Complete works of willia.., p.171
Complete Works of William Morris, page 171
Ralph so hated him, that he was of half a mind to answer naught save by smiting him to slay him; but there was no weapon anigh, and life was sweet to him with all the tale that was lying ahead. So he answered coldly: “It is sooth, lord, that I can do more than one deed.”
“Canst thou back a horse?” said the Lord. Said Ralph: “As well as many.” Said the Lord: “Canst thou break a wild horse, and shoe him, and physic him?”
“Not worse than some,” said Ralph.
“Can’st thou play with sword and spear?” said the Lord.
“Better than some few,” said Ralph. “How shall I know that?” said the Lord. Said Ralph: “Try me, lord!” Indeed, he half hoped that if it came to that, he might escape in the hurley.
The Lord looked on him and said: “Well, it may be tried. But here is a cold and proud answerer, David. I misdoubt me whether it be worth while bringing him home.”
David looked timidly on Ralph and said: “Thou hast paid the price for him, lord.”
“Yea, that is true,” said the Lord. “Thou! can’st thou play at the chess?” “Yea,” said Ralph. “Can’st thou music?” said the other. “Yea,” said Ralph, “when I am merry, or whiles indeed when I am sad.”
The lord said: “Make thyself merry or sad, which thou wilt; but sing, or thou shalt be beaten. Ho! Bring ye the harp.” Then they brought it as he bade.
But Ralph looked to right and left and saw no deliverance, and knew this for the first hour of his thralldom. Yet, as he thought of it all, he remembered that if he would do, he must needs bear and forbear; and his face cleared, and he looked round about again and let his eyes rest calmly on all eyes that he met till they came on the Lord’s face again. Then he let his hand fall into the strings and they fell a-tinkling sweetly, like unto the song of the winter robin, and at last he lifted his voice and sang:
Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,
Nought stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maid
A-peeling the withy last Candlemas shrouded
From the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.
For over the Ford now the grass and the clover
Fly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;
And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,
And to-morrow at even the mead shall be won.
But the Hall of the Garden amidst the hot morning,
It drew my feet thither; I stood at the door,
And felt my heart harden ‘gainst wisdom and warning
As the sun and my footsteps came on to the floor.
When the sun lay behind me, there scarce in the dimness
I say what I sought for, yet trembled to find;
But it came forth to find me, until the sleek slimness
Of the summer-clad woman made summer o’er kind.
There we the once-sundered together were blended,
We strangers, unknown once, were hidden by naught.
I kissed and I wondered how doubt was all ended,
How friendly her excellent fairness was wrought.
Round the hall of the Garden the hot sun is burning,
But no master nor minstrel goes there in the shade,
It hath never a warden till comes the returning,
When the moon shall hang high and all winds shall be laid.
Waned the day and I hied me afield, and thereafter
I sat with the mighty when daylight was done,
But with great men beside me, midst high-hearted laughter,
I deemed me of all men the gainfullest one.
To wisdom I hearkened; for there the wise father
Cast the seed of his learning abroad o’er the hall,
Till men’s faces darkened, but mine gladdened rather
With the thought of the knowledge I knew over all.
Sang minstrels the story, and with the song’s welling
Men looked on each other and glad were they grown,
But mine was the glory of the tale and its telling
How the loved and the lover were naught but mine own.
When he was done all kept silence till they should know whether the lord should praise the song or blame; and he said naught for a good while, but sat as if pondering: but at last he spake: “Thou art young, and would that we were young also! Thy song is sweet, and it pleaseth me, who am a man of war, and have seen enough and to spare of rough work, and would any day rather see a fair woman than a band of spears. But it shall please my lady wife less: for of love, and fair women, and their lovers she hath seen enough; but of war nothing save its shows and pomps; wherefore she desireth to hear thereof. Now sing of battle!”
Ralph thought awhile and began to smite the harp while he conned over a song which he had learned one yule-tide from a chieftain who had come to Upmeads from the far-away Northland, and had abided there till spring was waning into summer, and meanwhile he taught Ralph this song and many things else, and his name was Sir Karr Wood-neb. This song now Ralph sang loud and sweet, though he were now a thrall in an alien land:
Leave we the cup!
For the moon is up,
And bright is the gleam
Of the rippling stream,
That runneth his road
To the old abode,
Where the walls are white
In the moon and the night;
The house of the neighbour that drave us away
When strife ended labour amidst of the hay,
And no road for our riding was left us but one
Where the hill’s brow is hiding that earth’s ways are done,
And the sound of the billows comes up at the last
Like the wind in the willows ere autumn is past.
But oft and again
Comes the ship from the main,
And we came once more
And no lading we bore
But the point and the edge,
And the ironed ledge,
And the bolt and the bow,
And the bane of the foe.
To the House ‘neath the mountain we came in the morn,
Where welleth the fountain up over the corn,
And the stream is a-running fast on to the House
Of the neighbours uncunning who quake at the mouse,
As their slumber is broken; they know not for why;
Since yestreen was not token on earth or in sky.
Come, up, then up!
Leave board and cup,
And follow the gleam
Of the glittering stream
That leadeth the road To the old abode,
High-walled and white
In the moon and the night;
Where low lies the neighbour that drave us away
Sleep-sunk from his labour amidst of the hay.
No road for our riding is left us save one,
Where the hills’ brow is hiding the city undone,
And the wind in the willows is with us at last,
And the house of the billows is done and o’er-past.
Haste! mount and haste
Ere the short night waste,
For night and day,
Late turned away,
Draw nigh again
All kissing-fain;
And the morn and the moon
Shall be married full soon.
So ride we together with wealth-winning wand,
The steel o’er the leather, the ash in the hand.
Lo! white walls before us, and high are they built;
But the luck that outwore us now lies on their guilt;
Lo! the open gate biding the first of the sun,
And to peace are we riding when slaughter is done.
When Ralph had done singing, all folk fell to praising his song, whereas the Lord had praised the other one; but the Lord said, looking at Ralph askance meanwhile: “Yea, if that pleaseth me not, and I take but little keep of it, it shall please my wife to her heart’s root; and that is the first thing. Hast thou others good store, new-comer?” “Yea, lord,” said Ralph. “And canst thou tell tales of yore agone, and of the fays and such-like? All that she must have.” “Some deal I can of that lore,” said Ralph.
Then the Lord sat silent, and seemed to be pondering: at last he said, as if to himself: “Yet there is one thing: many a blencher can sing of battle; and it hath been seen, that a fair body of a man is whiles soft amidst the hard hand-play. Thou! Morfinn’s luck! art thou of any use in the tilt-yard?” “Wilt thou try me, lord?” said Ralph, looking somewhat brisker. Said the Lord: “I deem that I may find a man or two for thee, though it is not much our manner here; but now go thou! David, take the lad away to his tent, and get him a flask of wine of the best to help out thy maundering with him.”
Therewith they left the tent, and Ralph walked by David sadly and with hanging head at first; but in a while he called to mind that, whatever betid, his life was safe as yet; that every day he was drawing nigher to the Well at the World’s End; and that it was most like that he shall fall in with that Dorothea of his dream somewhere on the way thereto. So he lifted up his head again, and was singing to himself as he stooped down to enter into his tent.
Next day naught happed to tell of save that they journeyed on; the day was cloudy, so that Ralph saw no sign of the distant mountains; ever the land was the same, but belike somewhat more beset with pinewoods; they saw no folk at all on the road. So at even Ralph slept in his tent, and none meddled with him, save that David came to talk with him or he slept, and was merry and blithe with him, and he brought with him Otter, the captain of the guard, who was good company.
Thus wore three days that were hazy and cloudy, and the Lord sent no more for Ralph, who on the road spake for the more part with Otter, and liked him not ill; howbeit it seemed of him that he would make no more of a man’s life than of a rabbit’s according as his lord might bid slay or let live.
The three hazy days past, it fell to rain for four days, so that Ralph could see little of the face of the land; but he noted that they went up at whiles, and never so much down as up, so that they were wending up hill on the whole.
On the ninth day of his captivity the rain ceased and it was sunny and warm but somewhat hazy, so that naught could be seen afar, but the land near-hand rose in long, low downs now, and was quite treeless, save where was a hollow here and there and a stream running through it, where grew a few willows, but alders more abundantly.
This day he rode by Otter, who said presently: “Well, youngling of the North, to-morrow we shall see a new game, thou and I, if the weather be fair.” “Yea,” said Ralph, “and what like shall it be?” Said Otter, “At mid-morn we shall come into a fair dale amidst the downs, where be some houses and a tower of the Lord’s, so that that place is called the Dale of the Tower: there shall we abide a while to gather victual, a day or two, or three maybe: so my Lord will hold a tourney there: that is to say that I myself and some few others shall try thy manhood somewhat.” “What?” said Ralph, “are the new colt’s paces to be proven? And how if he fail?”
Quoth Otter, laughing: “Fail not, I rede thee, or my lord’s love for thee shall be something less than nothing.” “And then will he slay me?” said Ralph. Said Otter: “Nay I deem not, at least not at first: he will have thee home to Utterbol, to make the most of his bad bargain, and there shalt thou be a mere serving-thrall, either in the house or the field: where thou shalt be well-fed (save in times of scarcity), and belike well beaten withal.” Said Ralph, somewhat downcast: “Yea, I am a thrall, who was once a knight. But how if thou fail before me?” Otter laughed again: “That is another matter; whatever I do my Lord will not lose me if he can help it; but as for the others who shall stand before thy valiancy, there will be some who will curse the day whereon my lord bought thee, if thou turnest out a good spear, as ye call it in your lands. Howsoever, that is not thy business; and I bid thee fear naught; for thou seemest to be a mettle lad.”
So they talked, and that day wore like the others, but the haze did not clear off, and the sun went down red. In the evening David talked with Ralph in his tent, and said: “If to-morrow be clear, knight, thou shalt see a new sight when thou comest out from the canvas.” Said Ralph: “I suppose thy meaning is that we shall see the mountains from hence?” “Yea,” said David; “so hold up thine heart when that sight first cometh before thine eyes. As for us, we are used to the sight, and that from a place much nigher to the mountains: yet they who are soft-hearted amongst us are overcome at whiles, when there is storm and tempest, and evil tides at hand.”
Said Ralph: “And how far then are we from Utterbol?” Said David: “After we have left Bull-mead in the Dale of the Tower, where to-morrow thou art to run with the spear, it is four days’ ride to Utterness; and from Utterness ye may come (if my lord will) unto Utterbol in twelve hours. But tell me, knight, how deemest thou of thy tilting to-morrow?” Said Ralph: “Little should I think of it, if little lay upon it.” “Yea,” said David, “but art thou a good tilter?” Ralph laughed: quoth he, “That hangs on the goodness of him that tilteth against me: I have both overthrown, and been overthrown oft enough. Yet again, who shall judge me? for I must tell thee, that were I fairly judged, I should be deemed no ill spear, even when I came not uppermost: for in all these games are haps which no man may foresee.”
“Well, then,” said David, “all will go well with thee for this time: for my lord will judge thee, and if it be seen that thou hast spoken truly, and art more than a little deft at the play, he will be like to make the best of thee, since thou art already paid for.” Ralph laughed: yet as though the jest pleased him but little; and they fell to talk of other matters. And so David departed, and Ralph slept.
CHAPTER 35
Ralph Cometh To the Vale of the Tower
But when it was morning Ralph awoke, and saw that the sun was shining brightly; so he cast his shirt on him, and went out at once, and turned his face eastward, and, scarce awake, said to himself that the clouds lay heavy in the eastward heavens after last night’s haze: but presently his eyes cleared, and he saw that what he had taken for clouds was a huge wall of mountains, black and terrible, that rose up sharp and clear into the morning air; for there was neither cloud nor mist in all the heavens.
Now Ralph, though he were but little used to the sight of great mountains, yet felt his heart rather rise than fall at the sight of them; for he said: “Surely beyond them lieth some new thing for me, life or death: fair fame or the forgetting of all men.” And it was long that he could not take his eyes off them.
As he looked, came up the Captain Otter, and said: “Well, Knight, thou hast seen them this morn, even if ye die ere nightfall.” Said Ralph: “What deemest thou to lie beyond them?”
“Of us none knoweth surely,” said Otter; “whiles I deem that if one were to get to the other side there would be a great plain like to this: whiles that there is naught save mountains beyond, and yet again mountains, like the waves of a huge stone sea. Or whiles I think that one would come to an end of the world, to a place where is naught but a ledge, and then below it a gulf filled with nothing but the howling of winds, and the depth of darkness. Moreover this is my thought, that all we of these parts should be milder men and of better conditions, if yonder terrible wall were away. It is as if we were thralls of the great mountains.”
Said Ralph, “Is this then the Wall of the World?” “It may well be so,” said Otter; “but this word is at whiles said of something else, which no man alive amongst us has yet seen. It is a part of the tale of the seekers for the Well at the World’s End, whereof we said a word that other day.”
“And the Dry Tree,” said Ralph, “knowest thou thereof?” said Ralph. “Such a tree, much beworshipped,” said Otter, “we have, not very far from Utterbol, on the hither side of the mountains. Yet I have heard old men say that it is but a toy, and an image of that which is verily anigh the Well at the World’s End. But now haste thee to do on thy raiment, for we must needs get to horse in a little while.” “Yet one more word,” said Ralph; “thou sayest that none alive amongst you have seen the Wall of the World?” “None alive,” quoth Otter; “forsooth what the dead may see, that is another question.” Said Ralph: “But have ye not known of any who have sought to the Well from this land, which is so nigh thereunto?” “Such there have been,” said Otter; “but if they found it, they found something beyond it, or came west again by some way else than by Utterbol; for they never came back again to us.”
Therewith he turned on his heel, and went his ways, and up came David and one with him bringing victual; and David said: “Now, thou lucky one, here is come thy breakfast! for we shall presently be on our way. Cast on thy raiment, and eat and strengthen thyself for the day’s work. Hast thou looked well on the mountains?” “Yea,” said Ralph, “and the sight of them has made me as little downhearted as thou art. For thou art joyous of mood this morning.” David nodded and smiled, and looked so merry that Ralph wondered what was toward. Then he went into his tent and clad himself, and ate his breakfast, and then gat to horse and rode betwixt two of the men-at-arms, he and Otter; for David was ridden forward to speak with the Lord. Otter talked ever gaily enough; but Ralph heeded him little a while, but had his eyes ever on the mountains, and could see that for all they were so dark, and filled up so much of the eastward heaven, they were so far away that he could see but little of them save that they were dark blue and huge, and one rising up behind the other.
Thus they rode the down country, till at last, two hours before noon, coming over the brow of a long down, they had before them a shallow dale, pleasanter than aught they had yet seen. It was well-grassed, and a little river ran through it, from which went narrow leats held up by hatches, so that the more part of the valley bottom was a water-meadow, wherein as now were grazing many kine and sheep. There were willows about the banks of the river, and in an ingle of it stood a grange or homestead, with many roofs half hidden by clumps of tall old elm trees. Other houses there were in the vale; two or three cots, to wit, on the slope of the hither down, and some half-dozen about the homestead; and above and beyond all these, on a mound somewhat away from the river and the grange, a great square tower, with barriers and bailey all dight ready for war, and with a banner of the Lord’s hanging out. But between the tower and the river stood as now a great pavilion of snow-white cloth striped with gold and purple; and round about it were other tents, as though a little army were come into the vale.
