Complete works of willia.., p.292
Complete Works of William Morris, page 292
So from base to cope rose a mighty shout of triumph and defiance, and he passed on.
Then Arnald caused it to be cried, that all those who loved the good House of the Lilies should go to mass that morning in Saint Mary’s Church, hard by our house. Now this church belonged to us, and the abbey that served it, and always we appointed the abbot of it on condition that our trumpets should sound all together when on high masses they sing the “Gloria in Excelsis.” It was the largest and most beautiful of all the churches in the town, and had two exceeding high towers, which you could see from far off, even when you saw not the town or any of its other towers: and in one of these towers were twelve great bells, named after the twelve Apostles, one name being written on each one of them; as Peter, Matthew, and so on; and in the other tower was one great bell only, much larger than any of the others, and which was called Mary. Now this bell was never rung but when our house was in great danger, and it had this legend on it, “When Mary rings the earth shakes;” and indeed from this we took our war cry, which was, “Mary rings;” somewhat justifiable indeed, for the last time that Mary rang, on that day before nightfall there were four thousand bodies to be buried, which bodies wore neither cross nor lily.
So Arnald gave me in charge to tell the abbot to cause Mary to be tolled for an hour before mass that day.
The abbot leaned on my shoulder as I stood within the tower and looked at the twelve monks laying their hands to the ropes. Far up in the dimness I saw the wheel before it began to swing round about; then it moved a little; the twelve men bent down to the earth and a roar rose that shook the tower from base to spirevane: backwards and forwards swept the wheel, as Mary now looked downwards towards earth, now looked up at the shadowy cone of the spire, shot across by bars of light from the dormers.
And the thunder of Mary was caught up by the wind and carried through all the country; and when the good man heard it, he said goodbye to wife and child, slung his shield behind his back, and set forward with his spear sloped over his shoulder, and many a time, as he walked toward the good town, he tightened the belt that went about his waist, that he might stride the faster, so long and furiously did Mary toll.
And before the great bell, Mary, had ceased ringing, all the ways were full of armed men.
But at each door of the church of Saint Mary stood a row of men armed with axes, and when any came, meaning to go into the church, the two first of these would hold their axes (whose helves were about four feet long) over his head, and would ask him, “Who went over the moon last night?” then if he answered nothing or at random they would bid him turn back, which he for the more part would be ready enough to do; but some, striving to get through that row of men, were slain outright; but if he were one of those that were friends to the House of the Lilies he would answer to that question, “Mary and John.”
By the time the mass began the whole church was full, and in the nave and transept thereof were three thousand men, all of our house and all armed. But Arnald and myself, and Squire Hugh, and some others sat under a gold-fringed canopy near the choir; and the abbot said mass, having his mitre on his head. Yet, as I watched him, it seemed to me that he must have something on beneath his priest’s vestments, for he looked much fatter than usual, being really a tall lithe man.
Now, as they sung the “Kyrie,” some one shouted from the other end of the church, “My lord Arnld, they are slaying our people without;” for, indeed, all the square about the church was full of our people, who for the press had not been able to enter, and were standing there in no small dread of what might come to pass.
Then the abbot turned round from the altar, and began to fidget with the fastenings of his rich robes.
And they made a lane for us up to the west door; then I put on my helm and we began to go up the nave, then suddenly the singing of the monks and all stopped. I heard a clinking and a buzz of voices in the choir. I turned, and saw that the bright noon sun was shining on the gold of the priest’s vestments, as they lay on the floor, and on the mail that the priests carried.
So we stopped, the choir gates swung open, and the abbot marched out at the head of his men, all fully armed, and began to strike up the psalm “Exsurgat Deus.”
When we got to the west door, there was indeed a tumult, but as yet no slaying; the square was all a-flicker with steel, and we beheld a great body of knights, at the head of them Red Harald and the king, standing over against us; but our people, pressed against the houses, and into the comers of the square, were, some striving to enter the doors, some beside themselves with rage, shouting out to the others to charge; withal, some were pale and some were red with the blood that had gathered to the wrathful faces of them.
Then said Arnald to those about him, “Lift me up.” So they laid a great shield on two lances, and these four men carried, and thereon stood Arnald, and gazed about him.
Now the king was unhelmed, and his white hair (for he was an old man) flowed down behind him on to his saddle; but Amaid’s hair was cut short, and was red.
And all the bells rang.
Then the king said, “0 Arnald of the Lilies, will you settle this quarrel by the judgment of God?” And Amaid thrust up his chin, and said, “Yea.” “How then,” said the king, “and where?” “Will it please you try now?” said Arnald.
Then the king understood what he meant, and took in his hand from behind tresses of his long white hair, twisting them round his hand in his wrath, but yet said no word, till I suppose his hair put him in mind of something, and he raised it in both his hands above his head, and shouted out aloud, “0 knights, hearken to this traitor.” Whereat, indeed, the lances began to move ominously. But Arnald spoke.
“0 you king and lords, what have we to do with you? Were we not free in the old time, up among the hills there? Wherefore give way, and we will go to the hills again; and if any man try to stop us, his blood be on his own head; wherefore now,” (and he turned) “all you House of the Lily, both soldiers and monks, let us go forth together fearing nothing, for I think there is not bone enough or muscle enough in these fellows here that have a king that they should stop us withal, but only skin and fat.”
And truly, no man dared to stop us, and we went.
CHAPT. II. — FAILING IN THE WORLD
Now at that time we drove cattle in Red Harald’s land.
And we took no hoof but from the Lords and rich men, but of these we had a mighty drove, both oxen and sheep, and horses, and besides, even hawks and hounds, and huntsman or two to take care of them.
And, about noon, we drew away from the cornlands that lay beyond the pastures, and mingled with them, and reached a wide moor, which was called “Goliath’s Land.” I scarce know why, except that it belonged neither to Red Harald or us, but was debatable.
And the cattle began to go slowly, and our horses were tired, and the sun struck down very hot upon us, for there was no shadow, and the day was cloudless.
All about the edge of the moor, ex-cept on the sidefrom which we had come was a rim of hills, not very high, but very rocky and steep, otherwise the moor itself was flat; and through these hills was one pass, guarded by our men, which pass led to the Hill castle of the Lilies.
It was not wonderful, that of this moor many wild stories were told, being such a strange lonely place, some of them one knew, alas to be over true. In the old time, before we went to the good town, this moor had been the mustering place of our people, and our house had done deeds enough of blood and horror to turn our white lilies red, and our blue cross to a fiery one. But some of those wild tales I never believed; they had to do mostly with men losing their way without any apparent cause, (for there were plenty of landmarks,) finding some well-known spot, and then, just beyond it, a place they had never even dreamed of.
“Florian! FIorian!” said Arnald, “for God’s sake stop! as every one else is stopping to look at the hills yonder; I always thought there was a curse upon us. What does God mean by shutting us up here? Look at the cattle; 0 Christ, they have found it out too! See, some of them are turning to run back again towards Harald’s land. Oh! unhappy, unhappy, from that day forward!”
He leaned forward, rested his head on his horse’s neck, and wept like a child.
I felt so irritated with him, that I could almost have slain him then and there. Was he mad? had these wild doings of ours turned his strong wise head?
“Are you my brother Arnald, that I used to think such a grand man when I was a boy?” I said, “or are you changed too, like everybody, and everything else? What do you mean?”
“Look! look!” he said, grinding his teeth in agony.
I raised my eyes: where was the one pass between the rim of stern rocks? Nothing: the enemy behind us- that grim wall in front: what wonder that each man looked in his fellow’s face for help, and found it not. Yet I refused to believe that there was any troth either in the wild stories that I had heard when I was a boy, or in this story told me so clearly by my eyes now.
I called out cheerily, “Hugh, come here!” He came. “What do you think of this? Some mere dodge on Harald’s part? Are we cut off?”
“Think! Sir Florian? God forgive me for ever thinking at all; I have given up that long and long ago, because thirty years ago I thought this, that the House of Lilies would deserve anything in the way of bad fortune that God would send them: so I gave up thinking, and took to fighting. But if you think that Harald had anything to do with this, why-why-in God’s name, I wish I could think so!”
I felt a dull weight on my heart. Had our house been the devil’s servants all along? I thought we were God’s servants.
The day was very still, but what little wind there was, was at our backs. I watched Hugh’s face, not being able to answer him. He was the cleverest man at war that I have known, either before or since that day; sharper than any hound in ear and scent, clearer sighted than any eagle; he was listening now intently. I saw a slight smile cross his face; heard him mutter, “Yes! I think so: verily that is better, a great deal better.” Then he stood up in his stirrups, and shouted, “Hurrah for the Lilies! Mary rings!” “Mary rings!” I shouted, though I did not know the reason for his exultation: my brother lifted his head, and smiled too, grimly. Then as I listened I heard clearly the sound of a trumpet, and enemy’s trumpet too.
“After all, it was only mist, or some such thing,” I said, for the pass between the hills was clear enough now.
“Hurrah! only mist,” said Amald, quite elated; “Mary rings!” and we all began to think of fighting: for after all what joy is equal to that?
There were five hundred of us; two hundred spears, the rest archers; and both archers and men at arms were picked men.
“How many of them are we to expect?” said I.
“Not under a thousand, certainly, probably more, Sir Florian.” (My brother Arnald, by the way, had knighted me before we left the good town, and Hugh liked to give me the handle to my name. How was it, by the way, that no one had ever made him a knight?)
“Let every one look to his arms and horse, and come away from these silly cows’ sons!” shouted Arnald.
Hugh said, “They will be here in an hour, fair Sir.”
So we got clear of the cattle, and dismounted, and both ourselves took food and drink, and our horses; afterwards we tightened our saddle-girths, shook our great pots of helmets on, except Amald, whose rustyred hair had been his only head-piece in battle for years and years, and stood with our spears close by our horses, leaving room for the archers to retreat between our ranks; and they got their arrows ready, and planted their stakes before a little peat moss: and there we waited, and saw their pennons at last floating high above the corn of the fertile land, then heard their many horse-hoofs ring upon the hard-parched moor, and the archers began to shoot.
* * * *
It had been a strange battle; we had never fought better, and yet withal it had ended in a retreat; indeed all along every man but Arnald and myself, even Hugh, had been trying at least to get the enemy between him and the way toward the pass; and now we were all drifting that way, the enemy trying to cut us off, but never able to stop us, because he could only throw small bodies of men in our way, whom we scattered and put to flight in their turn.
I never cared less for my life than then; indeed, in spite of all my boasting and hardness of belief, I should have been happy to have died, such a strange weight of apprehension was on me; and yet I got no scratch even. I had soon put off my great helm, and was fighting in my mail-coif only: and here I swear that three knights together charged me, aiming at my bare face, yet never touched me. For, as for one, I put his lance aside with my sword, and the other two in some most wonderful manner got their spears locked in each other’s armour, and so had to submit to be knocked off their horses.
And we still neared the pass, and began to see distinctly the ferns that grew on the rocks, and the fair country between the rift in them, spreading out there, blue-shadowed.
Whereupon came a great rush of men of both sides, striking side blows at each other, spitting, cursing, and shrieking, as they tore away like a herd of wild hogs. So, being careless of lfe, as I said, I drew rein, and turning my horse, waited quietly for them. And I knotted the reins, and laid them on the horse’s neck, and stroked him, that he whinnied, then got both my hands to my sword.
Then, as they came on, I noted hurriedly that the first man was one of Arnald’s men, and one of our men behind him leaned forward to prod him with his spear, but could not reach so far, till he himself was run through the eye with a spear, and throwing his arms up fell dead with a shriek. Also I noted concerning this first man that the laces of his helmet were loose, and when he saw me he lifted his left hand to his head, took off his helm and cast it at me, and still tore on; the helmet flew over my head, and I sitting still there, swung out, hitting him on the neck; his head flew right off, for the mail no more held than a piece of silk.
“Mary rings,” and my horse whinnied again, and we both of us went at it, and fairly stopped that rout, so that there was a knot of quite close and desperate fighting, wherein we had the best of that fight and slew most of them, albeit my horse was slain and my mail-coif cut through. Then I bade a squire fetch me another horse, and began meanwhile to upbraid those knights for running in such a strange disorderly race, instead of standing and fighting cleverly.
Moreover we had drifted even in this successful fight still nearer to the pass, so that the conies who dwelt there were beginning to consider whether they should not run into their holes.
But one of those knights said: “Be not angry with me. Sir Florian, but do you think you will go to Heaven?”
“The saints! I hope so,” I said, but one who stood near him whispered to him to hold his peace, so I cried out:
“O friend! I hold this world and all therein so cheap now, that I see not anything in it but shame which can any longer anger me; wherefore speak: out.”
“Then, Sir Florian, men say that at your christening some fiend took on him the likeness of a priest and strove to baptize you in the Devil’s name, but God had mercy on you so that the fiend could not choose but baptize you in the name of the most holy Trinity: and yet men say that you hardly believe any doctrine such as other men do, and will at the end only go to Heaven round about as it were, not at all by the intercession of our Lady; they say too that you can see no ghosts or other wonders, whatever happens to other Christian men.”
I smiled. “Well, friend, I scarcely call this a disadvantage, moreover what has it to do with the matter in hand?”
How was this in Heaven’s name? We had been quite still, resting while this talk was going on, but we could hear the hawks chattering from the rocks, we were so close now.
And my heart sunk within me, there was no reason why this should not be true; there was no reason why anything should not be true.
“This, Sir Florian,” said the knight again, “how would you feel inclined to fight if you thought that everything about you was mere glamour; this earth here, the rocks, the sun, the sky? I do not know where I am for certain, I do not know that it is not midnight instead of undem: I do not know if I have been fighting men or only simulacra but I think, we all think, that we have been led into some devil’s trap or other, and- and may God forgive me my sins! I wish I had never been born.”
There now! he was weeping - they all wept - how strange it was to see those rough, bearded men blubbering there, and snivelling till the tears ran over their armour and mingled with the blood, so that it dropped down to the earth in a dim, dull, red rain.
My eyes indeed were dry, but then so was my heart; I felt far worse than weeping came to, but nevertheless I spoke cheerily.
“Dear friends, where are your old men’s hearts gone to now? See now! This is a punishment for our sins, is it? Well, for our forefathers’ sins or our own? If the first, 0 brothers, be very sure that if we bear it manfully God will have something very good in store for us hereafter; but if for our sins, is it not certain that He cares for us yet, for note that He suffers the wicked to go their own ways pretty much; moreover brave men, brothers, ought to be the masters of simulacra come, is it so hard to die once for all?”
Still no answer came from them, they sighed heavily only. I heard the sound of more than one or two swords as they rattled back to the scabbards: nay, one knight, stripping himself of surcoat and hauberk, and drawing his dagger, looked at me with a grim smile, and said, “Sir Florian, do so!” Then he drew the dagger across his throat and he fell back dead.
They shuddered, those brave men, and crossed themselves. And I had no heart to say a word more, but mounted the horse which had been brought to me and rode away slowly for a few yards; then I became aware that there was a great silence over the whole field.
