The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: The Stealing of the Coif

The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870] The Stealing of the Coif NOW howso Olaf bade An hold his peace, And Kiartan promised he would nowise cease To show a good face to the world on all That ’twixt the houses yet might chance to fall, Certain it is, that ere long, far and wide The tale was known, throughout the country-side; Nay, more than this, to Kiartan's ears it came That Oswif's sons deemed they had cast a shame On Herdholt, and must mock him openly And call him 'Mire-blade,' e’en when those were by Who held him of the most account; no less Kiartan was moved not from his quietness, Nor did aught hap ’twixt autumn and Yule-tide; Then men at Herdholt busied them to ride To Bathstead once again, and Olaf said: p. 466 "Wilt thou once more be guided by my head, Son Kiartan, and with brave heart go to face The troublous things that wait thee in that place?" "Well," Kiartan said, "if so I deemed, that fate Might be turned back of men, or foolish hate Die out for lack of fuel, no more would I Unto the Bathstead hall-door draw anigh; But forasmuch as now I know full well, That the same story there shall be to tell Whether I go, or whether I refrain, Let all be as thou wilt; and yet we twain Not oft again, O father, side by side Unto this merry-making place shall ride." Then Olaf sighed, as though indeed he knew To what an end his latter days now drew. So now all folk were ready there, but when The women came their ways to meet the men, Said Thorgerd unto Refna: "Well, this tide Thou hast the coif, no doubt, and like a bride Hast heart to look midst those whose hearts are cold To thee and thine." Then Refna did behold Thorgerd's stern face in trembling wise, and said: "Nay, goodwife, what fair cloth may coif my head Shall matter little mid the many things Men have to talk of: rise and fall of kings p. 467 And changes of the world: within my chest The coif lies." "There," said Kiartan, "might it rest For thee and me, sweet; yet I mind indeed When I, a froward child, deemed I had need Of some sharp glittering thing, as axe or knife, But little would my mother raise up strife With me therefor, and even as I would I cut myself: so if she think this good Let fetch the Queen's Gift." Refna looked adown Shamefaced and puzzled, Thorgerd with a frown Turned upon Kiartan, but he smiled in turn, And said: "Yea, mother, let the red gold burn Among the lights at Bathstead; great am I E’en as thou deemst; and men must let pass by Their hatred to me, whatso say their hearts; Come, open-handed let us play our parts." So was the coif brought, and once more they rode Unto the door of Oswif's fair abode; And there they feasted merrily enow— —Such of them as were fools, or cared not how The next week went—and at the highest tide Of all the feast, sat Refna as a bride Coifed with the Queen's Gift; Gudrun stern and cold Scarce would the tender face of her behold, Or cast a look at Kiartan; rather she Did press the hand of Bodli lovingly, p. 468 Softening her face for him alone of all: Then would strange tumult on his spirit fall, Mingled of pain and uttermost delight To think the whole world had so swerved from right To give him pleasure for a little while, Nor durst he look upon his old friend's smile, Who, glad with his own manhood seemed to be Once more, once more the brave heart frank and free; As though at last the trouble and the coil That wrapped him round, and made him sadly toil Through weary days, had fallen all clean away, And smiling he might meet the bitterest day. So passed the high-tide forth unto its end But when at last folk from the place would wend, And Refna fain would have the coif of her Whose office was to tend the women's gear— — Lo, it was gone—then Refna trembled sore, And passing through the crowd about the door Whispered to Kiartan: Ospak stood anigh And bit his lips, and watched her eagerly, And Kiartan with a side-long glance could see His colour come and go, and cried: "Let be, Light won, light gone! if still it is ‘bove ground, Doubt thou not, Refna, it shall yet be found." Folk looked on one another; Thorgerd said, Turning on Gudrun: "Small account is made p. 469 Of great folk's gifts, then; I have seen the day When Egil's kin a man or two would slay For things less worth than this." Her angry frown Gudrun met calmly: "Was the thing his own? Then let him do e’en as he will with it; Small loss it is methinks for her to sit Without his old love's gift upon her head!" Ere Thorgerd answered, Kiartan cried, and said: "Come swift to saddle! Cousin, ride with me, Until we turn the hill anigh the sea; I fain would speak with thee a word or twain That I have striven to think about in vain These last days that we met." Bodli flushed red And looked adown: "So be it then," he said. Then stammered and turned pale, and said, "Enow Shall one sword be to-day betwixt us two; Take thou the rover's weapon, O fair wife." She looked on him, her lovely face was rife With many thoughts, but Kiartan's kindly gaze Seemed to bring back the thoughts of happier days To both of them, and swift away she passed Unto her bower; and men were horsed at last, And sharp the hoofs upon the hard way rung. So as into the saddle Kiartan swung, He leant toward Ospak, and said mockingly: p. 470 "I love thee—I would not that thou shouldst die; So see me not too oft, because I have A plague sometimes, that bringeth to the grave, Those that come nigh me; live on well and whole!" Then to his face rushed Ospak's envious soul, His hand fell on his sword-hilt as le shrank Back to the doorway, while the fresh air drank Kiartan's clear laughter, as their company Rode jingling down unto the hoary sea. But the last smile from off his face was gone, When silent, in a while he rode alone With Bodli silent: then he said to him: "Thou seest, Bodli, how we twain must swim Adown a strange stream—thou art weaponless To-day, and certes bides my sword no less Within its scabbard—how long shall it last?" Then Bodli cried, "Until my life is past— Shall I take life from thee as well as love?" "Nay," Kiartan said, "be not too sure thereof, Bethink thee where by thine own deed thou art Betwixt a passionate woman's hungry heart, And the vile envy of a dangerous fool; Doubt not but thou art helpless, and the tool Of thy mad love, and that ill comes from ill, And as a thing begins, so ends it still— p. 471 —Nay, not to preach to thee I brought thee here, Rather to say that the old days are dear, Despite of all, unto my weary heart. And now methinks from them and thee I part This day; not unforgiven, whatsoe’er Thou at my hands, or I of thine may bear. For I too—shall I guide myself indeed, Or rather be so driven by hard need That still my hand as in a dream shall be, While clearly sees the heart that is in me Desires I may not try to bring to pass? So since no more it may be as it was In the past days, when fair and orderly The world before our footsteps seemed to lie, Now in this welter wherein we are set, Lonely and bare of all, deem we not yet That each for each these ill days we have made; Rather the more let those good words be weighed We spake, when truth and love within us burned, Before the lesson of our life was learned. What say's thou? are the days to come forgiven, Shall folk remember less that we have striven, Than that we loved, when all the tale is told?" Then long did Bodli Kiartan's face behold, Striving for speech: then said, "Why speak’st thou so? Twice over now I seem my deed to do, Twice over strive to wake as from a dream, That I, once happy, never real may deem, p. 472 So vile and bitter is it; may thy sword If e’er we meet be sharper than thy word, And make a speedy end of doubt and strife; Fear not to take much from me, taking life!" Still seemed the air filled with his words when he Turned back to Bathstead, and the murmuring sea Seemed from afar to speak of rest from pain. Then on a little knoll he shortened rein, And turned about, and looking toward the hill Beheld the spear of Kiartan glittering still, When all the rest of him behind the brow Was sunken; but the spear sank quickly now, And slowly home withal did Bodli ride, E’en as he might the coming end to bide.