, as two of their men-at-arms were leading me along by a

halter, as a calf is led to the butcher, we fell in with this goodly

lad, who slew them both in manly fashion, and I escaped for that time:

though, forsooth, I must needs put my neck in the noose again in

delivering four of our people, who would else have been tormented to

death by the Burgers."

"Well," said the knight, "perchance thou hast more mercy than I looked

for of thee; though I misdoubt thee that thou mayst yet pray me or some

other to slay him for thee. Thou art merciful, my Queen, though not to

me, and a churl were I if I were less merciful than thou. Therefore

will I give his life to him, yet not to thee will I give him if I may

help it--Lo you, Sweet! he is just opening his eyes."

Therewith he rose up from Ralph, who raised himself a little, and sat

up dazed and feeble. The Knight of the Sun stood up over him beside

the lady with his hands clasped on his sword-hilt, and said to Ralph:

"Young man, canst thou hear my words?" Ralph smiled feebly and nodded

a yea-say. "Dost thou love thy life then?" said the Knight. Ralph

found speech and said faintly, "Yea." Said the Knight: "Where dost

thou come from, where is thine home?" Said Ralph, "Upmeads." "Well

then," quoth the big knight, "go back to Upmeads, and live." Ralph

shook his head and knit his brows and said, "I will not." "Yea," said

the Knight, "thou wilt not live? Then must I shape me to thy humour.

Stand on thy feet and fight it out; for now I am cool I will not slay a

swordless man."

Ralph staggered up to his feet, but was so feeble still, that he sank

down again, and muttered: "I may not; I am sick and faint;" and

therewith swooned away again. But the Knight stood a while leaning on

his sword, and looking down on him not unkindly. Then he turned about

to the Lady, but lo! she had left his side. She had glided away, and

got to her horse, which was tethered on the other side of the oak-tree,

and had loosed him and mounted him, and so sat in the saddle there, the

reins gathered in her hands. She smiled on the knight as he stood

astonished, and cried to him; "Now, lord, I warn thee, draw not a

single foot nigher to me; for thou seest that I have Silverfax between

my knees, and thou knowest how swift he is, and if I see thee move, he

shall spring away with me. Thou wottest how well I know all the ways

of the woodland, and I tell thee that the ways behind me to the Dry

Tree be all safe and open, and that beyond the Gliding River I shall

come on Roger of the Ropewalk and his men. And if thou thinkest to

ride after me, and overtake me, cast the thought out of thy mind. For

thy horse is strong but heavy, as is meet for so big a knight, and

moreover he is many yards away from me and Silverfax: so before thou

art in the saddle, where shall I be? Yea," (for the Knight was

handling his anlace) "thou mayst cast it, and peradventure mayst hit

Silverfax and not me, and peradventure not; and I deem that it is my

body alive that thou wouldest have back with thee. So now, wilt thou

hearken?"

"Yea," quoth the knight, though for wrath he could scarce bring the

word from his mouth.

"Hearken," she said, "this is the bargain to be struck between us: even

now thou wouldst not refrain from slaying this young man, unless

perchance he should swear to depart from us; and as for me, I would not

go back with thee to Sunhome, where erst thou shamedst me. Now will I

buy thy nay-say with mine, and if thou give the youngling his life, and

suffer him to come his ways with us, then will I go home with thee and

will ride with thee in all the love and duty that I owe thee; or if

thou like this fashion of words better, I will give thee my body for

his life. But if thou likest not the bargain, there is not another

piece of goods for thee in the market, for then I will ride my ways to

the Dry Tree, and thou shalt slay the poor youth, or make of him thy

sworn friend, like as was Walter--which thou wilt."

So she spake, and Ralph yet lay on the grass and heard nought. But the

Knight's face was dark and swollen with anger as he answered: "My sworn

friend! yea, I understand thy gibe. I need not thy words to bring to

my mind how I have slain one sworn friend for thy sake."

"Nay," she said, "not for my sake, for thine own folly's sake." He

heeded her not, but went on: "And as for this one, I say again of him,

if he be not thy devil, then thou meanest him for thy lover. And now I

deem that I will verily slay him, ere he wake again; belike it were his

better luck."

She said: "I wot not why thou hagglest over the price of that thou

wouldest have. If thou have him along with thee, shall he not be in

thy power--as I shall be? and thou mayst slay him--or me--when thou

wilt."

"Yea," he said, grimly, "when thou art weary of him. O art thou not

shameless amongst women! Yet must I needs pay thy price, though my

honour and the welfare of my life go with it. Yet how if he have no

will to fare with us?" She laughed and said: "Then shalt thou have him

with thee as thy captive and thrall. Hast thou not conquered him in

battle?" He stood silent a moment and then he said: "Thou sayest it;

he shall come with me, will he, nill he, unarmed, and as a prisoner,

and the spoil of my valiancy." And he laughed, not altogether in

bitterness, but as if some joy were rising in his heart. "Now, my

Queen," said he, "the bargain is struck betwixt us, and thou mayest

light down off Silverfax; as for me, I will go fetch water from the

lake, that we may wake up this valiant and mighty youth, this newfound

jewel, and bring him to his wits again."

She answered nought, but rode her horse close to him and lighted down

nimbly, while his greedy eyes devoured her beauty. Then he took her

hand and drew her to him, and kissed her cheek, and she suffered it,

but kissed him not again. Then he took off his helm, and went down to

the lake to fetch up water therein.

CHAPTER 23

The Leechcraft of the Lady

Meanwhile she went to Ralph and stood by him, who now began to stir

again; and she knelt down by him and kissed his face gently, and rose

up hastily and stood a little aloof again.

Now Ralph sat up and looked about him, and when he saw the Lady he

first blushed red, and then turned very pale; for the full life was in

him again, and he knew her, and love drew strongly at his

heart-strings. But she looked on him kindly and said to him: "How

fares it with thee? I am sorry of thy hurt which thou hast had for

me." He said: "Forsooth, Lady, a chance knock or two is no great

matter for a lad of Upmeads. But oh! I have seen thee before." "Yea,"

she said, "twice before, fair knight." "How is that?" he said; "once I

saw thee, the fairest thing in the world, and evil men would have led

thee to slaughter; but not twice."

She smiled on him still more kindly, as if he were a dear friend, and

said simply: "I was that lad in the cloak that ye saw in the Flower de

Luce; and afterwards when ye, thou and Roger, fled away from the Burg

of the Four Friths. I had come into the Burg with my captain of war at

the peril of our lives to deliver four faithful friends of mine who

were else doomed to an evil death."

He said nought, but gazed at her face, wondering at her valiancy and

goodness. She took him by the hand now, and held it without speaking

for a little while, and he sat there still looking up into her face,

wondering at her sweetness and his happiness. Then she said, as she

drew her hand away and spake in such a voice, and so looking at him,

that every word was as a caress to him: "Thy soul is coming back to

thee, my friend, and thou art well at ease: is it not so?"

"O yea," he said, "and I woke up happily e'en now; for me-dreamed that

my gossip came to me and kissed me kindly; and she is a fair woman, but

not a young woman."

As he spoke the knight, who had come nearly noiselessly over the grass,

stood by them, holding his helm full of water, and looking grimly upon

them; but the Lady looked up at him with wide eyes wonderingly, and

Ralph, beholding her, deemed that all he had heard of her goodness was

but the very sooth. But the knight spake: "Young man, thou hast

fought with me, thou knowest not wherefore, and grim was my mood when

thou madest thine onset, and still is, so that never but once wilt thou

be nigher thy death than thou hast been this hour. But now I have

given thee life because of the asking of this lady; and therewith I

give thee leave to come thy ways with us: nay, rather I command thee to

come, for thou art my prisoner, to be kept or ransomed, or set free as

I will. But my will is that thou shalt not have thine armour and

weapons; and there is a cause for this, which mayhappen I will tell

thee hereafter. But now I bid thee drink of this water, and then do

off thine helm and hauberk and give me thy sword and dagger, and go

with us peaceably; and be not overmuch ashamed, for I have overcome men

who boasted themselves to be great warriors."

So Ralph drank of the water, and did off his helm, and cast water on

his face, and arose, and said smiling: "Nay, my master, I am nought

ashamed of my mishaps: and as to my going with thee and the Lady, thou

hast heard me say under thy dagger that I would not forbear to follow

her; so I scarce need thy command thereto." The knight scowled on him

and said: "Hold thy peace, fool! Thou wert best not stir my wrath

again." "Nay," said Ralph, "thou hast my sword, and mayst slay me if

thou wilt; therefore be not word-valiant with me."

Said the Knight of the Sun: "Well, well, thou hast the right of it

there. Only beware lest thou try me overmuch. But now must we set

forth on our road; and here is work for thee to do: a hundred yards

within the thick wood in a straight line from the oak-tree thou shalt

find two horses, mine and the knight's who fell before me; go thou and

bring them hither; for I will not leave thee with my lady, lest I have

to slay thee in the end, and maybe her also."

Ralph nodded cheerfully, and set off on his task, and was the readier

therein because the Lady looked on him kindly and compassionately as he

went by her. He found the horses speedily, a black horse that was of

the Black Knight, and a bay of the Knight of the Sun, and he came back

with them lightly.

But when he came to the oak-tree again, lo, the knight and the Lady

both kneeling over the body of the Black Knight, and Ralph saw that the

Knight of the Sun was sobbing and weeping sorely, so that he deemed

that he was taking leave of his friend that lay dead there: but when

Ralph had tied up those other two steeds by Silverfax and drawn rear to

those twain, the Knight of the Sun looked up at him, and spake in a

cheerful voice: "Thou seemest to be no ill man, though thou hast come

across my lady; so now I bid thee rejoice that there is a good knight

more in the world than we deemed e'en now; for this my friend Walter

the Black is alive still." "Yea," said the Lady, "and belike he shall

live a long while yet."

So Ralph looked, and saw that they had stripped the knight of his

hauberk and helm, and bared his body, and that the Lady was dressing a

great and sore wound in his side; neither was he come to himself again:

he was a young man, and very goodly to look on, dark haired and

straight of feature, fair of face; and Ralph felt a grief at his heart

as he beheld the Lady's hands dealing with his bare flesh, though

nought the man knew of it belike.

As for the Knight of the Sun, he was no more grim and moody, but

smiling and joyous, and he spake and said: "Young man, this shall

stand thee in good stead that I have not slain my friend this bout.

Sooth to say, it might else have gone hard with thee on the way to my

house, or still more in my house. But now be of good heart, for unless

of thine own folly thou run on the sword's point, thou mayst yet live

and do well." Then he turned to the Lady and said: "Dame, for as good

a leech as ye be, ye may not heal this man so that he may sit in his

saddle within these ten days; and now what is to do in this matter?"

She looked on him with smiling lips and a strange light in her eyes,

and said: "Yea, forsooth, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou abide here by

Walter thyself alone, and let me bring the imp of Upmeads home to our

house? Or wilt thou ride home and send folk with a litter to us? Or

shall this youngling ride at all adventure, and seek to Sunway through

the blind woodland? Which shall it be?"

The knight laughed outright, and said: "Yea, fair one, this is much

like to the tale of the carle at the ferry with the fox, and the goat,

and the cabbage."

There was scarce a smile on her face as she said gently: "One thing is

to be thought of, that Walter's soul is not yet so fast in his body

that either thou or some rough-handed leech may be sure of healing him;

it must be this hand, and the learning which it hath learned which must

deal with him for a while." And she stretched out her arm over the

wounded man, with the fingers pointing down the water, and reddened

withal, as if she felt the hearts' greediness of the two men who were

looking on her beauty.

The big knight sighed, and said: "Well, unless I am to kill him over

again, there is nothing for it but our abiding with him for the next

few hours at least. To-morrow is a new day, and fair is the

woodland-hall of summer-tide; neither shall water fail us. But as to

victual, I wot not save that we have none."

The Lady laughed, and said to Ralph; "Who knoweth what thou mayst find

if thou go to the black horse and look into the saddle-bags which I saw

upon him awhile agone? For indeed we need somewhat, if it were but to

keep the life in the body of this wounded man."

Ralph sprang up and turned to the horse, and found the saddle-bags on

him, and took from them bread and flesh, and a flask of good wine, and

brought them to the Lady, who laughed and said: "Thou art a good

seeker and no ill finder." Then she gave the wounded man to drink of

the wine, so that he stirred somewhat, and the colour came into his

face a little. Then she bade gather store of bracken for a bed for the

Black Knight, and Ralph bestirred himself therein, but the Knight of

the Sun sat looking at the Lady as she busied herself with his friend,

and gloom seemed gathering on him again.

But when the bracken was enough, the Lady made a bed deftly and

speedily; and between the three they laid the wounded man thereon, who

seemed coming to himself somewhat, and spake a few words, but those

nothing to the point. Then the Lady took her gay embroidered cloak,

which lay at the foot of the oak tree, and cast it over him and, as

Ralph deemed, eyed him lovingly, and belike the Knight of the Sun

thought in likewise, for he scowled upon her; and for awhile but little

was the joyance by the ancient oak, unless it were with the Lady.

CHAPTER 24

Supper and Slumber in the Woodland Hall

But when all was done to make the wounded knight as easy as might be,

the Lady turned to the other twain, and said kindly: "Now, lords, it

were good to get to table, since here is wherewithal." And she looked

on them both full kindly as she spake the words, but nowise wantonly;

even as the lady of a fair house might do by honoured guests. So the

hearts of both were cheered, and nothing loth they sat down by her on

the grass and fell to meat. Yet was the Knight of the Sun a little

moody for a while, but when he had eaten and drunken somewhat, he said:

"It were well if someone might come hereby, some hermit or holy man, to

whom we might give the care of Walter: then might we home to Sunway,

and send folk with a litter to fetch him home softly when the due time

were."

"Yea," said the Lady, "that might happen forsooth, and perchance it

will; and if it were before nightfall it were better."

Ralph saw that as she spake she took hold of the two fingers of her

left hand with her right forefinger, and let the thumb meet it, so that

it made a circle about them, and she spake something therewith in a low

voice, but he heeded it little, save as he did all ways that her body

moved. As for the Knight of the Sun, he was looking down on the grass

as one pondering matters, and noted this not. But he said presently:

"What hast thou to say of Walter now? Shall he live?" "Yea," she

said, "maybe as long as either of you twain." The knight looked hard at

Ralph, but said nothing, and Ralph heeded not his looks, for his eyes

were busy devouring the Lady.

So they abode a little, and the more part of what talk there was came

from the Lady, and she was chiefly asking Ralph of his home in Upmeads,

and his brethren and kindred, and he told her all openly, and hid

naught, while her voice ravished his very soul from him, and it seemed

strange to him, that such an one should hold him in talk concerning

these simple matters and familiar haps, and look on him so kindly and

simply. Ever and anon would she go and look to the welfare of the

wounded man, and come back from him (for they sat a little way aloof),

and tell them how he did. And still the Knight of the Sun took little

heed, and once again gloom settled down on him.

Amidst all this the sun was set, and the long water lay beneath the

heavens like a sheet of bright, fair-hued metal, and naught stirred it:

till at last the Lady leaned forward to Ralph, and touched his shoulder

(for he was sitting over against her, with his back to the water), and

she said: "Sir Knight, Sir Knight, his wish is coming about, I believe

verily." He turned his head to look over his shoulder, and, as if by

chance-hap, his cheek met the outstretched hand she was pointing with:

she drew it not away very speedily, and as sweet to him was the touch

of it as if his face had been brushed past by a summer lily.

"Nay, look! something cometh," she cried; and he looked and saw a

little boat making down the water toward the end anigh them. Then the

Knight of the Sun seemed to awake at her word, and he leapt to his

feet, and stood looking at the new comer.

It was but a little while ere the boat touched the shore, and a man

stepped out of it on to the grass and made it fast to the bank, and

then stood and looked about him as if seeking something; and lo, it was

a holy man, a hermit in the habit of the Blackfriars.

Then the Knight of the Sun hastened down to the strand to meet him, and

when Ralph was thus left alone with the Lady, though it were but for a

little, his heart beat and he longed sore to touch her with his hand,

but durst not, and did but hope that her hand would stray his way as it

had e'en now. But she arose and stood a little way from him, and spake

to him sweetly of the fairness of the evening, and the wounded man, and

the good hap of the friar's coming before nightfall; and his heart was

wrung sore with the love of her.

So came the knight up from the strand, and the holy man with him, who

greeted Ralph and the Lady and blessed them, and said: "Now, daughter,

show me thy sick man; for I am somewhat of a leech, and this thy baron

would have me heal him, and I have a right good will thereto."

So he went to the Black Knight, and when he had looked to his hurts, he

turned to them and said: "Have ye perchance any meat in the

wilderness?" "Yea," quoth the Knight of the Sun; "there is enough for a

day or more, and if we must needs abide here longer, I or this young

man may well make shift to slay some deer, great or little, for our

sustenance and the healing of my friend."

"It is well," said the Friar; "my hermitage is no great way hence, in

the thicket at the end of this water. But now is the fever on this

knight, and we may not move him ere morning at soonest; but to-morrow

we may make a shift to bear him hence by boat: or, if not, then may I

go and fetch from my cell bread and other meat, and milk of my goats;

and thus shall we do well till we may bring him to my cell, and then

shall ye leave him there; and afterwards I will lead him home to Sunway

where thou dwellest, baron, when he is well enough healed; or, if he

will not go thither, let him go his ways, and I myself will come to

Sunway and let thee wot of his welfare."

The knight yeasaid all this, and thereafter the Friar and the Lady

together tended the wounded knight, and gave him water to drink, and

wine. And meanwhile Ralph and the Knight of the Sun lay down on the

grass and watched the eve darkening, and Ralph marvelled at his

happiness, and wondered what the morrow would bring forth.

But amidst his happy thoughts the Knight of the Sun spake to him and

said: "Young knight, I have struck a bargain with her that thou shalt

follow us home, if thou wilt: but to say sooth, I think when the

bargain was struck I was minded when I had thee at Sunway to cast thee

into my prison. But now I will do otherwise, and if thou must needs

follow after thine own perdition, as I have, thou shalt do so freely;

therefore take again thine armour and weapons, and do what thou wilt

with them. But if thou wilt do after my rede, get thee away to-morrow,

or better, to-night, and desire our fellowship no more."

Ralph heard him, and the heart within him was divided. It was in his

mind to speak debonnairely to the knight; but again he felt as if he

hated him, and the blythe words would not come, and he answered

doggedly: "I will not leave my Lady since she biddeth me go with her.

If thou wilt then, make the most of it that thou art stronger than I,

and a warrior more proven; set me before thy sword, and fight with me

and slay me."

Then rose the wrath to the knight's lips, and he brake forth: "Then is

there one other thing for thee to do, and that is that thou take thy

sword, which I have just given back to thee, and thrust her through

therewith. That were better for thee and for me, and for him who lieth

yonder."

Therewith he arose and strode up and down in the dusk, and Ralph

wondered at him, yet hated him now not so much, since he deemed that

the Lady would not love him, and that he was angered thereby. Yet

about Ralph's heart there hung a certain fear of what should be.

But presently the knight came and sat down by him again, and again fell

to speech with him, and said: "Thou knowest that I may not slay thee,

and yet thou sayest, fight with me; is this well done?" "Is it ill

done?" said Ralph, "I wot not why."

The knight was silent awhile, and then he said: "With what words shall

I beseech thee to depart while it is yet time? It may well be that in

days to come I shall be good to thee, and help thee."

But Ralph said never a word. Then said the knight, and sighed withal:

"I now see this of thee, that thou mayst not depart; well, so let it

be!" and he sighed heavily again. Then Ralph strove with himself, and

said courteously: "Sir, I am sorry that I am a burden irksome to thee;

and that, why I know not, thou mayst not rid thyself of me by the

strong hand, and that otherwise thou mayst not be rid of me. What then

is this woman to thee, that thou wouldst have me slay her, and yet art

so fierce in thy love for her?" The Knight of the Sun laughed

wrathfully thereat, and was on the point of answering him, when up came

those two from the wounded man, and the Friar said: "The knight shall

do well; but well it is for him that the Lady of Abundance was here for

his helping; for from her hands goeth all healing, as it was with the

holy men of old time. May the saints keep her from all harm; for meek

and holy indeed she is, as oft we have heard it."

The Lady put her hand on his shoulder, as if to bid him silence, and

then set herself down on the grass beside the Knight of the Sun, and

fell to talking sweetly and blithely to the three men. The Friar

answered her with many words, and told her of the deer and fowl of the

wood and the water that he was wont to see nigh to his hermitage; for

of such things she asked him, and at last he said: "Good sooth, I

should be shy to say in all places and before all men of all my

dealings with God's creatures which live about me there. Wot ye what?

E'en now I had no thought of coming hitherward; but I was sitting

amongst the trees pondering many things, when I began to drowse, and

drowsing I heard the thornbushes speaking to me like men, and they bade

me take my boat and go up the water to help a man who was in need; and

that is how I came hither; benedicite."

So he spake; but the Knight of the Sun did but put in a word here and

there, and that most often a sour and snappish word. As for Ralph, he

also spake but little, and strayed somewhat in his answers; for he

could not but deem that she spake softlier and kinder to him than to

the others; and he was dreamy with love and desire, and scarce knew

what he was saying.

Thus they wore away some two hours, the Friar or the Lady turning away

at whiles to heed the wounded man, who was now talking wildly in his

fever.

But at last the night was grown as dark as it would be, since cloud and

storm came not, for the moon had sunk down: so the Lady said: "Now,

lords, our candle hath gone out, and I for my part will to bed; so let

us each find a meet chamber in the woodland hall; and I will lie near

to thee, father, and the wounded friend, lest I be needed to help thee

in the night; and thou, Baron of Sunway, lie thou betwixt me and the

wood, to ward me from the wild deer and the wood-wights. But thou,

Swain of Upmeads, wilt thou deem it hard to lie anear the horses, to

watch them if they be scared by aught?"

"Yea," said the Knight of the Sun, "thou art Lady here forsooth; even

as men say of thee, that thou swayest man and beast in the wildwood.

But this time at least it is not so ill-marshalled of thee: I myself

would have shown folk to chamber here in likewise."

Therewith he rose up, and walked to and fro for a little, and then

went, and sat down on a root of the oak-tree, clasping his knees with

his hands, but lay not down awhile. But the Lady made herself a bed of

the bracken which was over from those that Ralph had gathered for the

bed of the wounded Knight; and the Friar lay down on the grass nigh to

her, and both were presently asleep.

Then Ralph got up quietly; and, shamefacedly for very love, passed

close beside the sleeping woman as he went to his place by the horses,

taking his weapons and wargear with him: and he said to himself as he

laid him down, that it was good for him to be quite alone, that he

might lie awake and think at his ease of all the loveliness and

kindness of his Lady. Howbeit, he was a young man, and a sturdy, used

to lying abroad in the fields or the woods, and it was his custom to

sleep at once and sweetly when he lay down after the day's work had

wearied him, and even so he did now, and was troubled by no dreams of

what was past or to come.

BOOK TWO

The Road Unto Trouble

CHAPTER 1

Ralph Meets With Love in the Wilderness

He woke up while it was yet night, and knew that he had been awakened

by a touch; but, like a good hunter and warrior, he forebore to start

up or cry out till sleep had so much run off him that he could tell

somewhat of what was toward. So now he saw the Lady bending over him,

and she said in a kind and very low voice: "Rise up, young man, rise

up, Ralph, and say no word, but come with me a little way into the wood

ere dawn come, for I have a word for thee."

So he stood up and was ready to go with her, his heart beating hard for

joy and wonder. "Nay," she whispered, "take thy sword and war-gear

lest ill befall: do on thine hauberk; I will be thy squire." And she

held his war-coat out for him to do on. "Now," she said, still softly,

"hide thy curly hair with the helm, gird thy sword to thee, and come

without a word."

Even so he did, and therewithal felt her hand take his (for it was dark

as they stepped amidst the trees), and she led him into the Seventh

Heaven, for he heard her voice, though it were but a whisper, as it

were a caress and a laugh of joy in each word.

She led him along swiftly, fumbling nought with the paths betwixt the

pine-tree boles, where it was as dark as dark might be. Every minute

he looked to hear her say a word of why she had brought him thither,

and that then she would depart from him; so he prayed that the silence

and the holding of his hand might last a long while--for he might

think of naught save her--and long it lasted forsooth, and still she

spake no word, though whiles a little sweet chuckle, as of the garden

warbler at his softest, came from her lips, and the ripple of her

raiment as her swift feet drave it, sounded loud to his eager ears in

the dark, windless wood.

At last, and it was more than half-an-hour of their walking thus, it

grew lighter, and he could see the shape of her alongside of him; and

still she held his hand and glided on swifter and swifter, as he

thought; and soon he knew that outside the wood dawn was giving place

to day, and even there, in the wood, it was scarce darker than twilight.

Yet a little further, and it grew lighter still, and he heard the

throstles singing a little way off, and knew that they were on the edge

of the pine-wood, and still her swift feet sped on till they came to a

little grassy wood-lawn, with nought anear it on the side away from the

wood save maples and thorn-bushes: it was broad daylight there, though

the sun had not yet arisen.

There she let fall his hand and turned about to him and faced him

flushed and eager, with her eyes exceeding bright and her lips half

open and quivering. He stood beholding her, trembling, what for

eagerness, what for fear of her words when he had told her of his

desire. For he had now made up his mind to do no less. He put his

helm from off his head and laid it down on the grass, and he noted

therewith that she had come in her green gown only, and had left mantle

and cote hardie behind.

Now he stood up again and was just going to speak, when lo! she put

both her palms to her face, and her bosom heaved, and her shoulders

were shaken with sobs, and she burst out a weeping, so that the tears

ran through her fingers. Then he cast himself on the ground before

her, and kissed her feet, and clasped her about the knees, and laid his

cheek to her raiment, and fawned upon her, and cried out many an idle

word of love, and still she wept a while and spake not. At last she

reached her hand down to his face and fondled it, and he let his lips

lie on the hand, and she suffered it a while, and then took him by the

arm and raised him up and led him on swiftly as before; and he knew not

what to do or say, and durst by no means stay her, and could frame no

word to ask her wherefore.

So they sped across a waste not much beset with trees, he silent, she

never wearying or slacking her pace or faltering as to the way, till

they came into the thick wood again, and ever when he would have spoken

she hushed him, with "Not yet! Not yet!" Until at last when the sun

had been up for some three hours, she led him through a hazel copse,

like a deep hedge, into a cleared grassy place where were great grey

stones lying about, as if it had been the broken doom-ring of a

forgotten folk. There she threw herself down on the grass and buried

her face amidst the flowers, and was weeping and sobbing again and he

bending over her, till she turned to him and drew him down to her and

put her hands to his face, and laid her cheeks all wet with tears to

his, and fell to kissing him long and sweetly, so that in his turn he

was like to weep for the very sweetness of love.

Then at last she spake: "This is the first word, that now I have

brought thee away from death; and so sweet it is to me that I can

scarce bear it."

"Oh, sweet to me," he said, "for I have waited for thee many days." And

he fell to kissing and clipping her, as one who might not be satisfied.

At last she drew herself from him a little, and, turning on him a face

smiling with love, she said: "Forbear it a little, till we talk

together." "Yea," quoth he, "but may I hold thine hand awhile?" "No

harm in that," she said, laughing, and she gave him her hand and spake:

"I spake it that I have brought thee from death, and thou hast asked me

no word concerning what and how." "I will ask it now, then," said he,

"since thou wilt have it so." She said: "Dost thou think that he would

have let thee live?"

"Who," said he, "since thou lettest me live?"

"He, thy foeman, the Knight of the Sun," she said. "Why didst thou not

flee from him before? For he did not so much desire to slay thee, but

that he would have had thee depart; but if thou wert once at his house,

he would thrust a sword through thee, or at the least cast thee into

his prison and let thee lie there till thy youth be gone--or so it

seemed to me," she said, faltering as she looked on him.

Said Ralph: "How could I depart when thou wert with him? Didst thou

not see me there? I was deeming that thou wouldst have me abide."

She looked upon him with such tender love that he made as if he would

cast himself upon her; but she refrained him, and smiled and said: "Ah,

yes, I saw thee, and thought not that thou wouldst sunder thyself from

me; therefore had I care of thee." And she touched his cheek with her

other hand; and he sighed and knit his brows somewhat, and said: "But

who is this man that he should slay me? And why is he thy tyrant, that

thou must flee from him?"

She laughed and said: "Fair creature, he is my husband."

Then Ralph flushed red, and his visage clouded, and he opened his mouth

to speak; but she stayed him and said: "Yet is he not so much my

husband but that or ever we were bedded he must needs curse me and

drive me away from his house." And she smiled, but her face reddened so

deeply that her grey eyes looked strange and light therein.

But Ralph leapt up, and half drew his sword, and cried out loud: "Would

God I had slain him! Wherefore could I not slay him?" And he strode up

and down the sward before her in his wrath. But she leaned forward to

him and laughed and said: "Yet, O Champion, we will not go back to him,

for he is stronger than thou, and hath vanquished thee. This is a

desert place, but thou art loud, and maybe over loud. Come rest by me."

So he came and sat down by her, and took her hand again and kissed the

wrist thereof and fondled it and said: "Yea, but he desireth thee

sorely; that was easy to see. It was my ill-luck that I slew him not."

She stroked his face again and said: "Long were the tale if I told

thee all. After he had driven me out, and I had fled from him, he fell

in with me again divers times, as was like to be; for his brother is

the Captain of the Dry Tree; the tall man whom thou hast seen with me:

and every time this baron hath come on me he has prayed my love, as one

who would die despaired if I granted it not, but O my love with the

bright sword" (and she kissed his cheek therewith, and fondled his hand

with both her hands), "each time I said him nay, I said him nay." And

again her face burned with blushes.

"And his brother," said Ralph, "the big captain that I have come across

these four times, doth he desire thee also?" She laughed and said:

"But as others have, no more: he will not slay any man for my sake."

Said Ralph: "Didst thou wot that I was abiding thy coming at the

Castle of Abundance?" "Yea," she said, "have I not told thee that I

bade Roger lead thee thither?" Then she said softly: "That was after

that first time we met; after I had ridden away on the horse of that

butcher whom thou slayedst."

"But why camest thou so late?" said he; "Wouldst thou have come if I

had abided there yet?" She said: "What else did I desire but to be

with thee? But I set out alone looking not for any peril, since our

riders had gone to the north against them of the Burg: but as I drew

near to the Water of the Oak, I fell in with my husband and that other

man; and this time all my naysays were of no avail, and whatsoever I

might say he constrained me to go with them; but straightway they fell

out together, and fought, even as thou sawest." And she looked at him

sweetly, and as frankly as if he had been naught but her dearest

brother.

But he said: "It was concerning thee that they fought: hast thou known

the Black Knight for long?"

"Yea," she said, "I may not hide that he hath loved me: but he hath

also betrayed me. It was through him that the Knight of the Sun drave

me from him. Hearken, for this concerneth thee: he made a tale of me

of true and false mingled, that I was a wise-wife and an enchantress,

and my lord trowed in him, so that I was put to shame before all the

house, and driven forth wrung with anguish, barefoot and bleeding."

He looked and saw pain and grief in her face, as it had been the shadow

of that past time, and the fierceness of love in him so changed his

face, that she arose and drew a little way from him, and stood there

gazing at him. But he also rose and knelt before her, and reached up

for her hands and took them in his and said: "Tell me truly, and

beguile me not; for I am a young man, and without guile, and I love

thee, and would have thee for my speech-friend, what woman soever may

be in the world. Whatever thou hast been, what art thou now? Art thou

good or evil? Wilt thou bless me or ban me? For it is the truth that

I have heard tales and tales of thee: many were good, though it maybe

strange; but some, they seemed to warn me of evil in thee. O look at

me, and see if I love thee or not! and I may not help it. Say once for

all, shall that be for my ruin or my bliss? If thou hast been evil,

then be good this one time and tell me."

She neither reddened now, nor paled at his words, but her eyes filled

with tears, and ran over, and she looked down on him as a woman looks

on a man that she loves from the heart's root, and she said: "O my

lord and love, may it be that thou shalt find me no worse to thee than

the best of all those tales. Forsooth how shall I tell thee of myself,

when, whatever I say, thou shalt believe every word I tell thee? But O

my heart, how shouldest thou, so sweet and fair and good, be taken with

the love of an evil thing? At the least I will say this, that

whatsoever I have been, I am good to thee--I am good to thee, and will

be true to thee."

He drew her down to him as he knelt there, and took his arms about her,

and though she yet shrank from him a little and the eager flame of his

love, he might not be gainsayed, and she gave herself to him and let

her body glide into his arms, and loved him no less than he loved her.

And there between them in the wilderness was all the joy of love that

might be.

CHAPTER 2

They Break Their Fast in the Wildwood

Now when it was hard on noon, and they had lain long in that grassy

place, Ralph rose up and stood upon his feet, and made as one

listening. But the Lady looked on him and said: "It is naught save a

hart and his hind running in the wood; yet mayhappen we were best on

the road, for it is yet long." "Yea," said Ralph, "and it may be that

my master will gather folk and pursue us." "Nay, nay," she said, "that

were to wrong him, to deem that he would gather folk to follow one man;

if he come, he will be by himself alone. When he found us gone he

doubtless cast himself on Silverfax, my horse, in trust of the beast

following after my feet."

"Well," said Ralph, "and if he come alone, there is yet a sword betwixt

him and thee."

She was standing up by him now with her hand on his shoulder, "Hear now

the darling, the champion! how he trusteth well in his heart and his

right hand. But nay, I have cared for thee well. Hearken, if thou

wilt not take it amiss that I tell thee all I do, good or evil. I said

a word in the ear of Silverfax or ever I departed, and now the good

beast knows my mind, and will lead the fierce lord a little astray, but

not too much, lest he follow us with his eager heart and be led by his

own keen woodcraft. Indeed, I left the horse behind to that end, else

hadst thou ridden the woodland ways with me, instead of my wearying

thee by our going afoot; and thou with thy weapons and wargear."

He looked upon her tenderly, and said smiling: "And thou, my dear, art

thou not a little wearied by what should weary a knight and one bred

afield?" "Nay," she said, "seest thou not how I walk lightly clad,

whereas I have left behind my mantle and cote-hardie?" Thereat she

gathered up her gown into her girdle ready for the way, and smiled as

she saw his eyes embrace the loveliness of her feet; and she spake as

she moved them daintily on the flowery grass: "Sooth to say, Knight, I

am no weakling dame, who cannot move her limbs save in the dance, or to

back the white palfrey and ride the meadows, goshawk on wrist; I am

both well-knit and light-foot as the Wood-wife and Goddess of yore

agone. Many a toil hath gone to that, whereof I may tell thee

presently; but now we were best on our way. Yet before we go, I will

at least tell thee this, that in my knowing of these woods, there is no

sorcery at all; for in the woods, though not in these woods, was I

bred; and here also I am at home, as I may say."

Hand in hand then they went lightly through the hazel copse, and soon

was the wood thick about them, but, as before, the Lady led

unfalteringly through the thicket paths. Now Ralph spake and said: "It

is good that thou lead me whither thou wilt; but this I may say, that

it is clear to me that we are not on the way to the Castle of

Abundance." "Even so," said she; "indeed had I come to thee there, as I

was minded, I should presently have brought thee on the way which we

are wending now, or one nigh to it; and that is that which leadeth to

Hampton under Scaur, and the Fellowship of Champions who dwell on the

rock."

Said Ralph: "It is well; yet will I tell thee the truth, that a little

sojourn in that fair house had liked me better. Fain had I been to see

thee sitting in thine ivory chair in thy chamber of dais with the walls

hung round with thee woven in pictures--wilt thou not tell me in words

the story of those pictures? and also concerning the book which I read,

which was also of thee?"

"Ah," she said, "thou hast read in the book--well, I will tell thee the

story very soon, and that the more since there are matters written

wrong in the book." Therewith she hurried him on, and her feet seemed

never tired, though now, to say sooth, he began to go somewhat heavily.

Then she stayed him, and laughed sweetly in his face, and said: "It is

a long while now since the beginning of the June day, and meseems I

know thy lack, and the slaking of it lieth somewhat nearer than Hampton

under Scaur, which we shall not reach these two days if we go afoot all

the way."

"My lack?" said he; "I lack nought now, that I may not have when I

will." And he put his arms about her shoulders and strained her to his

bosom. But she strove with him, and freed herself and laughed

outright, and said: "Thou art a bold man, and rash, my knight, even

unto me. Yet must I see to it that thou die not of hunger." He said

merrily: "Yea, by St. Nicholas, true it is: a while ago I felt no

hunger, and had forgotten that men eat; for I was troubled with much

longing, and in doubt concerning my life; but now am I free and happy,

and hungry therewithal."

"Look," she said, pointing up to the heavens, "it is now past two hours

after noon; that is nigh two hours since we left the lawn amidst the

hazels, and thou longest to eat, as is but right, so lovely as thou art

and young; and I withal long to tell thee something of that whereof

thou hast asked me; and lastly, it is the hottest of the day, yea, so

hot, that even Diana, the Wood-wife of yore agone, might have fainted

somewhat, if she had been going afoot as we twain have been, and little

is the risk of our resting awhile. And hereby is a place where rest is

good as regards the place, whatever the resters may be; it is a little

aside the straightest way, but meseems we may borrow an hour or so of

our journey, and hope to pay it back ere nightfall. Come, champion!"

Therewith she led north through a thicket of mingled trees till Ralph

heard water running, and anon they came to a little space about a

brook, grassy and clear of trees save a few big thorn-bushes, with a

green ridge or bank on the other side. There she stayed him and said:

"Do off thy war-gear, knight. There is naught to fear here, less than

there was amidst the hazels." So did he, and she kneeled down and drank

of the clear water, and washed her face and hands therein, and then

came and kissed him and said: "Lovely imp of Upmeads, I have some

bread of last night's meal in my scrip here, and under the bank I shall

find some woodland meat withal; abide a little and the tale and the

food shall come back to thee together." Therewith she stepped lightly

into the stream, and stood therein a minute to let her naked feet feel

the cold ripple (for she had stripped off her foot-gear as she first

came to the water), and then went hither and thither gathering

strawberries about the bank, while he watched her, blessing her, till

he well nigh wept at the thought of his happiness.

Back she came in a little while with good store of strawberries in the

lap of her gown, and they sat down on the green lip of the brook, and

she drew the bread from her scrip and they ate together, and she made

him drink from the hollow of her hands, and kissed him and wept over

him for joy, and the eagerness of her love. So at last she sat down

quietly beside him, and fell to speaking to him, as a tale is told in

the ingle nook on an even of Yule-tide.

CHAPTER 3

The Lady Telleth Ralph of the Past Days of Her Life

"Now shalt thou hear of me somewhat more than the arras and the book

could tell thee; and yet not all, for time would fail us therefor--and

moreover my heart would fail me. I cannot tell where I was born nor of

what lineage, nor of who were my father and mother; for this I have

known not of myself, nor has any told me. But when I first remember

anything, I was playing about a garden, wherein was a little house

built of timber and thatched with reed, and the great trees of the

forest were all about the garden save for a little croft which was

grown over with high grass and another somewhat bigger, wherein were

goats. There was a woman at the door of the house and she spinning,

yet clad in glittering raiment, and with jewels on her neck and

fingers; this was the first thing that I remember, but all as it were a

matter of every day, and use and wont, as it goes with the memories of

children. Of such matters I will not tell thee at large, for thou

knowest how it will be. Now the woman, who as I came to know was

neither old nor young in those days, but of middle age, I called

mother; but now I know that she was not my mother. She was hard and

stern with me, but never beat me in those days, save to make me do what

I would not have done unbeaten; and as to meat I ate and drank what I

could get, as she did, and indeed was well-fed with simple meats as

thou mayest suppose from the aspect of me to-day. But as she was not

fierce but rather sour to me in her daily wont in my youngest days so

also she was never tender, or ever kissed me or caressed me, for as

little as I was. And I loved her naught, nor did it ever come into my

mind that I should love her, though I loved a white goat of ours and

deemed it dear and lovely; and afterwards other things also that came

to me from time to time, as a squirrel that I saved from a weasel, and

a jackdaw that fell from a tall ash-tree nigh our house before he had

learned how to fly, and a house-mouse that would run up and down my

hand and arm, and other such-like things; and shortly I may say that

the wild things, even to the conies and fawns loved me, and had but

little fear of me, and made me happy, and I loved them.

"Further, as I grew up, the woman set me to do such work as I had

strength for as needs was; for there was no man dwelt anigh us and

seldom did I ever see man or woman there, and held no converse with

any, save as I shall tell thee presently: though now and again a man or

a woman passed by; what they were I knew not, nor their whence and

whither, but by seeing them I came to know that there were other folk

in the world besides us two. Nought else I knew save how to spin, and

to tend our goats and milk them, and to set snares for birds and small

deer: though when I had caught them, it irked me sore to kill them, and

I had let them go again had I not feared the carline. Every day early

I was put forth from the house and garth, and forbidden to go back

thither till dusk. While the days were long and the grass was growing,

I had to lead our goats to pasture in the wood-lawns, and must take

with me rock and spindle, and spin so much of flax or hair as the woman

gave me, or be beaten. But when the winter came and the snow was on

the ground, then that watching and snaring of wild things was my

business.

"At last one day of late summer when I, now of some fifteen summers,

was pasturing the goats not far from the house, the sky darkened, and

there came up so great a storm of thunder and lightning, and huge drift

of rain, that I was afraid, and being so near to the house, I hastened

thither, driving the goats, and when I had tethered them in the shed of

the croft, I crept trembling up to the house, and when I was at the

door, heard the clack of the loom in the weaving-chamber, and deemed

that the woman was weaving there, but when I looked, behold there was

no one on the bench, though the shuttle was flying from side to side,

and the shed opening and changing, and the sley coming home in due

order. Therewithal I heard a sound as of one singing a song in a low

voice, but the words I could not understand: then terror seized on my

heart, but I stepped over the threshold, and as the door of the chamber

was open, I looked aside and saw therein the woman sitting stark naked

on the floor with a great open book before her, and it was from her

mouth that the song was coming: grim she looked, and awful, for she was

a big woman, black-haired and stern of aspect in her daily wont,

speaking to me as few words as might be, and those harsh enough, yea

harsher than when I was but little. I stood for one moment afraid

beyond measure, though the woman did not look at me, and I hoped she

had not seen me; then I ran back into the storm, though it was now

wilder than ever, and ran and hid myself in the thicket of the wood,

half-dead with fear, and wondering what would become of me. But

finding that no one followed after me, I grew calmer, and the storm

also drew off, and the sun shone out a little before his setting: so I

sat and spun, with fear in my heart, till I had finished my tale of

thread, and when dusk came, stole back again to the house, though my

legs would scarce bear me over the threshold into the chamber.

"There sat the woman in her rich attire no otherwise than her wont, nor

did she say aught to me; but looked at the yarn that I had spun, to see

that I had done my task, and nodded sternly to me as her wont was, and

I went to bed amongst my goats as I was used to do, but slept not till

towards morning, and then images of dreadful things, and of miseries

that I may not tell thee of, mingled with my sleep for long.

"So I awoke and ate my meat and drank of the goats' milk with a heavy

heart, and then went into the house; and when I came into the chamber

the woman looked at me, and contrary to her wont spoke to me, and I

shook with terror at her voice; though she said naught but this: 'Go

fetch thy white goat and come back to me therewith.' I did so, and

followed after her, sick with fear; and she led me through the wood

into a lawn which I knew well, round which was a wall, as it were, of

great yew trees, and amidst, a table of stone, made of four uprights

and a great stone plank on the top of them; and this was the only thing

in all the wood wherein I was used to wander which was of man's

handiwork, save and except our house, and the sheds and fences about it.

"The woman stayed and leaned against this stonework and said to me: 'Go

about now and gather dry sticks for a fire.' I durst do naught else,

and said to myself that I should be whipped if I were tardy, though,

forsooth, I thought she was going to kill me; and I brought her a

bundle, and she said, 'Fetch more.' And when I had brought her seven

bundles, she said: 'It is enough: stand over against me and hearken.'

So I stood there quaking; for my fear, which had somewhat abated while

I went to and fro after the wood, now came back upon me tenfold.

"She said: 'It were thy due that I should slay thee here and now, as

thou slayest the partridges which thou takest in thy springes: but for

certain causes I will not slay thee. Again, it were no more than thy

earnings were I to torment thee till thou shouldst cry out for death to

deliver thee from the anguish; and if thou wert a woman grown, even so

would I deal with thee. But thou art yet but a child, therefore I will

keep thee to see what shall befall betwixt us. Yet must I do somewhat

to grieve thee, and moreover something must be slain and offered up

here on this altar, lest all come to naught, both thou and I, and that

which we have to do. Hold thy white goat now, which thou lovest more

than aught else, that I may redden thee and me and this altar with the

blood thereof.'

"I durst do naught but obey her, and I held the poor beast, that licked

my hands and bleated for love of me: and now since my terror and the

fear of death was lessened at her words, I wept sore for my dear friend.

"But the woman drew a strong sharp knife from her girdle and cut the

beast's throat, and dipped her fingers in the blood and reddened both

herself and me on the breast, and the hands, and the feet; and then she

turned to the altar and smote blood upon the uprights, and the face of

the stone plank. Then she bade me help her, and we laid the seven

faggots on the alter, and laid the carcase of the goat upon them: and

she made fire, but I saw not how, and set it to the wood, and when it

began to blaze she stood before it with her arms outspread, and sang

loud and hoarse to a strange tune; and though I knew not the words of

her song, it filled me with dread, so that I cast myself down on the

ground and hid my face in the grass.

"So she went on till the beast was all burned up and the fire became

naught but red embers, and then she ceased her song and sank down upon

the grass, and laid her head back and so fell asleep; but I durst not

move from the place, but cowered in the grass there, I know not how

long, till she arose and came to me, and smote me with her foot and

cried: 'Rise up, fool! what harm hast thou? Go milk thy goats and

lead them to pasture.' And therewith she strode away home, not heeding

me.

"As for me, I arose and dealt with my goats as she bade me; and

presently I was glad that I had not been slain, yet thenceforth was the

joy of my life that I had had amongst my goats marred with fear, and

the sounds of the woodland came to me mingled with terror; and I was

sore afraid when I entered the house in the morning and the evening,

and when I looked on the face of the woman; though she was no harder to

me than heretofore, but maybe somewhat softer.

"So wore the autumn, and winter came, and I fared as I was wont,

setting springes for fowl and small-deer. And for all the roughness of

the season, at that time it pleased me better than the leafy days,

because I had less memory then of the sharpness of my fear on that day

of the altar. Now one day as I went under the snow-laden trees, I saw

something bright and big lying on the ground, and drawing nearer I saw

that it was some child of man: so I stopped and cried out, 'Awake and

arise, lest death come on thee in this bitter cold,' But it stirred

not; so I plucked up heart and came up to it, and lo! a woman clad in

fair raiment of scarlet and fur, and I knelt down by her to see if I

might help her; but when I touched her I found her cold and stiff, and

dead, though she had not been dead long, for no snow had fallen on her.

It still wanted more than an hour of twilight, and I by no means durst

go home till nightfall; so I sat on there and watched her, and put the

hood from her face and the gloves from her hands, and I deemed her a

goodly and lovely thing, and was sorry that she was not alive, and I

wept for her, and for myself also, that I had lost her fellowship. So

when I came back to the house at dark with the venison, I knew not

whether to tell my mistress and tyrant concerning this matter; but she

looked on me and said at once: 'Wert thou going to tell me of something

that thou hast seen?' So I told her all, even as it was, and she said

to me: 'Hast thou taken aught from the corpse?' 'Nay,' said I. 'Then

must I hasten,' she said, 'and be before the wolves.' Therewith she

took a brand from the fire, and bade me bear one also and lead her: so

did I easily enough, for the moon was up, and what with moon and snow,

it was well nigh as bright as the day. So when we came to the dead

woman, my mistress kneeled down by her and undid the collar of her

cloak, which I had not touched, and took something from her neck

swiftly, and yet I, who was holding the torch, saw that it was a

necklace of blue stones and green, with gold between--Yea, dear

Champion, like unto thine as one peascod is to another," quoth she.

And therewith the distressfulness of her face which had worn Ralph's

heart while she had been telling her tale changed, and she came, as it

were, into her new life and the love of him again, and she kissed him

and laid her cheek to his and he kissed her mouth. And then she

fetched a sigh, and began with her story again.

"My mistress took the necklace and put it in her pouch, and said as to

herself: 'Here, then, is another seeker who hath not found, unless one

should dig a pit for her here when the thaw comes, and call it the Well

at the World's End: belike it will be for her as helpful as the real

one.' Then she turned to me and said: 'Do thou with the rest what thou

wilt,' and therewith she went back hastily to the house. But as for

me, I went back also, and found a pick and a mattock in the goat-house,

and came back in the moonlight and scraped the snow away, and dug a

pit, and buried the poor damsel there with all her gear.

"Wore the winter thence with naught that I need tell of, only I thought

much of the words that my mistress had spoken. Spring came and went,

and summer also, well nigh tidingless. But one day as I drave the

goats from our house there came from the wood four men, a-horseback and

weaponed, but so covered with their armour that I might see little of

their faces. They rode past me to our house, and spake not to me,

though they looked hard at me; but as they went past I heard one say:

'If she might but be our guide to the Well at the World's End!' I durst

not tarry to speak with them, but as I looked over my shoulder I saw

them talking to my mistress in the door; but meseemed she was clad but

in poor homespun cloth instead of her rich apparel, and I am

far-sighted and clear-sighted. After this the autumn and winter that

followed it passed away tidingless."

CHAPTER 4

The Lady Tells of Her Deliverance

"Now I had outgrown my old fear, and not much befell to quicken it: and

ever I was as much out of the house as I could be. But about this time

my mistress, from being kinder to me than before, began to grow harder,

and ofttimes used me cruelly: but of her deeds to me, my friend, thou

shalt ask me no more than I tell thee. On a day of May-tide I fared

abroad with my goats, and went far with them, further from the house

than I had been as yet. The day was the fairest of the year, and I

rejoiced in it, and felt as if some exceeding great good were about to

befall me; and the burden of fears seemed to have fallen from me. So I

went till I came to a little flowery dell, beset with blossoming

whitethorns and with a fair stream running through it; a place somewhat

like to this, save that the stream there was bigger. And the sun was

hot about noontide, so I did off my raiment, which was rough and poor,

and more meet for winter than May-tide, and I entered a pool of the

clear water, and bathed me and sported therein, smelling the sweet

scent of the whitethorns and hearkening to the song of the many birds;

and when I came forth from the water, the air was so soft and sweet to

me, and the flowery grass so kind to my feet, and the May-blooms fell

upon my shoulders, that I was loth to do on my rough raiment hastily,

and withal I looked to see no child of man in that wilderness: so I

sported myself there a long while, and milked a goat and drank of the

milk, and crowned myself with white-thorn and hare-bells; and held the

blossoms in my hand, and felt that I also had some might in me, and

that I should not be a thrall of that sorceress for ever. And that

day, my friend, belike was the spring-tide of the life and the love

that thou holdest in thy kind arms.

"But as I abode thus in that fair place, and had just taken my rock and

spindle in hand that I might go on with my task and give as little

occasion as I might for my mistress to chastise me, I looked up and saw

a child of man coming down the side of the little dale towards me, so I

sprang up, and ran to my raiment and cast them on me hastily, for I was

ashamed; and when I saw that it was a woman, I thought at first that it

was my mistress coming to seek me; and I thought within myself that if

she smote me I would bear it no more, but let it be seen which of the

twain was the mightier. But I looked again and saw that it was not she

but a woman smaller and older. So I stood where I was and abode her

coming, smiling and unafraid, and half-clad.

"She drew near and I saw that it was an old woman grey haired, uncomely

of raiment, but with shining bright eyes in her wrinkled face. And she

made an obeisance to me and said: 'I was passing through this lonely

wilderness and I looked down into the little valley and saw these goats

there and the lovely lady lying naked amongst them, and I said I am too

old to be afraid of aught; for if she be a goddess come back again from

yore agone, she can but make an end of a poor old carline, a gangrel

body, who hath no joy of her life now. And if she be of the daughters

of men, she will belike methink her of her mother, and be kind to me

for her sake, and give me a piece of bread and a draught of her goats'

milk.'

"I spake hastily, for I was ashamed of her words, though I only half

understood them: 'I hear thee and deem that thou mockest me: I have

never known a mother; I am but a poor thrall, a goatherd dwelling with

a mistress in a nook of this wildwood: I have never a piece of bread;

but as to the goats' milk, that thou shalt have at once.' So I called

one of my goats to me, for I knew them all, and milked her into a

wooden bowl that I carried slung about me, and gave the old woman to

drink: and she kissed my hand and drank and spake again, but no longer

in a whining voice, like a beggar bidding alms in the street, but frank

and free.

"'Damsel,' she said, 'now I see that thy soul goes with thy body, and

that thou art kind and proud at once. And whatever thou art, it is no

mock to say of thee, that thou art as fair as the fairest; and I think

that this will follow thee, that henceforth no man who seeth thee once

will forget thee ever, or cease to long for thee: of a surety this is

thy weird. Now I see that thou knowest no more of the world and its

ways than one of the hinds that run in these woods. So if thou wilt, I

will sit down by thee and tell thee much that shall avail thee; and

thou in thy turn shalt tell me all the tale concerning thy dwelling and

thy service, and the like.'

"I said, 'I may not, I durst not; I serve a mighty mistress, and she

would slay me if she knew that I had spoken to thee; and woe's me! I

fear that even now she will not fail to know it. Depart in peace.'

"'Nay,' she said, 'thou needest not tell me, for I have an inkling of

her and her ways: but I will give thee wisdom, and not sell it thee at

a price. Sit down then, fair child, on this flowery grass, and I will

sit beside thee and tell thee of many things worth thine heeding.' So

there we sat awhile, and in good sooth she told me much of the world

which I had not yet seen, of its fairness and its foulness; of life and

death, and desire and disappointment, and despair; so that when she had

done, if I were wiser than erst, I was perchance little more joyous;

and yet I said to myself that come what would I would be a part of all

that.

"But at last she said: 'Lo the day is waning, and thou hast two things

to do; either to go home to thy mistress at once, or flee away from her

by the way that I shall show thee; and if thou wilt be ruled by me, and

canst bear thy thralldom yet a little while thou wilt not flee at once,

but abide till thou hast seen me again. And since it is here that thou

hast met me, here mayst thou meet me again; for the days are long now,

and thou mayst easily win thy way hither before noon on any day.'

"So I tied my goatskin shoes to my feet, and drave my goats together,

and we went up together out of the dale, and were in the wide-spreading

plain of the waste; and the carline said: 'Dost thou know the quarters

of the heaven by the sun?' 'Yea,' said I. 'Then,' quoth she, 'whenso

thou desirest to depart and come into the world of folk that I have

told thee of, set thy face a little north of west, and thou shalt fall

in with something or somebody before long; but be speedy on that day as

thou art light-footed, and make all the way thou canst before thy

mistress comes to know of thy departure; for not lightly will any one

let loose such a thrall as thou.'

"I thanked her, and she went her ways over the waste, I wotted not

whither, and I drave my goats home as speedily as I might; the mistress

meddled not with me by word or deed, though I was short of my due tale

of yarn. The next day I longed sore to go to the dale and meet the

carline but durst not, and the next day I fared in likeways; but the

third day I longed so to go, that my feet must needs take me there,

whatsoever might befall. And when I had been in the dale a little,

thither came the carline, and sat down by me and fell to teaching me

wisdom, and showed me letters and told me what they were, and I learned

like a little lad in the chorister's school.

"Thereafter I mastered my fear of my mistress and went to that dale day

by day, and learned of the carline; though at whiles I wondered when my

mistress would let loose her fury upon me; for I called to mind the

threat she had made to me on the day when she offered up my white goat.

And I made up my mind to this, that if she fell upon me with deadly

intent I would do my best to slay her before she should slay me. But

so it was, that now again she held her hand from my body, and scarce

cast a word at me ever, but gloomed at me, and fared as if hatred of me

had grown great in her heart.

"So the days went by, and my feet had worn a path through the

wilderness to the Dale of Lore, and May had melted into June, and the

latter days of June were come. And on Midsummer Day I went my ways to

the dale according to my wont, when, as I as driving on my goats

hastily I saw a bright thing coming over the heath toward me, and I

went on my way to meet it, for I had no fear now, except what fear of

my mistress lingered in my heart; nay, I looked that everything I saw

of new should add some joy to my heart. So presently I saw that it was

a weaponed man riding a white horse, and anon he had come up to me and

drawn rein before me. I wondered exceedingly at beholding him and the

heart leaped within me at his beauty; for though the carline had told

me of the loveliness of the sons of men, that was but words and I knew

not what they meant; and the others that I had seen were not young men

or goodly, and those last, as I told thee, I could scarce see their

faces.

"And this one was even fairer than the dead woman that I had buried,

whose face was worn with toil and trouble, as now I called to mind. He

was clad in bright shining armour with a gay surcoat of green,

embroidered with flowers over it; he had a light sallet on his head,

and the yellow locks of his hair flowed down from under, and fell on

his shoulders: his face was as beardless as thine, dear friend, but

not clear brown like to thine but white and red like a blossom."

Ralph spake and said: "Belike it was a woman;" and his voice sounded

loud in the quiet place. She smiled on him and kissed his cheek, and

said: "Nay, nay, dear Champion, it is not so. God rest his soul! many

a year he has been dead."

Said Ralph: "Many a year! what meanest thou?" "Ah!" she said, "fear

not! as I am now, so shall I be for thee many a year. Was not thy fear

that I should vanish away or change into something unsightly and

gruesome? Fear not, I say; am I not a woman, and thine own?" And again

she flushed bright red, and her grey eyes lightened, and she looked at

him all confused and shamefaced.

He took her face between his hands and kissed her over and over; then

he let her go, and said: "I have no fear: go on with thy tale, for the

words thereof are as thy kisses to me, and the embracing of thine hands

and thy body: tell on, I pray thee." She took his hand in hers and

spake, telling her tale as before.

"Friend, well-beloved for ever! This fair young knight looked on me,

and as he looked, his face flushed as red as mine did even now. And I

tell thee that my heart danced with joy as I looked on him, and he

spake not for a little while, and then he said: 'Fair maiden, canst

thou tell me of any who will tell me a word of the way to the Well at

the World's End?' I said to him, 'Nay, I have heard the word once and

no more, I know not the way: and I am sorry that I cannot do for thee

that which thou wouldest.' And then I spake again, and told him that he

should by no means stop at our house, and I told him what it was like,

so that he might give it the go by. I said, 'Even if thou hast to turn

back again, and fail to find the thing thou seekest, yet I beseech thee

ride not into that trap.'

"He sat still on his saddle a while, staring at me and I at him; and

then he thanked me, but with so bad a grace, that I wondered of him if

he were angry; and then he shook his rein, and rode off briskly, and I

looked after him a while, and then went on my way; but I had gone but a

short while, when I heard horse-hoofs behind me, and I turned and

looked, and lo! it was the knight coming back again. So I stayed and

abided him; and when he came up to me, he leapt from his horse and

stood before me and said: 'I must needs see thee once again.'

"I stood and trembled before him, and longed to touch him. And again

he spake, breathlessly, as one who has been running: 'I must depart,

for I have a thing to do that I must do; but I long sorely to touch

thee, and kiss thee; yet unless thou freely willest it, I will refrain

me.' Then I looked at him and said, 'I will it freely.' Then he came

close up to me, and put his hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek;

but I kissed his lips, and then he took me in his arms, and kissed me

and embraced me; and there in that place, and in a little while, we

loved each other sorely.

"But in a while he said to me: 'I must depart, for I am as one whom

the Avenger of Blood followeth; and now I will give thee this, not so

much as a gift, but as a token that we have met in the wilderness, thou

and I.' Therewith he put his hand to his neck, and took from it this

necklace which thou seest here, and I saw that it was like that which

my mistress took from the neck of the dead woman. And no less is it

like to the one that thou wearest, Ralph.

"I took it in my hand and wept that I might not help him. And he said:

'It is little likely that we shall meet again; but by the token of this

collar thou mayest wot that I ever long for thee till I die: for

though I am a king's son, this is the dearest of my possessions.' I

said: 'Thou art young, and I am young; mayhappen we shall meet again:

but thou shalt know that I am but a thrall, a goatherd.' For I knew by

what the old woman told me of somewhat of the mightiness of the kings

of the world. 'Yea,' he said, and smiled most sweetly, 'that is easy

to be seen: yet if I live, as I think not to do, thou shalt sit where

great men shall kneel to thee; not as I kneel now for love, and that I

may kiss thy knees and thy feet, but because they needs must worship

thee.'

"Therewith he arose to his feet and leapt on his horse, and rode his

ways speedily: and I went upon my way with my goats, and came down

into the Dale of Lore, and found the old woman abiding me; and she came

to me, and took me by the hands, and touched the collar (for I had done

it about my neck), and said:

"'Dear child, thou needest not to tell me thy tale, for I have seen

him. But if thou must needs wear this necklace, I must give thee a

gift to go with it. But first sit down by the old carline awhile and

talk with her; for meseemeth it will be but a few days ere thou shalt

depart from this uttermost wilderness, and the woods before the

mountains.'

"So I sat down by her, and in spite of her word I told her all that had

befallen betwixt me and the king's son: for my heart was too full that

I might refrain me. She nodded her head from time to time, but said

naught, till I had made an end: and then fell to telling me of many

matters for my avail; but yet arose earlier than her wont was; and when

we were about sundering on the path which I had trodden above the Dale,

she said: 'Now must I give thee that gift to go along with the gift of

the lover, the King's son; and I think thou wilt find it of avail

before many days are gone by.' Therewith she took from her pouch a

strong sharp knife, and drew it from the sheath, and flashed it in the

afternoon sun, and gave it to me; and I took it and laid it in my bosom

and thanked her; for I thought that I understood her meaning, and how

it would avail me. Then I went driving my goats home speedily, so that

the sun was barely set when I came to the garth; and a great horror

rather than a fear of my mistress was on me; and lo! she stood in the

door of the house gazing down the garth and the woodland beyond, as

though she were looking for my coming: and when her eyes lighted on me,

she scowled, and drew her lips back from her teeth and clenched her

hands with fury, though there was nought in them; and she was a tall

and strong woman, though now growing somewhat old: but as for me, I had

unsheathed the carline's gift before I came to the garth, and now I

held it behind my back in my left hand.

"I had stayed my feet some six paces from the threshold, and my heart

beat quick, but the sick fear and cowering had left me, though the

horror of her grew in my heart. My goats had all gone off quietly to

their house, and there was nothing betwixt me and her. In clearing

from my sleeve the arm of me which held the knife, the rough clasp

which fastened my raiment together at the shoulder had given way, and

the cloth had fallen and left my bosom bare, so that I knew that the

collar was clearly to be seen. So we stood a moment, and I had no

words, but she spake at last in a hard, snarling voice, such as she

oftenest used to me, but worse.

"'Now at last the time has come when thou art of no more use to me; for

I can see thee what thou hast got for thyself. But know now that thou

hast not yet drunk of the Well at the World's End, and that it will not

avail thee to flee out of this wood; for as long as I live thou wilt

not be able to get out of reach of my hand; and I shall live long: I

shall live long. Come, then, and give thyself up to me, that I may

deal with thee as I threatened when I slew thy friend the white goat;

for, indeed, I knew then that it would come to this.'

"She had but twice or thrice spoken to me so many words together as

this; but I answered never a word, but stood watching her warily. And

of a sudden she gave forth a dreadful screaming roar, wherewith all the

wood rang again, and rushed at me; but my hand came from behind my

back, and how it was I know not, but she touched me not till the blade

had sunk into her breast, and she fell across my feet, her right hand

clutching my raiment. So I loosed her fingers from the cloth,

shuddering with horror the while, and drew myself away from her and

stood a little aloof, wondering what should happen next. And indeed I

scarce believed but she would presently rise up from the ground and

clutch me in her hands, and begin the tormenting of me. But she moved

no more, and the grass all about her was reddened with her blood; and

at last I gathered heart to kneel down beside her, and found that she

no more breathed than one of those conies or partridges which I had

been used to slay for her.

"Then I stood and considered what I should do, and indeed I had been

pondering this all the way from the Dale thereto, in case I should

escape my mistress. So I soon made up my mind that I would not dwell

in that house even for one night; lest my mistress should come to me

though dead, and torment me. I went into the house while it was yet

light, and looked about the chamber, and saw three great books there

laid on the lectern, but durst not have taken them even had I been able

to carry them; nor durst I even to look into them, for fear that some

spell might get to work in them if they were opened; but I found a rye

loaf whereof I had eaten somewhat in the morning, and another

untouched, and hanging to a horn of the lectern I found the necklace

which my mistress had taken from the dead woman. These I put into my

scrip, and as to the necklace, I will tell thee how I bestowed it later

on. Then I stepped out into the twilight which was fair and golden,

and full fain I was of it. Then I drove the goats out of their house

and went my way towards the Dale of Lore, and said to myself that the

carline would teach me what further to do, and I came there before the

summer dark had quite prevailed, and slept sweetly and softly amongst

my goats after I had tethered them in the best of the pasture."

CHAPTER 5

Yet More of the Lady's Story

"Lo thou, beloved," she said, "thou hast seen me in the wildwood with

little good quickened in me: doth not thine heart sink at the thought

of thy love and thy life given over to the keeping of such an one?" He

smiled in her face, and said: "Belike thou hast done worse than all

thou hast told me: and these days past I have wondered often what there

was in the stories which they of the Burg had against thee: yet sooth

to say, they told little of what thou hast done: no more belike than

being their foe." She sighed and said: "Well, hearken; yet shall I not

tell thee every deed that I have been partaker in.

"I sat in the Dale that next day and was happy, though I longed to see

that fair man again: sooth to say, since my mistress was dead,

everything seemed fairer to me, yea even mine own face, as I saw it in

the pools of the stream, though whiles I wondered when I should have

another mistress, and how she would deal with me; and ever I said I

would ask the carline when she came again to me. But all that day she

came not: nor did I marvel thereat. But when seven days passed and

still she came not, I fell to wondering what I should do: for my bread

was all gone, and I durst not go back to the house to fetch meal;

though there was store of it there. Howbeit, I drank of the milk of

the goats, and made curds thereof with the woodland roots, and ate of

the wood-berries like as thou hast done, friend, e'en now. And it was

easier for me to find a livelihood in the woods than it had been for

most folk, so well as I knew them. So wore the days, and she came not,

and I began to think that I should see the wise carline no more, as

indeed fell out at that time; and the days began to hang heavy on my

hands, and I fell to thinking of that way to the west and the peopled

parts, whereof the carline had told me; and whiles I went out of the

Dale and went away hither and thither through the woods, and so far,

that thrice I slept away out of the Dale: but I knew that the peopled

parts would be strange to me and I feared to face them all alone.

"Thus wore the days till July was on the wane, and on a morning early I

awoke with unwonted sounds in mine ears; and when my eyes were fairly

open I saw a man standing over me and a white horse cropping the grass

hard by. And my heart was full and fain, and I sprang to my feet and

showed him a smiling happy face, for I saw at once that it was that

fair man come back again. But lo! his face was pale and worn, though

he looked kindly on me, and he said: 'O my beloved, I have found thee,

but I am faint with hunger and can speak but little.' And even

therewith he sank down on the grass. But I bestirred myself, and gave

him milk of my goats, and curds and berries, and the life came into him

again, and I sat down by him and laid his head in my lap, and he slept

a long while; and when he awoke (and it was towards sunset) he kissed

my hands and my arms, and said to me: 'Fair child, perhaps thou wilt

come with me now; and even if thou art a thrall thou mayest flee with

me; for my horse is strong and fat, though I am weak, for he can make

his dinner on the grass.'

"Then he laughed and I no less; but I fed him with my poor victual

again, and as he ate I said: 'I am no mistress's thrall now; for the

evening of the day whereon I saw thee I slew her, else had she slain

me.' 'The saints be praised,' said he: 'Thou wilt come with me, then?'

'O yea,' said I. Then I felt shamefaced and I reddened; but I said: 'I

have abided here many days for a wise woman who hath taught me many

things; but withal I hoped that thou wouldst come also.'

"Then he put his arms about my shoulders and loved me much; but at last

he said: 'Yet is it now another thing than that which I looked for,

when I talked of setting thee by me on the golden throne. For now am I

a beaten man; I have failed of that I sought, and suffered shame and

hunger and many ills. Yet ever I thought that I might find thee here

or hereby.' Then a thought came into my mind, and I said: 'Else maybe

thou hadst found what thou soughtest, and overcome the evil things.'

'Maybe,' he said; 'it is now but a little matter.'"

"As for me, I could have no guess at what were the better things he had

meant for me, and my heart was full of joy, and all seemed better than

well. And we talked together long till the day was gone. Then we

kissed and embraced each other in the Dale of Lore, and the darkness of

summer seemed but short for our delight."

CHAPTER 6

The Lady Tells Somewhat of Her Doings After She Left the Wilderness

Ralph stayed her speech now, and said: "When I asked of thee in the

Land of Abundance, there were some who seemed to say that thou hast let

more men love thee than one: and it was a torment to me to think that

even so it might be. But now when thine own mouth telleth me of one of

them it irks me little. Dost thou think it little-hearted in me?"

"O friend," she said, "I see that so it is with thee that thou wouldst

find due cause for loving me, whatever thou foundest true of me. Or

dost thou deem that I was another woman in those days? Nay, I was not:

I can see myself still myself all along the way I have gone." She was

silent a little, and then she said: "Fear not, I will give thee much

cause to love me. But now I know thy mind the better, I shall tell

thee less of what befell me after I left the wilderness; for whatever I

did and whatever I endured, still it was always I myself that was

there, and it is me that thou lovest. Moreover, my life in the

wilderness is a stranger thing to tell thee of than my dealings with

the folk, and with Kings and Barons and Knights. But thereafter thou

shalt hear of me what tales thou wilt of these matters, as the days and

the years pass over our heads.

"Now on the morrow we would not depart at once, because there we had

some victual, and the king's son was not yet so well fed as he should

be; so we abode in that fair place another day, and then we went our

ways westward, according to the rede of the carline; and it was many

days before we gat us out of the wilderness, and we were often hard put

to it for victual; whiles I sat behind my knight a-horseback, whiles he

led the beast while I rode alone, and not seldom I went afoot, and that

nowise slowly, while he rode the white horse, for I was as light-foot

then as now.

"And of the way we went I will tell thee nought as now, because sure it

is that if we both live, thou and I shall tread that road together, but

with our faces turned the other way; for it is the road from the Well

at the World's End, where I myself have been, or else never had thine

eyes fallen on me."

Ralph said, "Even so much I deemed by reading in the book; yet it was

not told clearly that thou hadst been there." "Yea," she said, because

the said book was made not by my friends but my foes, and they would

have men deem that my length of days and the endurance of my beauty and

never-dying youth of my heart came from evil and devilish sources; and

if thou wilt trust my word it is not so, for in the Well at the World's

End is no evil, but only the Quenching of Sorrow, and Clearing of the

Eyes that they may behold. And how good it is that they look on thee

now. And moreover, the history of that book is partly false of

intention and ill-will, and partly a confused medley of true and false,

which has come of mere chance-hap.

"Hearken now," she said, "till I tell thee in few words what befell me

before I came to drink the Water of the Well. After we had passed long

deserts of wood and heath, and gone through lands exceeding evil and

perilous, and despaired of life for the horror of those places, and

seen no men, we came at last amongst a simple folk who dealt kindly

with us, yea, and more. These folk seemed to me happy and of good

wealth, though to my lord they seemed poor and lacking of the goods of

the world. Forsooth, by that time we lacked more than they, for we

were worn with cold and hunger, and hard life: though for me, indeed,

happy had been the days of my wayfaring, but my lord remembered the

days of his riches and the kingdom of his father, and the worship of

mighty men, and all that he had promised me on the happy day when I

first beheld him: so belike he was scarce so happy as I was.

"It was springtime when we came to that folk; for we had worn through

the autumn and winter in getting clear of the wilderness. Not that the

way was long, as I found out afterwards, but that we went astray in the

woodland, and at last came out of it into a dreadful stony waste which

we strove to cross thrice, and thrice were driven back into the

greenwood by thirst and hunger; but the fourth time, having gotten us

store of victual by my woodcraft, we overpassed it and reached the

peopled country.

"Yea, spring was on the earth, as we, my lord and I, came down from the

desolate stony heaths, and went hand and hand across the plain, where

men and women of that folk were feasting round about the simple roofs

and woodland halls which they had raised there. Then they left their

games and sports and ran to us, and we walked on quietly, though we

knew not whether the meeting was to be for death or life. But that

kind folk gathered round us, and asked us no story till they had fed

us, and bathed us, and clad us after their fashion. And then, despite

the nakedness and poverty wherein they had first seen us, they would

have it that we were gods sent down to them from the world beyond the

mountains by their fathers of old time; for of Holy Church, and the

Blessed Trinity, and the Mother of God they knew no more than did I at

that time, but were heathen, as the Gentiles of yore agone. And even

when we put all that Godhood from us, and told them as we might and

could what we were (for we had no heart to lie to such simple folk),

their kindness abated nothing, and they bade us abide there, and were

our loving friends and brethren.

"There in sooth had I been content to abide till eld came upon me, but

my lord would not have it so, but longed for greater things for me.

Though in sooth to me it seemed as if his promise of worship of me by

the folk had been already fulfilled; for when we had abided there some

while, and our beauty, which had been marred by the travail of our

way-faring, had come back to us in full, or it maybe increased

somewhat, they did indeed deal with us with more love than would most

men with the saints, were they to come back on the earth again; and

their children would gather round about me and make me a partaker of

their sports, and be loth to leave me; and the faces of their old folk

would quicken and gladden when I drew nigh: and as for their young men,

it seemed of them that they loved the very ground that my feet trod on,

though it grieved me that I could not pleasure some of them in such

wise as they desired. And all this was soft and full of delight for my

soul: and I, whose body a little while ago had been driven to daily

toil with evil words and stripes, and who had known not what words of

thanks and praise might mean!

"But so it must be that we should depart, and the kind folk showed us

how sore their hearts were of our departure, but they gainsaid us in

nowise, but rather furthered us all they might, and we went our ways

from them riding on horned neat (for they knew not of horses), and

driving one for a sumpter beast before us; and they had given us bows

and arrows for our defence, and that we might get us venison.

"It is not to be said that we did not encounter perils; but thereof I

will tell thee naught as now. We came to other peoples, richer and

mightier than these, and I saw castles, and abbies, and churches, and

walled towns, and wondered at them exceedingly. And in these places

folk knew of the kingdom of my lord and his father, and whereas they

were not of his foes (who lay for the more part on the other side of

his land), and my lord could give sure tokens of what he was, we were

treated with honour and worship, and my lord began to be himself again,

and to bear him as a mighty man. And here to me was some gain in that

poverty and nakedness wherewith we came out of the mountains and the

raiment of the simple folk; for had I been clad in my poor cloth and

goat-skins of the House of the Sorcerer, and he in his brave attire and

bright armour, they would have said, it is a thrall that he is assotted

of, and would have made some story and pretence of taking me from him;

but they deemed me a great lady indeed, and a king's daughter,

according to the tale that he told them. Forsooth many men that saw me

desired me beyond measure, and assuredly some great proud man or other

would have taken me from my lord, but that they feared the wrath of his

father, who was a mighty man indeed.

"Yea, one while as we sojourned by a certain town but a little outside

the walls, a certain young man, a great champion and exceeding

masterful, came upon me with his squires as I was walking in the

meadows, and bore me off, and would have taken me to his castle, but

that my lord followed with a few of the burghers, and there was a

battle fought, wherein my lord was hurt; but the young champion he

slew; and I cannot say but I was sorry of his death, though glad of my

deliverance.

"Again, on a time we guested in a great baron's house, who dealt so

foully by us that he gave my lord a sleeping potion in his good-night

cup, and came to me in the dead night and required me of my love; and I

would not, and he threatened me sorely, and called me a thrall and a

castaway that my lord had picked up off the road: but I gat a knife in

my hand and was for warding myself when I saw that my lord might not

wake: so the felon went away for that time. But on the morrow came

two evil men into the hall whom he had suborned, and bore false witness

that I was a thrall and a runaway. So that the baron would have held

me there (being a mighty man) despite my lord and his wrath and his

grief, had not a young knight of his house been, who swore that he

would slay him unless he let us go; and whereas there were other

knights and squires there present who murmured, the baron was in a way

compelled. So we departed, and divers of the said knights and squires

went with us to see us safe on the way.

"But this was nigh to the kingdom of my lord's father, and that felon

baron I came across again, and he was ever after one of my worst foes.

"Moreover, that young champion who had first stood up in the hall rode

with us still, when the others had turned back; and I soon saw of him

that he found it hard to keep his eyes off me; and that also saw my

lord, and it was a near thing that they did not draw sword thereover:

yet was that knight no evil man, but good and true, and I was

exceedingly sorry for him; but I could not help him in the only way he

would take help of me.

"Lo you, my friend, the beginnings of evil in those long past days, and

the seeds of ill-hap sown in the field of my new life even before the

furrow was turned.

"Well, we came soon into my lord's country, and fair and rich and

lovely was it in those days; free from trouble and unpeace, a happy

abode for the tillers of the soil, and the fashioners of wares. The

tidings had gone to the king that my lord was come back, and he came to

meet him with a great company of knights and barons, arrayed in the

noblest fashion that such folk use; so that I was bewildered with their

glory, and besought my lord to let me fall back out of the way, and

perchance he might find me again. But he bade me ride on his right

hand, for that I was the half of his life and his soul, and that my

friends were his friends and my foes his foes.

"Then there came to me an inkling of the things that should befall, and

I saw that the sweet and clean happiness of my new days was marred, and

had grown into something else, and I began to know the pain of strife

and the grief of confusion: but whereas I had not been bred

delicately, but had endured woes and griefs from my youngest days, I

was not abashed, but hardened my heart to face all things, even as my

lord strove to harden his heart: for, indeed, I said to myself that if

I was to him as the half of his life, he was to me little less than the

whole of my life.

"It is as if it had befallen yesterday, my friend, that I call to mind

how we stood beside our horses in the midst of the ring of great men

clad in gold and gleaming with steel, in the meadow without the gates,

the peace and lowly goodliness whereof with its flocks and herds

feeding, and husbandmen tending the earth and its increase, that great

and noble array had changed so utterly. There we stood, and I knew

that the eyes of all those lords and warriors were set upon me

wondering. But the love of my lord and the late-learned knowledge of

my beauty sustained me. Then the ring of men opened, and the king came

forth towards us; a tall man and big, of fifty-five winters, goodly of

body and like to my lord to look upon. He cast his arms about my lord,

and kissed him and embraced him, and then stood a little aloof from him

and said: 'Well, son, hast thou found it, the Well at the World's End?'

"'Yea,' said my lord, and therewith lifted my hand to his lips and

kissed it, and I looked the king in his face, and his eyes were turned

to me, but it was as if he were looking through me at something behind

me.

"Then he said: 'It is good, son: come home now to thy mother and thy

kindred.' Then my lord turned to me while the king took no heed, and

no man in the ring of knights moved from his place, and he set me in

the saddle, and turned about to mount, and there came a lord from the

ring of men gloriously bedight, and he bowed lowly before my lord, and

held his stirrup for him: but lightly he leapt up into the saddle, and

took my reins and led me along with him, so that he and the king and I

went on together, and all the baronage and their folk shouted and

tossed sword and spear aloft and followed after us. And we left the

meadow quiet and simple again, and rode through the gate of the king's

chief city, wherein was his high house and his castle, the

dwelling-place of his kindred from of old."

CHAPTER 7

The Lady Tells of the Strife and Trouble That Befell After Her Coming

to the Country of the King's Son

"When we came to the King's House, my lord followed his father into the

hall, where sat his mother amongst her damsels: she was a fair woman,

and looked rather meek than high-hearted; my lord led me up to her, and

she embraced and kissed him and caressed him long; then she turned

about to me and would have spoken to me, but the king, who stood behind

us, scowled on her, and she forebore; but she looked me on somewhat

kindly, and yet as one who is afeard.

"Thus it went for the rest of the day, and my lord had me to sit beside

him in the great hall when the banquet was holden, and I ate and drank

with him and beheld all the pageants by his side, and none meddled with

me either to help or to hinder, because they feared the king. Yet many

eyes I saw that desired my beauty. And so when night came, he took me

to his chamber and his bed, as if I were his bride new wedded, even as

it had been with us on the grass of the wilderness and the bracken of

the wildwood. And then, at last, he spake to me of our case, and bade

me fear not, for that a band of his friends, all-armed, was keeping

watch and ward in the cloister without. And when I left the chamber on

the morrow's morn, there were they yet, all in bright armour, and

amongst them the young knight who had delivered me from the felon

baron, and he looked mournfully at me, so that I was sorry for his

sorrow.

"And I knew now that the king was minded to slay me, else had he bidden

thrust me from my lord's side.

"So wore certain days; and on the seventh night, when we were come into

our chamber, which was a fair as any house outside of heaven, my lord

spake to me in a soft voice, and bade me not do off my raiment. 'For,'

said he, 'this night we must flee the town, or we shall be taken and

cast into prison to-morrow; for thus hath my father determined.' I

kissed him and clung to him, and he no less was good to me. And when

it was the dead of night we escaped out of our window by a knotted rope

which he had made ready, and beneath was the city wall; and that

company of knights, amongst whom was the young knight abovesaid, had

taken a postern thereby, and were abiding us armed and with good

horses. So we came into the open country, and rode our ways with the

mind to reach a hill-castle of one of those young barons, and to hold

ourselves there in despite of the king. But the king had been as wary

as we were privy, and no less speedy than we; and he was a mighty and

deft warrior, and he himself followed us on the spur with certain of

his best men-at-arms. And they came upon us as we rested in a woodside

not far from our house of refuge: and the king stood by to see the

battle with his sword in his sheath, but soon was it at an end, for

though our friends fought valiantly, they were everyone slain or hurt,

and but few escaped with bare life; but that young man who loved me so

sorely crept up to me grievously hurt, and I did not forbear to kiss

him once on the face, for I deemed I should soon die also, and his

blood stained my sleeve and my wrist, but he died not as then, but

lived to be a dear friend to me for long.

"So we, my lord and I, were led back to the city, and he was held in

ward and I was cast into prison with chains and hunger and stripes.

And the king would have had me lie there till I perished, that I might

be forgotten utterly; but there were many of the king's knights who

murmured at this, and would not forget me; so the king being

constrained, had me brought forth to be judged by his bishops of

sorcery for the beguiling of my lord. Long was the tale to me then,

but I will not make it long for thee; as was like to be, I was brought

in guilty of sorcery, and doomed to be burned in the Great Square in

three days time.

"Nay, my friend, thou hast no need to look so troubled; for thou seest

that I was not burned. This is the selfsame body that was tied to the

stake in the market place of the king's city many a year ago.

"For the friends of my lord, young men for the most part, and many who

had been fain to be my friends also, put on their armour, and took my

lord out of the courteous prison wherein he was, and came to the Great

Square whenas I stood naked in my smock bound amid the faggots; and I

saw the sheriffs' men give back, and great noise and rumour rise up

around me: and then all about me was a clear space for a moment and I

heard the tramp of the many horse-hoofs, and the space was full of

weaponed men shouting, and crying out, 'Life for our Lord's Lady!'

Then a minute, and I was loose and in my lord's arms, and they brought

me a horse and I mounted, lest the worst should come and we might have

to flee. So I could see much of what went on; and I saw that all the

unarmed folk and lookers-on were gone, but at our backs was a great

crowd of folk with staves and bows who cried out, 'Life for the Lady!'

But before us was naught but the sheriffs' sergeants and a company of

knights and men-at-arms, about as many as we were, and the king in

front of them, fully armed, his face hidden by his helm, and a royal

surcoat over his hauberk beaten with his bearing, to wit, a silver

tower on a blue sky bestarred with gold.

"And now I could see that despite the bills and bows behind us the king

was going to fall on with his folk; and to say sooth I feared but

little and my heart rose high within me, and I wished I had a sword in

my hand to strike once for life and love. But lo! just as the king was

raising his sword, and his trumpet was lifting the brass to his lips,

came a sound of singing, and there was come the Bishop and the Abbot of

St. Peter's and his monks with him, and cross bearers and readers and

others of the religious: and the Bishop bore in his hand the Blessed

Host (as now I know it was) under a golden canopy, and he stood between

the two companies and faced the king, while his folk sang loud and

sweet about him.

"Then the spears went up and from the rest, and swords were sheathed,

and there went forth three ancient knights from out of the king's host

and came up to him and spake with him. Then he gat him away unto his

High House; and the three old knights came to our folk, and spake with

the chiefs; but not with my lord, and I heard not what they said. But

my lord came to me in all loving-kindness and brought me into the house

of one of the Lineage, and into a fair chamber there, and kissed me,

and made much of me; and brought me fair raiment and did it on me with

his own hands, even as his wont was to be for my tire-maiden.

"Then in a little while came those chiefs of ours and said that truce

had been hanselled them for this time, but on these terms, that my lord

and I and all those who had been in arms, and whosoever would, that

feared the king's wrath, should have leave to depart from his city so

that they went and abode no nearer than fifty miles thereof till they

should know his further pleasure. Albeit that whosoever would go home

peaceably might abide in the city still and need not fear the king's

wrath if he stirred no further: but that in any case the Sorceress

should get her gone from those walls.

"So we rode out of the gates that very day before sunset; for it was

now midsummer again, and it was three hours before noon that I was to

have been burned; and we were a gallant company of men-at-arms and

knights; yet did I be-think me of those who were slain on that other

day when we were taken, and fain had I been that they were riding with

us; but at least that fair young man was in our company, though still

weak with his hurts: for the prison and the process had worn away

wellnigh two months. True it is that I rejoiced to see him, for I had

deemed him dead.

"Dear friend, I pray thy pardon if I weary thee with making so long a

tale of my friends of the past days; but needs must I tell thee

somewhat of them, lest thou love that which is not. Since truly it is

myself that I would have thee to love, and none other.

"Many folk gathered to us as we rode our ways to a town which was my

lord's own, and where all men were his friends, so that we came there

with a great host and sat down there in no fear of what the king might

do against us. There was I duly wedded to my lord by a Bishop of Holy

Church, and made his Lady and Queen; for even so he would have it.

"And now began the sore troubles of that land, which had been once so

peaceful and happy; the tale whereof I may one day tell thee; or rather

many tales of what befell me therein; but not now; for the day weareth;

and I still have certain things that I must needs tell thee.

"We waged war against each other, my lord and the king, and whiles one,

and whiles the other overcame. Either side belike deemed that one

battle or two would end the strife; but so it was not, but it endured

year after year, till fighting became the chief business of all in the

land.

"As for me, I had many tribulations. Thrice I fled from the stricken

field with my lord to hide in some stronghold of the mountains. Once

was I taken of the foemen in the town where I abode when my lord was

away from me, and a huge slaughter of innocent folk was made, and I was

cast into prison and chains, after I had seen my son that I had borne

to my lord slain before mine eyes. At last we were driven clean out of

the Kingdom of the Tower, and abode a long while, some two years, in

the wilderness, living like outlaws and wolves' heads, and lifting the

spoil for our livelihood. Forsooth of all the years that I abode about

the Land of Tower those were the happiest. For we robbed no poor folk

and needy, but rewarded them rather, and drave the spoil from rich men

and lords, and hard-hearted chapmen-folk: we ravished no maid of the

tillers, we burned no cot, and taxed no husbandman's croft or acre, but

defended them from their tyrants. Nevertheless we gat an ill name wide

about through the kingdoms and cities; and were devils and witches to

the boot of thieves and robbers in the mouths of these men; for when

the rich man is hurt his wail goeth heavens high, and none may say he

heareth not.

"Now it was at this time that I first fell in with the Champions of the

Dry Tree; for they became our fellows and brothers in arms in the

wildwood: for they had not as yet builded their stronghold of the

Scaur, whereas thou and I shall be in two days time. Many a wild deed

did our folk in their company, and many that had been better undone.

Whiles indeed they went on journeys wherein we were not partakers, as

when they went to the North and harried the lands of the Abbot of

Higham, and rode as far even as over the Downs to Bear Castle and

fought a battle there with the Captain of Higham: whereas we went never

out of the Wood Perilous to the northward; and lifted little save in

the lands of our own proper foemen, the friends of the king.

"Now I say not of the men of the Dry Tree that they were good and

peaceable men, nor would mercy hold their hands every while that they

were hard bestead and thrust into a corner. Yet I say now and once for

all that their fierceness was and is but kindness and pity when set

against the cruelty of the Burg of the Four Friths; men who have no

friend to love, no broken foe to forgive, and can scarce be kind even

to themselves: though forsooth they be wise men and cautelous and well

living before the world, and wealthy and holy."

She stayed her speech a while, and her eyes glittered in her flushed

face and she set her teeth; and she was as one beside herself till

Ralph kissed her feet, and caressed her, and she went on again.

"Dear friend, when thou knowest what these men are and have been thou

wilt bless thy friend Roger for leading thee forth from the Burg by

night and cloud, whatever else may happen to thee.

"Well, we abode in the wildwood, friends and good fellows from the

first; and that young man, though he loved me ever, was somewhat healed

of the fever of love, and was my faithful friend, in such wise that

neither I nor my lord had aught to find fault with in him. Meanwhile

we began to grow strong, for many joined us therein who had fled from

their tyrants of the good towns and the manors of the baronage, and at

last in the third year naught would please my lord but we must enter

into the Kingdom of the Tower, and raise his banner in the wealthy

land, and the fair cities.

"Moreover, his father, the King of the Tower, died in his bed in these

days, and no word of love or peace had passed between them since that

morning when I was led out to be burned in the Great Square.

"So we came forth from the forest, we, and the Champions of the Dry

Tree; and made the tale a short one. For the king, the mighty warrior

and wise man, was dead: and his captains of war, some of them were

dead, and some weary of strife; and those who had been eager in debate

were falling to ask themselves wherefore they had fought and what was

to do that they should still be fighting; and lo! when it came to be

looked into, it was all a matter of the life and death of one woman, to

wit me myself, and why should she not live, why should she not sit upon

the throne with the man who loved her?

"Therefore when at last we came out from the twilight of the woods into

the sunny fields of the Land of the Tower, there was no man to naysay

us; nay, the gates of the strong places flew open before the wind of

our banners, and the glittering of our spears drew the folk together

toward the places of rejoicing. We entered the master City in triumph,

with the houses hung with green boughs and the maidens casting flowers

before our feet, and I sat a crowned Queen upon the throne high raised

on the very place where erst I stood awaiting the coming of the torch

to the faggots which were to consume me.

"There then began the reign of the Woman of the Waste; for so it was,

that my lord left to my hands the real ruling of the kingdom, though he

wore the crown and set the seal to parchments. As to them of the Dry

Tree, though some few of them abode in the kingdom, and became great

there, the more part of them went back to the wildwood and lived the

old life of the Wood, as we had found them living it aforetime. But or

ever they went, the leaders of them came before me, and kissed my feet,

and with tears and prayers besought me, and bade me that if aught fell

amiss to me there, I should come back to them and be their Lady and

Queen; and whereas these wild men loved me well, and I deemed that I

owed much to their love and their helping, I promised them and swore to

them by the Water of the Well at the World's End that I would do no

less than they prayed me: albeit I set no term or year for the day that

I would come to them.

"And now my lord and I, we set ourselves to heal the wounds which war

had made in the land: and hard was the work, and late the harvest; so

used had men become to turmoil and trouble. Moreover, there were many,

and chiefly the women who had lost husband, lover, son or brother, who

laid all their griefs on my back; though forsooth how was I guilty of

the old king's wrath against me, which was the cause of all? About

this time my lord had the Castle of Abundance built up very fairly for

me and him to dwell in at whiles; and indeed we had before that dwelt

at a little manor house that was there, when we durst withdraw a little

from the strife; but now he had it done as fair as ye saw it, and had

those arras cloths made with the story of my sojourn in the wilderness,

even as ye saw them. But the days and the years wore, and wealth came

back to the mighty of the land, and fields flourished and the acres

bore increase, and fair houses were builded in the towns; and the land

was called happy again.

"But for me I was not so happy: and I looked back fondly to the days

of the greenwood and the fellowship of the Dry Tree, and the days

before that, of my flight with my lord. And moreover with the wearing

of the years those murmurs against me and the blind causeless hatred

began to grow again, and chiefly methinks because I was the king, and

my lord the king's cloak: but therewith tales concerning me began to

spring up, how that I was not only a sorceress, but even one foredoomed

from of old and sent by the lords of hell to wreck that fair Land of

the Tower and make it unhappy and desolate. And the tale grew and

gathered form, till now, when the bloom of my beauty was gone, I heard

hard and fierce words cried after me in the streets when I fared

abroad, and that still chiefly by the women: for yet most men looked

on me with pleasure. Also my counsellors and lords warned me often

that I must be wary and of great forbearance if trouble were to be kept

back.

"Now amidst these things as I was walking pensively in my garden one

summer day, it was told me that a woman desired to see me, so I bade

them bring her. And when she came I looked on her, and deemed that I

had seen her aforetime: she was not old, but of middle age, of dark

red hair, and brown eyes somewhat small: not a big woman, but well

fashioned of body, and looking as if she had once been exceeding dainty

and trim. She spake, and again I seemed to have heard her voice

before: 'Hail, Queen,' she said, 'it does my heart good to see thee

thus in thy glorious estate.' So I took her greeting; but those tales

of my being but a sending of the Devil for the ruin of that land came

into my mind, and I sent away the folk who were thereby before I said

more to her. Then she spake again: 'Even so I guessed it would be

that thou wouldst grow great amongst women.'

"But I said, 'What is this? and when have I known thee before-time?'

She smiled and said naught; and my mind went back to those old days,

and I trembled, and the flesh crept upon my bones, lest this should be

the coming back in a new shape of my mistress whom I had slain. But

the woman laughed, and said, as if she knew my thoughts: 'Nay, it is

not so: the dead are dead; fear not: but hast thou forgotten the Dale

of Lore?'

"'Nay,' said I, 'never; and art thou then the carline that learned me

lore? But if the dead come not back, how do the old grow young again?

for 'tis a score of years since we two sat in the Dale, and I longed

for many things.'

"Said the woman: 'The dead may not drink of the Well at the World's

End; yet the living may, even if they be old; and that blessed water

giveth them new might and changeth their blood, and they are as young

folk for a long while again after they have drunken.' 'And hast thou

drunken?' said I.

"'Yea,' she said; 'but I am minded for another draught.' I said: 'And

wherefore hast thou come to me, and what shall I give to thee?' She

said, 'I will take no gift of thee as now, for I need it not, though

hereafter I may ask a gift of thee. But I am to ask this of thee, if

thou wilt be my fellow-farer on the road thither?' 'Yea?' said I, 'and

leave my love and my lord, and my kingship which he hath given me? for

this I will tell thee, that all that here is done, is done by me.'

"'Great is thy Kingship, Lady,' said the woman, and smiled withal.

Then she sat silent a little, and said: 'When six months are worn, it

will be springtide; I will come to thee in the spring days, and know

what thy mind is then. But now I must depart.' Quoth I: 'Glad shall I

be to talk with thee again; for though thou hast learned me much of

wisdom, yet much more I need; yea, as much as the folk here deem I have

already.' 'Thou shalt have no less,' said the woman. Then she kissed

my hands and went her ways, and I sat musing still for a long while:

because for all my gains, and my love that I had been loved withal, and

the greatness that I had gotten, there was as it were a veil of

unhappiness wrapped round about my heart.

"So wore the months, and ere the winter had come befell an evil thing,

for my lord, who had loved me so, and taken me out of the wilderness,

died, and was gathered to the fathers, and there was I left alone; for

there was no fruit of my womb by him alive. My first-born had been

slain by those wretches, and a second son that I bore had died of a

pestilence that war and famine had brought upon the land. I will not

wear thy soul with words about my grief and sorrow: but it is to be

told that I sat now in a perilous place, and yet I might not step down

from it and abide in that land, for then it was a sure thing, that some

of my foes would have laid hand on me and brought me to judgment for

being but myself, and I should have ended miserably. So I gat to me

all the strength that I might, and whereas there were many who loved me

still, some for my own sake, and some for the sake of my lord that was,

I endured in good hope that all my days were not done. Yet I longed

for the coming of the Teacher of Lore; for now I made up my mind that I

would go with her, and seek to the Well at the World's End for weal and

woe.

"She came while April was yet young: and I need make no long tale of

how we gat us away: for whereas she was wise in hidden lore, it was no

hard matter for her to give me another semblance than mine own, so that

I might have walked about the streets of our city from end to end, and

none had known me. So I vanished away from my throne and my kingdom,

and that name and fame of a witch-wife clove to me once and for all,

and spread wide about the cities of folk and the kingdoms, and many are

the tales that have arisen concerning me, and belike some of these thou

hast heard told."

Ralph reddened and said: "My soul has been vexed by some inkling of

them; but now it is at rest from them for ever."

"May it be so!" she said: "and now my tale is wearing thin for the

present time.

"Back again went my feet over the ways they had trodden before, though

the Teacher shortened the road much for us by her wisdom. Once again

what need to tell thee of these ways when thine own eyes shall behold

them as thou wendest them beside me? Be it enough to say that once

again I came to that little house in the uttermost wilderness, and

there once more was the garth and the goat-house, and the trees of the

forest beyond it, and the wood-lawns and the streams and all the places

and things that erst I deemed I must dwell amongst for ever."

Said Ralph: "And did the carline keep troth with thee? Was she not

but luring thee thither to be her thrall? Or did the book that I read

in the Castle of Abundance but lie concerning thee?"

"She held her troth to me in all wise," said the Lady, "and I was no

thrall of hers, but as a sister, or it may be even as a daughter; for

ever to my eyes was she the old carline who learned me lore in the Dale

of the wildwood.

"But now a long while, years long, we abode in that House of the

Sorceress ere we durst seek further to the Well at the World's End.

And yet meseems though the years wore, they wore me no older; nay, in

the first days at least I waxed stronger of body and fairer than I had

been in the King's Palace in the Land of the Tower, as though some

foretaste of the Well was there for us in the loneliness of the desert;

although forsooth the abiding there amidst the scantiness of

livelihood, and the nakedness, and the toil, and the torment of wind

and weather were as a penance for the days and deeds of our past lives.

What more is to say concerning our lives here, saving this, that in

those days I learned yet more wisdom of the Teacher of Lore, and amidst

that wisdom was much of that which ye call sorcery: as the foreseeing

of things to come, and the sending of dreams or visions, and certain

other matters. And I may tell thee that the holy man who came to us

last even, I sent him the dream which came to him drowsing, and bade

him come to the helping of Walter the Black: for I knew that I should

take thy hand and flee with thee this morning e'en as I have done: and

I would fain have a good leech to Walter lest he should die, although I

owe him hatred rather than love. Now, my friend, tell me, is this an

evil deed, and dost thou shrink from the Sorceress?"

He strained her to his bosom and kissed her mouth, and then he said:

"Yet thou hast never sent a dream to me." She laughed and said: "What!

hast thou never dreamed of me since we met at the want-way of the Wood

Perilous?" "Never," said he. She stroked his cheek fondly, and said:

"Young art thou, sweet friend, and sleepest well a-nights. It was

enough that thou thoughtest of me in thy waking hours." Then she went

on with her tale.

CHAPTER 8

The Lady Maketh an End of Her Tale

"Well, my friend, after we had lived thus a long time, we set out one

day to seek to the Well at the World's End, each of us signed and

marked out for the quest by bearing such-like beads as thou and I both

bear upon our necks today. Once again of all that befell us on that

quest I will tell thee naught as now: because to that Well have I to

bring thee: though myself, belike, I need not its waters again."

Quoth Ralph: "And must thou lead me thy very self, mayest thou not

abide in some safe place my going and returning? So many and sore as

the toils and perils of the way may be." "What!" she said, "and how

shall I be sundered from thee now I have found thee? Yea, and who

shall lead thee, thou lovely boy? Shall it be a man to bewray thee, or

a woman to bewray me? Yet need we not go tomorrow, my beloved, nor for

many days: so sweet as we are to each other.

"But in those past days it was needs must we begin our quest before the

burden of years was over heavy upon us. Shortly to say it, we found

the Well, and drank of its waters after abundant toil and peril, as

thou mayst well deem. Then the life and the soul came back to us, and

the past years were as naught to us, and my youth was renewed in me,

and I became as thou seest me to-day. But my fellow was as a woman of

forty summers again, strong and fair as I had seen her when she came

into the garden in the days of my Queenhood, and thus we returned to

the House of the Sorceress, and rested there for a little from our

travel and our joy.

"At last, and that was but some five years ago, the Teacher said to me:

'Sister, I have learned thee all that thine heart can take of me, and

thou art strong in wisdom, and moreover again shall it be with thee, as

I told of thee long ago, that no man shall look on thee that shall not

love thee. Now I will not seek to see thy life that is coming, nor

what thine end shall be, for that should belike be grievous to both of

us; but this I see of thee, that thou wilt now guide thy life not as I

will, but as thou wilt; and since my way is not thy way, and that I see

thou shalt not long abide alone, now shall we sunder; for I am minded

to go to the most ancient parts of the world, and seek all the

innermost of wisdom whiles I yet live; but with kings and champions and

the cities of folk will I have no more to do: while thou shalt not be

able to refrain from these. So now I bid thee farewell.'

"I wept at her words, but gainsaid them naught, for I wotted that she

spake but the truth; so I kissed her, and we parted; she went her ways

through the wildwood, and I abode at the House of the Sorceress, and

waited on the wearing of the days.

"But scarce a month after her departure, as I stood by the threshold

one morning amidst of the goats, I saw men come riding from out the

wood; so I abode them, and they came to the gate of the garth and there

lighted down from their horses, and they were three in company; and no

one of them was young, and one was old, with white locks flowing down

from under his helm: for they were all armed in knightly fashion, but

they had naught but white gaberdines over their hauberks, with no

coat-armour or token upon them. So they came through the garth-gate

and I greeted them and asked them what they would; then the old man

knelt down on the grass before me and said: 'If I were as young as I am

old my heart would fail me in beholding thy beauty: but now I will ask

thee somewhat: far away beyond the forest we heard rumours of a woman

dwelling in the uttermost desert, who had drunk of the Well at the

World's End, and was wise beyond measure. Now we have set ourselves to

seek that woman, and if thou be she, we would ask a question of thy

wisdom.'

"I answered that I was even such as they had heard of, and bade them

ask.

"Said the old man:

"'Fifty years ago, when I was yet but a young man, there was a fair

woman who was Queen of the Land of the Tower and whom we loved sorely

because we had dwelt together with her amidst tribulation in the desert

and the wildwood: and we are not of her people, but a fellowship of

free men and champions hight the Men of the Dry Tree: and we hoped

that she would one day come back and dwell with us and be our Lady and

Queen: and indeed trouble seemed drawing anigh her, so that we might

help her and she might become our fellow again, when lo! she vanished

away from the folk and none knew where she was gone. Therefore a band

of us of the Dry Tree swore an oath together to seek her till we found

her, that we might live and die together: but of that band of one score

and one, am I the last one left that seeketh; for the rest are dead, or

sick, or departed: and indeed I was the youngest of them. But for

these two men, they are my sons whom I have bred in the knowledge of

these things and in the hope of finding tidings of our Lady and Queen,

if it were but the place where her body lieth. Thou art wise: knowest

thou the resting place of her bones?"

"When I had heard the tale of the old man I was moved to my inmost

heart, and I scarce knew what to say. But now this long while fear was

dead in me, so I thought I would tell the very sooth: but I said first:

'Sir, what I will tell, I will tell without beseeching, so I pray thee

stand up.' So did he, and I said: 'Geoffrey, what became of the white

hind after the banners had left the wildwood'? He stared wild at me,

and I deemed that tears began to come into his eyes; but I said again:

'What betid to dame Joyce's youngest born, the fair little maiden that

we left sick of a fever when we rode to Up-castle?' Still he said

naught but looked at me wondering: and said: 'Hast thou ever again

seen that great old oak nigh the clearing by the water, the half of

which fell away in the summer-storm of that last July?'

"Then verily the tears gushed out of his eyes, and he wept, for as old

as he was; and when he could master himself he said: 'Who art thou?

Who art thou? Art thou the daughter of my Lady, even as these are my

sons?' But I said: 'Now will I answer thy first question, and tell

thee that the Lady thou seekest is verily alive; and she has thriven,

for she has drunk of the Well at the World's End, and has put from her

the burden of the years. O Geoffrey, and dost thou not know me?' And

I held out my hand to him, and I also was weeping, because of my

thought of the years gone by; for this old man had been that swain who

had nigh died for me when I fled with my husband from the old king; and

he became one of the Dry Tree, and had followed me with kind service

about the woods in the days when I was at my happiest.

"But now he fell on his knees before me not like a vassal but like a

lover, and kissed my feet, and was beside himself for joy. And his

sons, who were men of some forty summers, tall and warrior-like, kissed

my hands and made obeisance before me.

"Now when we had come to ourselves again, old Geoffrey, who was now

naught but glad, spake and said: 'It is told amongst us that when our

host departed from the Land of the Tower, after thou hadst taken thy

due seat upon the throne, that thou didst promise our chieftains how

thou wouldst one day come back to the fellowship of the Dry Tree and

dwell amongst us. Wilt thou now hold to thy promise?' I said: 'O

Geoffrey, if thou art the last of those seekers, and thou wert but a

boy when I dwelt with you of old, who of the Dry Tree is left to

remember me?' He hung his head awhile then, and spake: 'Old are we

grown, yet art thou fittest to be amongst young folk: unless mine eyes

are beguiled by some semblance which will pass away presently.' 'Nay,'

quoth I, 'it is not so; as I am now, so shall I be for many and many a

day.' 'Well,' said Geoffrey, 'wherever thou mayst be, thou shalt be

Queen of men.'

"'I list not to be Queen again,' said I. He laughed and said: 'I wot

not how thou mayst help it.'

"I said: 'Tell me of the Dry Tree, how the champions have sped, and

have they grown greater or less.' Said he: 'They are warriors and

champions from father to son; therefore have they thriven not over

well; yet they have left the thick of the wood, and built them a great

castle above the little town hight Hampton; so that is now called

Hampton under Scaur, for upon the height of the said Scaur is our

castle builded: and there we hold us against the Burg of the Four

Friths which hath thriven greatly; there is none so great as the Burg

in all the lands about.'

"I said: 'And the Land of the Tower, thriveth the folk thereof at

all?' 'Nay,' he said, 'they have been rent to pieces by folly and war

and greediness: in the Great City are but few people, grass grows in

its streets; the merchants wend not the ways that lead thither. Naught

thriveth there since thou stolest thyself away from them.'

"'Nay,' I said, 'I fled from their malice, lest I should have been

brought out to be burned once more; and there would have been none to

rescue then.' 'Was it so?' said old Geoffrey; 'well it is all one now;

their day is done.'

"'Well,' I said, 'come into my house, and eat and drink therein and

sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I shall tell thee what I will do.'

"Even so they did; and on the morrow early I spake to Geoffrey and

said: 'What hath befallen the Land of Abundance, and the castle my lord

built for me there; which we held as our refuge all through the War of

the Tower, both before we joined us to you in the wildwood, and

afterwards?' He said: 'It is at peace still; no one hath laid hand on

it; there is a simple folk dwelling there in the clearing of the wood,

which forgetteth thee not; though forsooth strange tales are told of

thee there; and the old men deem that it is but a little since thou

hast ceased to come and go there; and they are ready to worship thee as

somewhat more than the Blessed Saints, were it not for the Fathers of

the Thorn who are their masters.'

"I pondered this a while, and then said: 'Geoffrey, ye shall bring me

hence away to the peopled parts, and on the way, or when we are come

amongst the cities and the kingdoms, we will settle it whither I shall

go. See thou! I were fain to be of the brotherhood of the Dry Tree;

yet I deem it will scarce be that I shall go and dwell there

straightway.'

"Therewith the old man seemed content; and indeed now that the first

joy of our meeting, when his youth sprang up in him once more, was

over, he found it hard to talk freely with me, and was downcast and shy

before me, as if something had come betwixt us, which had made our

lives cold to each other.

"So that day we left the House of the Sorceress, which I shall not see

again, till I come there hand in hand with thee, beloved. When we came

to the peopled parts, Geoffrey and his sons brought me to the Land of

Abundance, and I found it all as he had said to me: and I took up my

dwelling in the castle, and despised not those few folk of the land,

but was kind to them: but though they praised my gifts, and honoured

me as the saints are honoured, and though they loved me, yet it was

with fear, so that I had little part with them. There I dwelt then;

and the book which thou didst read there, part true and part false, and

altogether of malice against me, I bought of a monk who came our way,

and who at first was sore afeared when he found that he had come to my

castle. As to the halling of the Chamber of Dais, I have told thee

before how my lord, the King's Son, did do make it in memory of the

wilderness wherein he found me, and the life of thralldom from which he

brought me. There I dwelt till nigh upon these days in peace and

quiet: nor did I go to the Dry Tree for a long while, though many of

them sought to me there at the Castle of Abundance; and, woe worth the

while! there was oftenest but one end to their guesting, that of all

gifts, they besought me but of one, which, alack! I might not give

them: and that is the love that I have given to thee, beloved.--And,

oh! my fear, that it will weigh too light with thee, to win me pardon

of thee for all that thou must needs pardon me, ere thou canst give me

all thy love, that I long for so sorely."

CHAPTER 9

They Go On Their Way Once More

"Look now," she said, "I have held thee so long in talk, that the

afternoon is waning; now is it time for us to be on the way again; not

because I misdoubt me of thy foeman, but because I would take thee to a

fairer dwelling of the desert, and one where I have erst abided; and

moreover, there thou shalt not altogether die of hunger. See, is it

not as if I had thought to meet thee here?"

"Yea, in good sooth," said he, "I wot that thou canst see the story of

things before they fall."

She laughed and said: "But all this that hath befallen since I set out

to meet thee at the Castle of Abundance I foresaw not, any more than I

can foresee to-morrow. Only I knew that we must needs pass by the place

whereto I shall now lead thee, and I made provision there. Lo! now the

marvel slain: and in such wise shall perish other marvels which have

been told of me; yet not all. Come now, let us to the way."

So they joined hands and left the pleasant place, and were again going

speedily amidst the close pine woods awhile, where it was smooth

underfoot and silent of noises withal.

Now Ralph said: "Beloved, thou hast told me of many things, but naught

concerning how thou camest to be wedded to the Knight of the Sun, and

of thy dealings with him."

Said she, reddening withal: "I will tell thee no more than this,

unless thou compel me: that he would have me wed him, as it were

against my will, till I ceased striving against him, and I went with

him to Sunway, which is no great way from the Castle of Abundance, and

there befell that treason of Walter the Black, who loved me and prayed

for my love, and when I gainsaid him, swore by all that was holy,

before my lord, that it was I who sought his love, and how I had told

and taught him ways of witchcraft, whereby we might fulfill our love,

so that the Baron should keep a wife for another man. And the Knight

of the Sun, whose heart had been filled with many tales of my wisdom,

true and false, believed his friend whom he loved, and still believeth

him, though he burneth for the love of me now; whereas in those first

days of the treason, he burned with love turned to hatred. So of this

came that shaming and casting-forth of me. Whereof I will tell thee

but this, that the brother of my lord, even the tall champion whom thou

hast seen, came upon me presently, when I was cast forth; because he

was coming to see the Knight of the Sun at his home; and he loved me,

but not after the fashion of his brother, but was kind and mild with

me. So then I went with him to Hampton and the Dry Tree, and great joy

made the folk thereof of my coming, whereas they remembered their

asking of aforetime that I would come to be a Queen over them, and

there have I dwelt ever since betwixt Hampton and the Castle of

Abundance; and that tall champion has been ever as a brother unto me."

Said Ralph, "And thou art their Queen there?" "Yea," she said, "in a

fashion; yet have they another who is mightier than I, and might, if

she durst, hang me over the battlements of the Scaur, for she is a

fierce and hard woman, and now no longer young in years."

"Is it not so then," said Ralph, "that some of the ill deeds that are

told of thee are of her doing?"

"It is even so," she said, "and whiles when she has spoken the word I

may not be against her openly, therefore I use my wisdom which I have

learned, to set free luckless wights from her anger and malice. More

by token the last time I did thus was the very night of the day we

parted, after thou hadst escaped from the Burg."

"In what wise was that?" said Ralph. She said: "When I rode away from

thee on that happy day of my deliverance by thee, my heart laughed for

joy of the life thou hadst given me, and of thee the giver, and I swore

to myself that I would set free the first captive or death-doomed

creature that I came across, in honour of my pleasure and delight: now

speedily I came to Hampton and the Scaur; for it is not very far from

the want-ways of the wood: and there I heard how four of our folk had

been led away by the men of the Burg, therefore it was clear to me that

I must set these men free if I could; besides, it pleased me to think

that I could walk about the streets of the foemen safely, who had been

but just led thitherward to the slaughter. Thou knowest how I sped

therein. But when I came back again to our people, after thou hadst

ridden away from us with Roger, I heard these tidings, that there was

one new-come into our prison, a woman to wit, who had been haled before

our old Queen for a spy and doomed by her, and should be taken forth

and slain, belike, in a day or two. So I said to myself that I was not

free of my vow as yet, because those friends of mine, I should in any

case have done my best to deliver them: therefore I deemed my oath

bound me to set that woman free. So in the night-tide when all was

quiet I went to the prison and brought her forth, and led her past all

the gates and wards, which was an easy thing to me, so much as I had

learned, and came with her into the fields betwixt the thorp of Hampton

and the wood, when it was more daylight than dawn, so that I could see

her clearly, and no word as yet had we spoken to each other. But then

she said to me: 'Am I to be slain here or led to a crueller prison?'

And I said: 'Neither one thing nor the other: for lo! I have set thee

free, and I shall look to it that there shall be no pursuit of thee

till thou hast had time to get clear away.' But she said: 'What thanks

wilt thou have for this? Wherefore hast thou done it?' And I said, 'It

is because of the gladness I have gotten.' Said she, 'And would that I

might get gladness!' So I asked her what was amiss now that she was

free. She said: 'I have lost one thing that I loved, and found another

and lost it also.' So I said: 'Mightest thou not seek for the lost?'

She said, 'It is in this wood, but when I shall find it I shall not

have it.' 'It is love that thou art seeking,' said I. 'In what

semblance is he?'

"What wilt thou, my friend? Straightway she fell to making a picture

of thee in words; so that I knew that she had met thee, and belike

after I had departed from thee, and my heart was sore thereat; for now

I will tell thee the very truth, that she was a young woman and

exceeding fair, as if she were of pearl all over, and as sweet as

eglantine; and I feared her lest she should meet thee again in these

wildwoods. And so I asked her what would she, and she said that she

had a mind to seek to the Well at the World's End, which quencheth all

sorrow; and I rejoiced thereat, thinking that she would be far away

from thee, not thinking that thou and I must even meet to seek to it

also. So I gave her the chaplet which my witch-mistress took from the

dead woman's neck; and went with her into the wildwood, and taught her

wisdom of the way and what she was to do. And again I say to thee that

she was so sweet and yet with a kind of pity in her both of soul and

body, and wise withal and quiet, that I feared her, though I loved her;

yea and still do: for I deem her better than me, and meeter for thee

and thy love than I be.--Dost thou know her?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "and fair and lovely she is in sooth. Yet hast thou

naught to do to fear her. And true it is that I saw her and spake with

her after thou hadst ridden away. For she came by the want-ways of the

Wood Perilous in the dawn of the day after I had delivered thee; and in

sooth she told me that she looked either for Death, or the Water of the

Well to end her sorrow."

Then he smiled and said; "As for that which thou sayest, that she had

been meeter for me than thou, I know not this word. For look you,

beloved, she came, and passed, and is gone, but thou art there and

shalt endure."

She stayed, and turned and faced him at that word; and love so consumed

her, that all sportive words failed her; yea and it was as if mirth and

light-heartedness were swallowed up in the fire of her love; and all

thought of other folk departed from him as he felt her tears of love

and joy upon his face, and she kissed and embraced him there in the

wilderness.

CHAPTER 10

Of the Desert-House and the Chamber of Love in the Wilderness

Then in a while they grew sober and went on their ways, and the sun was

westering behind them, and casting long shadows. And in a little while

they were come out of the thick woods and were in a country of steep

little valleys, grassy, besprinkled with trees and bushes, with hills

of sandstone going up from them, which were often broken into cliffs

rising sheer from the tree-beset bottoms: and they saw plenteous deer

both great and small, and the wild things seemed to fear them but

little. To Ralph it seemed an exceeding fair land, and he was as

joyous as it was fair; but the Lady was pensive, and at last she said:

"Thou deemest it fair, and so it is; yet is it the lonesomest of

deserts. I deem indeed that it was once one of the fairest of lands,

with castles and cots and homesteads all about, and fair people no few,

busy with many matters amongst them. But now it is all passed away,

and there is no token of a dwelling of man, save it might be that those

mounds we see, as yonder, and yonder again, are tofts of house-walls

long ago sunken into the earth of the valley. And now few even are the

hunters or way-farers that wend through it."

Quoth Ralph: "Thou speakest as if there had been once histories and

tales of this pleasant wilderness: tell me, has it anything to do with

that land about the wide river which we went through, Roger and I, as

we rode to the Castle of Abundance the other day? For he spoke of

tales of deeds and mishaps concerning it." "Yea," she said, "so it is,

and the little stream that runs yonder beneath those cliffs, is making

its way towards that big river aforesaid, which is called the Swelling

Flood. Now true it is also that there are many tales about of the wars

and miseries that turned this land into a desert, and these may be true

enough, and belike are true. But these said tales have become blended

with the story of those aforesaid wars of the Land of the Tower; of

which indeed this desert is verily a part, but was desert still in the

days when I was Queen of the Land; so thou mayst well think that they

who hold me to be the cause of all this loneliness (and belike Roger

thought it was so) have scarce got hold of the very sooth of the

matter."

"Even so I deemed," said Ralph: "and to-morrow we shall cross the big

river, thou and I. Is there a ferry or a ford there whereas we shall

come, or how shall we win over it?"

She was growing merrier again now, and laughed at this and said: "O

fair boy! the crossing will be to-morrow and not to-day; let to-morrow

cross its own rivers; for surely to-day is fair enough, and fairer

shall it be when thou hast been fed and art sitting by me in rest and

peace till to-morrow morning. So now hasten yet a little more; and we

will keep the said little stream in sight as well as we may for the

bushes."

So they sped on, till Ralph said: "Will thy feet never tire, beloved?"

"O child," she said, "thou hast heard my story, and mayst well deem

that they have wrought many a harder day's work than this day's. And

moreover they shall soon rest; for look! yonder is our house for this

even, and till to-morrow's sun is high: the house for me and thee and

none else with us." And therewith she pointed to a place where the

stream ran in a chain of pools and stickles, and a sheer cliff rose up

some fifty paces beyond it, but betwixt the stream and the cliff was a

smooth table of greensward, with three fair thorn bushes thereon, and

it went down at each end to the level of the river's lip by a green

slope, but amidmost, the little green plain was some ten feet above the

stream, and was broken by a little undercliff, which went down sheer

into the water. And Ralph saw in the face of the high cliff the mouth

of a cave, however deep it might be.

"Come," said the Lady, "tarry not, for I know that hunger hath hold of

thee, and look, how low the sun is growing!" Then she caught him by the

hand, and fell to running with him to the edge of the stream, where at

the end of the further slope it ran wide and shallow before it entered

into a deep pool overhung with boughs of alder and thorn. She stepped

daintily over a row of big stones laid in the rippling shallow; and

staying herself in mid-stream on the biggest of them, and gathering up

her gown, looked up stream with a happy face, and then looked over her

shoulder to Ralph and said: "The year has been good to me these

seasons, so that when I stayed here on my way to the Castle of

Abundance, I found but few stones washed away, and crossed wellnigh

dry-shod, but this stone my feet are standing on now, I brought down

from under the cliff, and set it amid-most, and I said that when I

brought thee hither I would stay thereon and talk with thee while I

stood above the freshness of the water, as I am doing now."

Ralph looked on her and strove to answer her, but no words would come

to his lips, because of the greatness of his longing; she looked on him

fondly, and then stooped to look at the ripples that bubbled up about

her shoes, and touched them at whiles; then she said: "See how they

long for the water, these feet that have worn the waste so long, and

know how kind it will run over them and lap about them: but ye must

abide a little, waste-wearers, till we have done a thing or two. Come,

love!" And she reached her hand out behind her to Ralph, not looking

back, but when she felt his hand touch it, she stepped lightly over the

other stones, and on to the grass with him, and led him quietly up the

slope that went up to the table of greensward before the cave. But

when they came on to the level grass she kissed him, and then turned

toward the valley and spake solemnly: "May all blessings light on this

House of the wilderness and this Hall of the Summer-tide, and the

Chamber of Love that here is!"

Then was she silent a while, and Ralph brake not the silence. Then she

turned to him with a face grown merry and smiling, and said: "Lo! how

the poor lad yearneth for meat, as well he may, so long as the day hath

been. Ah, beloved, thou must be patient a little. For belike our

servants have not yet heard of the wedding of us. So we twain must

feed each the other. Is that so much amiss?"

He laughed in her face for love, and took her by the wrist, but she

drew her hand away and went into the cave, and came forth anon holding

a copper kettle with an iron bow, and a bag of meal, which she laid at

his feet; then she went into the cave again, and brought forth a flask

of wine and a beaker; then she caught up the little cauldron, which was

well-beaten, and thin and light, and ran down to the stream therewith,

and came up thence presently, bearing it full of water on her head,

going as straight and stately as the spear is seen on a day of tourney,

moving over the barriers that hide the knight, before he lays it in the

rest. She came up to him and set the water-kettle before him, and put

her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek, and then stepped back

from him and smote her palms together, and said: "Yea, it is well! But

there are yet more things to do before we rest. There is the dighting

of the chamber, and the gathering of wood for the fire, and the mixing

of the meal, and the kneading and the baking of cakes; and all that is

my work, and there is the bringing of the quarry for the roast, and

that is thine."

Then she ran into the cave and brought forth a bow and a quiver of

arrows, and said: "Art thou somewhat of an archer?" Quoth he: "I

shoot not ill." "And I," she said, "shoot well, all woodcraft comes

handy to me. But this eve I must trust to thy skill for my supper. Go

swiftly and come back speedily. Do off thine hauberk, and beat the

bushes down in the valley, and bring me some small deer, as roe or hare

or coney. And wash thee in the pool below the stepping-stones, as I

shall do whiles thou art away, and by then thou comest back, all shall

be ready, save the roasting of the venison."

So he did off his wargear, but thereafter tarried a little, looking at

her, and she said: "What aileth thee not to go? the hunt's up." He

said: "I would first go see the rock-hall that is for our chamber

to-night; wilt thou not bring me in thither?" "Nay," she said, "for I

must be busy about many matters; but thou mayst go by thyself, if thou

wilt."

So he went and stooped down and entered the cave, and found it high and

wide within, and clean and fresh and well-smelling, and the floor of

fine white sand without a stain.

So he knelt down and kissed the floor, and said aloud: "God bless this

floor of the rock-hall whereon my love shall lie to-night!" Then he

arose and went out of the cave, and found the Lady at the entry

stooping down to see what he would do; and she looked on him fondly and

anxiously; but he turned a merry face to her, and caught her round the

middle and strained her to his bosom, and then took the bow and arrows

and ran down the slope and over the stream, into the thicket of the

valley.

He went further than he had looked for, ere he found a prey to his

mind, and then he smote a roe with a shaft and slew her, and broke up

the carcase and dight it duly, and so went his ways back. When he came

to the stream he looked up and saw a little fire glittering not far

from the cave, but had no clear sight of the Lady, though he thought he

saw her gown fluttering nigh one of the thorn-bushes. Then he did off

his raiment and entered that pool of the stream, and was glad to bathe

him in the same place where her body had been but of late; for he had

noted that the stones of the little shore were still wet with her feet

where she had gone up from the water.

But now, as he swam and sported in the sun-warmed pool he deemed he

heard the whinnying of a horse, but was not sure, so he held himself

still to listen, and heard no more. Then he laughed and bethought him

of Falcon his own steed, and dived down under the water; but as he came

up, laughing still and gasping, he heard a noise of the clatter of

horse hoofs, as if some one were riding swiftly up the further side of

the grassy table, where it was stony, as he had noted when they passed

by.

A deadly fear fell upon his heart as he thought of his love left all

alone; so he gat him at once out of the water and cast his shirt over

his head; but while his arms were yet entangled in the sleeves thereof,

came to his ears a great and awful sound of a man's voice roaring out,

though there were no shapen words in the roar. Then were his arms free

through the sleeves, and he took up the bow and fell to bending it, and

even therewith he heard a great wailing of a woman's voice, and she

cried out, piteously: "Help me, O help, lovely creature of God!"

Yet must he needs finish bending the bow howsoever his heart died

within him; or what help would there be of a naked and unarmed man? At

last it was bent and an arrow nocked on the string, as he leapt over

the river and up the slope.

But even as he came up to that pleasant place he saw all in a moment of

time; that there stood Silverfax anigh the Cave's mouth, and the Lady

lying on the earth anigh the horse; and betwixt her and him the Knight

of the Sun stood up stark, his shining helm on his head, the last rays

of the setting sun flashing in the broidered image of his armouries.

He turned at once upon Ralph, shaking his sword in the air (and there

was blood upon the blade) and he cried out in terrible voice: "The

witch is dead, the whore is dead! And thou, thief, who hast stolen her

from me, and lain by her in the wilderness, now shalt thou die, thou!"

Scarce had he spoken than Ralph drew his bow to the arrow-head and

loosed; there was but some twenty paces betwixt them, and the shaft,

sped by that fell archer, smote the huge man through the eye into the

brain, and he fell down along clattering, dead without a word more.

But Ralph gave forth a great wail of woe, and ran forward and knelt by

the Lady, who lay all huddled up face down upon the grass, and he

lifted her up and laid her gently on her back. The blood was flowing

fast from a great wound in her breast, and he tore off a piece of his

shirt to staunch it, but she without knowledge of him breathed forth

her last breath ere he could touch the hurt, and he still knelt by her,

staring on her as if he knew not what was toward.

She had dight her what she could to welcome his return from the

hunting, and had set a wreath of meadow-sweet on her red hair, and a

garland of eglantine about her girdlestead, and left her feet naked

after the pool of the stream, and had turned the bezels of her

finger-rings outward, for joy of that meeting.

After a while he rose up with a most bitter cry, and ran down the green

slope and over the water, and hither and thither amongst the bushes

like one mad, till he became so weary that he might scarce go or stand

for weariness. Then he crept back again to that Chamber of Love, and

sat down beside his new-won mate, calling to mind all the wasted words

of the day gone by; for the summer night was come now, most fair and

fragrant. But he withheld the sobbing passion of his heart and put

forth his hand, and touched her, and she was still, and his hand felt

her flesh that it was cold as marble. And he cried out aloud in the

night and the wilderness, where there was none to hear him, and arose

and went away from her, passing by Silverfax who was standing nearby,

stretching out his head, and whinnying at whiles. And he sat on the

edge of the green table, and there came into his mind despite himself

thoughts of the pleasant fields of Upmeads, and his sports and

pleasures there, and the even-song of the High House, and the folk of

his fellowship and his love. And therewith his breast arose and his

face was wryed, and he wept loud and long, and as if he should never

make an end of it. But so weary was he, that at last he lay back and

fell asleep, and woke not till the sun was high in the heavens. And so

it was, that his slumber had been so heavy, that he knew not at first

what had befallen; and one moment he felt glad, and the next as if he

should never be glad again, though why he wotted not. Then he turned

about and saw Silverfax cropping the grass nearby, and the Lady lying

there like an image that could move no whit, though the world awoke

about her. Then he remembered, yet scarce all, so that wild hopes

swelled his heart, and he rose to his knees and turned to her, and

called to mind that he should never see her alive again, and sobbing

and wailing broke out from him, for he was young and strong, and sorrow

dealt hardly with him.

But presently he arose to his feet and went hither and thither, and

came upon the quenched coals of the cooking-fire: she had baked cakes

for his eating, and he saw them lying thereby, and hunger constrained

him, so he took and ate of them while the tears ran down his face and

mingled with the bread he ate. And when he had eaten, he felt stronger

and therefore was life more grievous to him, and when he thought what

he should do, still one thing seemed more irksome than the other.

He went down to the water to drink, and passed by the body of the

Knight of the Sun, and wrath was fierce in his heart against him who

had overthrown his happiness. But when he had drunk and washed hands

and face he came back again, and hardened his heart to do what he must

needs do. He took up the body of the Lady and with grief that may not

be told of, he drew it into the cave, and cut boughs of trees and laid

them over her face and all her body, and then took great stones from

the scree at that other end of the little plain, and heaped them upon

her till she was utterly hidden by them. Then he came out on to the

green place and looked on the body of his foe, and said to himself that

all must be decent and in order about the place whereas lay his love.

And he came and stood over the body and said: "I have naught to do to

hate him now: if he hated me, it was but for a little while, and he

knew naught of me. So let his bones be covered up from the wolf and

the kite. Yet shall they not lie alongside of her. I will raise a

cairn above him here on this fair little plain which he spoilt of all

joy." Therewith he fell to, and straightened his body, and laid his

huge limbs together and closed his eyes and folded his arms over his

breast; and then he piled the stones above him, and went on casting

them on the heap a long while after there was need thereof.

Ralph had taken his raiment from the stream-side and done them on

before this, and now he did on helm and hauberk, and girt his sword to

his side. Then as he was about leaving the sorrowful place, he looked

on Silverfax, who had not strayed from the little plain, and came up to

him and did off saddle and bridle, and laid them within the cave, and

bade the beast go whither he would. He yet lingered about the place,

and looked all around him and found naught to help him, and could frame

in his mind no intent of a deed then, nor any tale of a deed he should

do thereafter. Yet belike in his mind were two thoughts, and though

neither softened his grief save a little, he did not shrink from them

as he did from all others; and these two were of his home at Upmeads,

which was so familiar to him, and of the Well at the World's End, which

was but a word.

CHAPTER 11

Ralph Cometh Out of the Wilderness

Long he stood letting these thoughts run through his mind, but at last

when it was now midmorning, he stirred and gat him slowly down the

green slope, and for very pity of himself the tears brake out from him

as he crossed the stream and came into the bushy valley. There he

stayed his feet a little, and said to himself: "And whither then am I

going?" He thought of the Castle of Abundance and the Champions of the

Dry Tree, of Higham, and the noble warriors who sat at the Lord Abbot's

board, and of Upmeads and his own folk: but all seemed naught to him,

and he thought: "And how can I go back and bear folk asking me

curiously of my wayfarings, and whether I will do this, that, or the

other thing." Withal he thought of that fair damsel and her sweet mouth

in the hostelry at Bourton Abbas, and groaned when he thought of love

and its ending, and he said within himself: "and now she is a wanderer

about the earth as I am;" and he thought of her quest, and the chaplet

of dame Katherine, his gossip, which he yet bore on his neck, and he

deemed that he had naught to choose but to go forward and seek that he

was doomed to; and now it seemed to him that there was that one thing

to do and no other. And though this also seemed to him but weariness

and grief, yet whereas he had ever lightly turned him to doing what

work lay ready to hand; so now he knew that he must first of all get

him out of that wilderness, that he might hear the talk of folk

concerning the Well at the World's End, which he doubted not to hear

again when he came into the parts inhabited.

So now, with his will or without it, his feet bore him on, and he

followed up the stream which the Lady had said ran into the broad river

called the Swelling Flood; "for," thought he, "when I come thereabout I

shall presently find some castle or good town, and it is like that

either I shall have some tidings of the folk thereof, or else they will

compel me to do something, and that will irk me less than doing deeds

of mine own will."

He went his ways till he came to where the wood and the trees ended,

and the hills were lower and longer, well grassed with short grass, a

down country fit for the feeding of sheep; and indeed some sheep he

saw, and a shepherd or two, but far off. At last, after he had left

the stream awhile, because it seemed to him to turn and wind round over

much to the northward, he came upon a road running athwart the down

country, so that he deemed that it must lead one way down to the

Swelling Flood; so he followed it up, and after a while began to fall

in with folk; and first two Companions armed and bearing long swords

over their shoulders: he stopped as they met, and stared at them in the

face, but answered not their greeting; and they had no will to meddle

with him, seeing his inches and that he was well armed, and looked no

craven: so they went on.

Next he came on two women who had with them an ass between two

panniers, laden with country stuff; and they were sitting by the

wayside, one old and the other young. He made no stay for them, and

though he turned his face their way, took no heed of them more than if

they were trees; though the damsel, who was well-liking and somewhat

gaily clad, stood up when she saw his face anigh, and drew her gown

skirt about her and moved daintily, and sighed and looked after him as

he went on, for she longed for him.

Yet again came two men a-horseback, merchants clad goodly, with three

carles, their servants, riding behind them; and all these had weapons

and gave little more heed to him than he to them. But a little after

they were gone, he stopped and said within himself: "Maybe I had better

have gone their way, and this road doubtless leadeth to some place of

resort."

But even therewith he heard horsehoofs behind him, and anon came up a

man a-horseback, armed with jack and sallet, a long spear in his hand,

and budgets at his saddle-bow, who looked like some lord's man going a

message. He nodded to Ralph, who gave him good-day; for seeing these

folk and their ways had by now somewhat amended his mind; and now he

turned not, but went on as before.

At last the way clomb a hill longer and higher than any he had yet

crossed, and when he had come to the brow and looked down, he saw the

big river close below running through the wide valley which he had

crossed with Roger on that other day. Then he sat down on the green

bank above the way, so heavy of heart that not one of the things he saw

gave him any joy, and the world was naught to him. But within a while

he came somewhat to himself, and, looking down toward the river, he saw

that where the road met it, it was very wide, and shallow withal, for

the waves rippled merrily and glittered in the afternoon sun, though

there was no wind; moreover the road went up white from the water on

the other side, so he saw clearly that this was the ford of a highway.

The valley was peopled withal: on the other side of the river was a

little thorp, and there were carts and sheds scattered about the hither

side, and sheep and neat feeding in the meadows, and in short it was

another world from the desert.

CHAPTER 12

Ralph Falleth in With Friends and Rideth to Whitwall

Ralph looks on to the ford and sees folk riding through the thorp

aforesaid and down to the river, and they take the water and are many

in company, some two score by his deeming, and he sees the sun

glittering on their weapons.

Now he thought that he would abide their coming and see if he might

join their company, since if he crossed the water he would be on the

backward way: and it was but a little while ere the head of them came

up over the hill, and were presently going past Ralph, who rose up to

look on them, and be seen of them, but they took little heed of him.

So he sees that though they all bore weapons, they were not all

men-at-arms, nay, not more than a half score, but those proper men

enough. Of the others, some half-dozen seemed by their attire to be

merchants, and the rest their lads; and withal they had many sumpter

horses and mules with them. They greeted him not, nor he them, nor did

he heed them much till they were all gone by save three, and then he

leapt into the road with a cry, for who should be riding there but

Blaise, his eldest brother, and Richard the Red with him, both in good

case by seeming; for Blaise was clad in a black coat welted with gold,

and rode a good grey palfrey, and Richard was armed well and knightly.

They knew him at once, and drew rein, and Blaise lighted down from his

horse and cast his arms about Ralph, and said: "O happy day! when two

of the Upmeads kindred meet thus in an alien land! But what maketh

thee here, Ralph? I thought of thee as merry and safe in Upmeads?"

Ralph said smiling, for his heart leapt up at the sight of his kindred:

"Nay, must I not seek adventures like the rest? So I stole myself away

from father and mother." "Ill done, little lord!" said Blaise,

stroking Ralph's cheek.

Then up came Richard, and if Blaise were glad, Richard was twice glad,

and quoth he: "Said I not, Lord Blaise, that this chick would be the

hardest of all to keep under the coop? Welcome to the Highways, Lord

Ralph! But where is thine horse? and whence and whither is it now?

Hast thou met with some foil and been held to ransom?"

Ralph found it hard and grievous and dull work to answer; for now again

his sorrow had taken hold of him: so he said: "Yea, Richard, I have

had adventures, and have lost rather than won; but at least I am a free

man, and have spent but little gold on my loss."

"That is well," said Richard, "but whence gat ye any gold for

spending?" Ralph smiled, but sadly, for he called to mind the glad

setting forth and the kind face of dame Katherine his gossip, and he

said: "Clement Chapman deemed it not unmeet to stake somewhat on my

luck, therefore I am no pauper."

"Well," said Blaise, "if thou hast no great errand elsewhere, thou

mightest ride with us, brother. I have had good hap in these days,

though scarce kingly or knightly, for I have been buying and selling:

what matter? few know Upmeads and its kings to wite me with fouling a

fair name. Richard, go fetch a horse hither for Lord Ralph's riding,

and we will tarry no longer." So Richard trotted on, and while they

abode him, Ralph asked after his brethren, and Blaise told him that he

had seen or heard naught of them. Then Ralph asked of whither away,

and Blaise told him to Whitwall, where was much recourse of merchants

from many lands, and a noble market.

Back then cometh Richard leading a good horse while Ralph was pondering

his matter, and thinking that at such a town he might well hear tidings

concerning the Well at the World's End.

Now Ralph mounts, and they all ride away together. On the way, partly

for brotherhood's sake, partly that he might not be questioned overmuch

himself, Ralph asked Blaise to tell him more of his farings; and Blaise

said, that when he had left Upmeads he had ridden with Richard up and

down and round about, till he came to a rich town which had just been

taken in war, and that the Companions who had conquered it were looking

for chapmen to cheapen their booty, and that he was the first or nearly

the first to come who had will and money to buy, and the Companions,

who were eager to depart, had sold him thieves' penny-worths, so that

his share of the Upmeads' treasure had gone far; and thence he had gone

to another good town where he had the best of markets for his newly

cheapened wares, and had brought more there, such as he deemed handy to

sell, and so had gone on from town to town, and had ever thriven, and

had got much wealth: and so at last having heard tell of Whitwall as

better for chaffer than all he had yet seen, he and other chapmen had

armed them, and waged men-at-arms to defend them, and so tried the

adventure of the wildwoods, and come safe through.

Then at last came the question to Ralph concerning his adventures, and

he enforced himself to speak, and told all as truly as he might,

without telling of the Lady and her woeful ending.

Thus they gave and took in talk, and Ralph did what he might to seem

like other folk, that he might nurse his grief in his own heart as far

asunder from other men as might be.

So they rode on till it was even, and came to Whitwall before the

shutting of the gates and rode into the street, and found it a fair and

great town, well defensible, with high and new walls, and men-at-arms

good store to garnish them.

Ralph rode with his brother to the hostel of the chapmen, and there

they were well lodged.

CHAPTER 13

Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End.

Concerning Swevenham

On the morrow Blaise went to his chaffer and to visit the men of the

Port at the Guildhall: he bade Ralph come with him, but he would not,

but abode in the hall of the hostel and sat pondering sadly while men

came and went; but he heard no word spoken of the Well at the World's

End. In like wise passed the next day and the next, save that Richard

was among those who came into the hall, and he talked long with Ralph

at whiles; that is to say that he spake, and Ralph made semblance of

listening.

Now as is aforesaid Richard was old and wise, and he loved Ralph much,

more belike than Lord Blaise his proper master, whereas he had no mind

for chaffer, or aught pertaining to it: so he took heed of Ralph and

saw that he was sad and weary-hearted; so on the sixth day of their

abiding at Whitwall, in the morning when all the chapmen were gone

about their business, and he and Ralph were left alone in the Hall, he

spake to Ralph and said: "This is no prison, lord." "Even so," quoth

Ralph. "Nay, if thou doubtest it," said Richard, "let us go to the

door and try if they have turned the key and shot the bolt on us."

Ralph smiled faintly and stood up, and said: "I will go with thee if

thou willest it, but sooth to say I shall be but a dull fellow of thine

to-day." Said Richard: "Wouldst thou have been better yesterday, lord,

or the day before?" "Nay," said Ralph. "Wilt thou be better

to-morrow?" said Richard. Ralph shook his head. Said Richard: "Yea,

but thou wilt be, or thou mayst call me a fool else." "Thou art kind,

Richard," said Ralph; "and I will come with thee, and do what thou

biddest me; but I must needs tell thee that my heart is sick." "Yea,"

quoth Richard, "and thou needest not tell me so much, dear youngling;

he who runs might read that in thee. But come forth."

So into the street they went, and Richard brought Ralph into the

market-place, and showed him where was Blaise's booth (for he was

thriving greatly) but Ralph would not go anigh it lest his brother

should entangle him in talk; and they went into the Guildhall which was

both great and fair, and the smell of the new-shaven oak (for the roof

was not yet painted) brought back to Ralph's mind the days of his

childhood when he was hanging about the building of the water-reeve's

new house at Upmeads. Then they went into the Great Church and heard a

Mass at the altar of St. Nicholas, Ralph's very friend; and the said

church was great to the letter, and very goodly, and somewhat new also,

since the blossom-tide of Whitwall was not many years old: and the

altars of its chapels were beyond any thing for fairness that Ralph had

seen save at Higham on the Way.

But when they came forth from the church, Ralph looked on Richard with

a face that was both blank and weary, as who should say: "What is to

do now?" And forsooth so woe-begone he looked, that Richard, despite

his sorrow and trouble for him, could scarce withhold his laughter.

But he said: "Well, foster son (for thou art pretty much that to me),

since the good town pleasureth thee little, go we further afield."

So he led him out of the market-place, and brought him to the east gate

of the town which hight Petergate Bar, and forth they went and out into

the meadows under the walls, and stayed him at a little bridge over one

of the streams, for it was a land of many waters; there they sat down

in a nook, and spake Richard to Ralph, saying:

"Lord Ralph, ill it were if the Upmeads kindred came to naught, or even

to little. Now as for my own master Blaise, he hath, so please you,

the makings of a noble chapman, but not of a noble knight; though he

sayeth that when he is right rich he will cast aside all chaffer;

naught of which he will do. As for the others, my lord Gregory is no

better, or indeed worse, save that he shall not be rich ever, having no

mastery over himself; while lord Hugh is like to be slain in some empty

brawl, unless he come back speedily to Upmeads."

"Yea, yea," said Ralph, "what then? I came not hither to hear thee

missay my mother's sons." But Richard went on: "As for thee, lord

Ralph, of thee I looked for something; but now I cannot tell; for the

heart in thee seemeth to be dead; and thou must look to it lest the

body die also." "So be it!" said Ralph.

Said Richard: "I am old now, but I have been young, and many things

have I seen and suffered, ere I came to Upmeads. Old am I, and I

cannot feel certain hopes and griefs as a young man can; yet have I

bought the knowledge of them dear enough, and have not forgotten.

Whereby I wot well that thy drearihead is concerning a woman. Is it not

so?" "Yea," quoth Ralph. Said Richard: "Now shalt thou tell me

thereof, and so lighten thine heart a little." "I will not tell thee,"

said Ralph; "or, rather, to speak more truly, I cannot." "Yea," said

Richard, "and though it were now an easier thing for me to tell thee of

the griefs of my life than for thee to hearken to the tale, yet I

believe thee. But mayhappen thou mayst tell me of one thing that thou

desirest more than another." Said Ralph: "I desire to die." And the

tears started in his eyes therewith. But Richard spake, smiling on him

kindly: "That way is open for thee on any day of the week. Why hast

thou not taken it already?" But Ralph answered naught. Richard said:

"Is it not because thou hopest to desire something; if not to-day, then

to-morrow, or the next day or the next?" Still Ralph spake no word; but

he wept. Quoth Richard: "Maybe I may help thee to a hope, though thou

mayest think my words wild. In the land and the thorp where I was born

and bred there was talk now and again of a thing to be sought, which

should cure sorrow, and make life blossom in the old, and uphold life

in the young." "Yea," said Ralph, looking up from his tears, "and what

was that? and why hast thou never told me thereof before?" "Nay," said

Richard, "and why should I tell it to the merry lad I knew in Upmeads?

but now thou art a man, and hast seen the face of sorrow, it is meet

that thou shouldest hear of THE WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph sprang to his feet as he said the word, and cried out eagerly:

"Old friend, and where then wert thou bred and born?" Richard laughed

and said: "See, then, there is yet a deed and a day betwixt thee and

death! But turn about and look straight over the meadows in a line

with yonder willow-tree, and tell me what thou seest." Said Ralph:

"The fair plain spreading wide, and a river running through it, and

little hills beyond the water, and blue mountains beyond them, and snow

yet lying on the tops of them, though the year is in young July."

"Yea," quoth Richard; "and seest thou on the first of the little hills

beyond the river, a great grey tower rising up and houses anigh it?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "the tower I see, and the houses, for I am

far-sighted; but the houses are small." "So it is," said Richard; "now

yonder tower is of the Church of Swevenham, which is under the

invocation of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus; and the houses are the

houses of the little town. And what has that to do with me? sayest

thou: why this, that I was born and bred at Swevenham. And indeed I

it was who brought my lord Blaise here to Whitwall, with tales of how

good a place it was for chaffer, that I might see the little town and

the great grey tower once more. Forsooth I lied not, for thy brother

is happy here, whereas he is piling up the coins one upon the other.

Forsooth thou shouldest go into his booth, fair lord; it is a goodly

sight."

But Ralph was walking to and fro hastily, and he turned to Richard and

said: "Well, well! but why dost thou not tell me more of the Well at

the World's End?"

Said Richard: "I was going to tell thee somewhat which might be worth

thy noting; or might not be worth it: hearken! When I dwelt at

Swevenham over yonder, and was but of eighteen winters, who am now of

three score and eight, three folk of our township, two young men and

one young woman, set out thence to seek the said Well: and much lore

they had concerning it, which they had learned of an old man, a nigh

kinsman of one of them. This ancient carle I had never seen, for he

dwelt in the mountains a way off, and these men were some five years

older than I, so that I was a boy when they were men grown; and such

things I heeded not, but rather sport and play; and above all, I longed

for the play of war and battle. God wot I have had my bellyful of it

since those days! Howbeit I mind me the setting forth of these three.

They had a sumpter-ass with them for their livelihood on the waste; but

they went afoot crowned with flowers, and the pipe and tabour playing

before them, and much people brought them on the way. By St.

Christopher! I can see it all as if it were yesterday. I was sorry of

the departure of the damsel; for though I was a boy I had loved her,

and she had suffered me to kiss her and toy with her; but it was soon

over. Now I call to mind that they had prayed our priest, Sir Cyprian,

to bless them on their departure, but he naysaid them; for he held that

such a quest came of the inspiration of the devils, and was but a

memory of the customs of the ancient gentiles and heathen. But as to

me, I deemed it naught, and was sorry that my white-bosomed,

sweet-breathed friend should walk away from me thus into the clouds."

"What came of it?" said Ralph, "did they come back, or any of them?" "I

wot not," said Richard, "for I was weary of Swevenham after that, so I

girt myself to a sword and laid a spear upon my shoulder and went my

ways to the Castle of the Waste March, sixty miles from Swevenham town,

and the Baron took me in and made me his man: and almost as little

profit were in my telling thee again of my deeds there, as there was in

my doing them: but the grey tower of Swevenham I have never seen again

till this hour."

Said Ralph: "Now then it behoveth me to go to Swevenham straightway:

wilt thou come with me? it seemeth to be but some four miles hence."

Richard held his peace and knit his brows as if pondering the matter,

and Ralph abided till he spake: so he said: "Foster-son, so to call

thee, thou knowest the manner of up-country carles, that tales flow

forth from them the better if they come without over much digging and

hoeing of the ground; that is, without questioning; so meseems better

it will be if I go to Swevenham alone, and better if I be asked to go,

than if I go of myself. Now to-morrow is Saturday, and high market in

Whitwall; and I am not so old but that it is likeliest that there will

be some of my fellows alive and on their legs in Swevenham: and if such

there be, there will be one at the least in the market to-morrow, and I

will be there to find him out: and then it will go hard if he bring me

not to Swevenham as a well-beloved guest; and when I am there, and

telling my tidings, and asking them of theirs, if there be any tales

concerning the Well at the World's End working in their bellies, then

shall I be the midwife to bring them to birth. Ha? Will it do?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "but how long wilt thou be?" Said Richard: "I shall

come back speedily if I find the land barren; but if the field be in

ear I shall tarry to harvest it. So keep thou thy soul in patience."

"And what shall I do now?" said Ralph. "Wear away the hours," said

Richard. "And to begin with, come back within the gates with me and

let us go look at thy brother's booth in the market-place: it is the

nethermost of a goodly house which he is minded to dwell in; and he

will marry a wife and sit down in Whitwall, so well he seemeth like to

thrive; for they have already bidden him to the freedom of the city,

and to a brother of the Faring-Knights, whereas he is not only a

stirring man, but of good lineage also: for now he hideth not that he

is of the Upmeads kindred."

CHAPTER 14

Ralph Falleth in With Another Old Friend

Ralph went with Richard now without more words, and they came into the

market-place and unto Blaise's booth and house, which was no worse than

the best in the place; and the painters and stainers were at work on

the upper part of it to make it as bright and goodly as might be with

red and blue and green and gold, and all fair colours, and already was

there a sign hung out of the fruitful tree by the water-side. As for

the booth, it was full within of many wares and far-fetched and

dear-bought things; as pieces of good and fine cloth plumbed with the

seal of the greatest of the cities; and silk of Babylon, and spices of

the hot burning islands, and wonders of the silversmith's and the

goldsmith's fashioning, and fair-wrought weapons and armour of the

best, and every thing that a rich chapman may deal in. And amidst of

it all stood Blaise clad in fine black cloth welted with needle work,

and a gold chain about his neck. He was talking with three honourable

men of the Port, and they were doing him honour with kind words and the

bidding of help. When he saw Ralph and Richard come in, he nodded to

them, as to men whom he loved, but were beneath him in dignity, and

left not talking with the great men. Richard grinned a little thereat,

as also did Ralph in his heart; for he thought: "Here then is one of

the Upmeads kin provided for, so that soon he may buy with his money

two domains as big as Upmeads and call them his manors."

Now Ralph looks about him, and presently he sees a man come forward to

meet him from the innermost of the booth, and lo! there was come

Clement Chapman. His heart rose at the sight of him, and he thought of

his kind gossip till he could scarce withhold his tears. But Clement

came to him and cast his arms about him, and kissed him, and said:

"Thou shalt pardon me for this, lord, for it is the kiss of the gossip

which she bade me give thee, if I fell in with thee, as now I have,

praised be the Saints! Yet it irks me that I shall see little more of

thee at this time, for to-morrow early I must needs join myself to my

company; for we are going south awhile to a good town some fifty miles

hence. Nevertheless, if thou dwellest here some eight days I shall see

thee again belike, since thereafter I get me eastward on a hard and

long journey not without peril. How sayest thou?"

"I wot not," quoth Ralph looking at Richard. Said Richard: "Thou mayst

wot well, master Clement, that my lord is anhungered of the praise of

the folks, and is not like to abide in a mere merchant-town till the

mould grow on his back." "Well, well," said Clement, "however that may

be, I have now done my matters with this cloth-lord, Blaise, and he has

my florins in his pouch: so will not ye twain come with me and drink a

cup till he hath done his talk with these magnates?"

Ralph was nothing loth, for besides that he loved master Clement, and

that his being in company was like having a piece of his home anigh

him, he hoped to hear some tidings concerning the Well at the World's

End.

So he and Richard went with master Clement to the Christopher, a fair

ale-house over against the Great Church, and sat down to good wine; and

Ralph asked of Clement many things concerning dame Katherine his

gossip, and Clement told him all, and that she was well, and had been

to Upmeads, and had seen King Peter and the mother of Ralph; and how

she had assuaged his mother's grief at his departure by forecasting

fair days for her son. All this Ralph heard gladly, though he was

somewhat shamefaced withal, and sat silent and thinking of many

matters. But Richard took up the word and said: "Which way camest thou

from Wulstead, master Clement?" "The nighest way I came," said

Clement, "through the Woods Perilous." Said Richard: "And they of the

Dry Tree, heardest thou aught of them?" "Yea, certes," quoth Clement,

"for I fell in with their Bailiff, and paid him due scot for the

passage of the Wood; he knoweth me withal, and we talked together."

"And had he any tidings to tell thee of the champions?" said Richard.

Said Clement, "Great tidings maybe, how that there was a rumour that

they had lost their young Queen and Lady; and if that be true, it will

go nigh to break their hearts, so sore as they loved her. And that

will make them bitter and fierce, till their grief has been slaked by

the blood of men. And that the more as their old Queen abideth still,

and she herself is ever of that mind."

Ralph hearkened, and his heart was wounded that other men should speak

of his beloved: but he heard how Richard said: "Hast thou ever known

why that company of champions took the name of the Dry Tree?" "Why,

who should know that, if thou knowest it not, Richard of Swevenham?"

said Clement: "Is it not by the token of the Dry Tree that standeth in

the lands on the hither side of the Wall of the World?" Richard nodded

his head; but Ralph cried out: "O Master Clement, and hast thou seen

it, the Wall of the World?" "Yea, afar off, my son," said he; "or what

the folk with me called so; as to the Dry Tree, I have told thee at

Wulstead that I have seen it not, though I have known men who have told

me that they have seen it." "And must they who find the Well at the

World's End come by the Dry Tree?" "Yea, surely," said Clement. Quoth

Richard: "And thus have some heard, who have gone on that quest, and

they have heard of the Champions of Hampton, and have gone thither,

being deceived by that name of the Dry Tree, and whiles have been slain

by the champions, whiles have entered their company." "Yea," said

Clement, "so it is that their first error hath ended their quest. But

now, lord Ralph, I will tell thee one thing; to wit, that when I return

hither after eight days wearing, I shall be wending east, as I said

e'en now, and what will that mean save going somewhat nigher to the

Wall of the World; for my way lieth beyond the mountains that ye see

from hence, and beyond the mountains that lie the other side of those;

and I bid thee come with us, and I will be thy warrant that so far thou

shalt have no harm: but when thou hast come so far, and hast seen three

very fair cities, besides towns and castles and thorps and strange men,

and fair merchandize, God forbid that thou shouldest wend further, and

so cast away thy young life for a gay-coloured cloud. Then will be the

time to come back with me, that I may bring thee through the perils of

the way to Wulstead, and Upmeads at the last, and the folk that love

thee."

Richard held his peace at this word, but Ralph said: "I thank thee,

Master Clement, for thy love and thy helping hand; and will promise

thee to abide thee here eight days at the least; and meanwhile I will

ponder the matter well."

CHAPTER 15

Ralph Dreams a Dream Or Sees a Vision

Therewithall they parted after more talk concerning small matters, and

Ralph wore through the day, but Richard again did him to wit, that on

the morrow he would find his old friends of Swevenham in the Market.

And Ralph was come to life again more than he had been since that evil

hour in the desert; though hard and hard he deemed it that he should

never see his love again.

Now as befalleth young men, he was a good sleeper, and dreamed but

seldom, save such light and empty dreams as he might laugh at, if

perchance he remembered them by then his raiment was on him in the

morning. But that night him-seemed that he awoke in his chamber at

Whitwall, and was lying on his bed, as he verily was, and the door of

the chamber opened, and there entered quietly the Lady of the Woodland,

dight even as he had seen her as she lay dead beside their cooking fire

on that table of greensward in the wilderness, barefoot and garlanded

about her brow and her girdlestead, but fair and fresh coloured as she

was before the sword had pierced her side; and he thought that he