The Earthly Paradise (September-November): The Lovers of Gudrun: Kiartan fetches the price of the Coif from Bathstead

The Earthly Paradise, (September-November), by William Morris, [1870] Kiartan fetches the price of the Coif from Bathstead. AND now a day or two with brooding face Did Kiartan go about from place to place And speak few words to any, till one day He bade his men see to their war-array, For two hours after midnight all and some Into the hall to wait his word should come, And whoso blabbed, he said, the deed should rue. So thitherward in arms that night they drew; And Refna trembling lay, while Kiartan clad His body in the best war-gear he had, And through the hangings did she watch the spears, And dreadful seemed the laughter to her ears, And red the lamps burned, as with twilight grey They mingled: then he turned to go away, And kissed her as he spake: "Refna, this eve, Most like, a noble gift shalt thou receive; Do thou thy part to meet it with good grace, And gather what thou canst into this place Of fiddlers and of glee-men, and with song Meet that good gift that comes to heal thy wrong." Now Refna durst not ask, What wilt thou then, And whither go to-night these all-armed men? Because she deemed she knew what word it was p. 479 That all this clash of arms had brought to pass, And sick at heart she grew to think thereof, And with her fair white arms made strong by love She clung to Kiartan, but he drew her hold With gentle hands from off the mail rings cold. And kissed her sweet mouth opened now to speak, And gat him gone; and she fell back all weak Upon her bed, and lying there alone, Saw how his war-gear in the bright light shone, And heard his cheery voice as he cried loud, "To Bathstead, ho!" and then the noisy crowd Passed clashing from the hall, and nothing there Within a little while might Refna hear, But the dawn's noises, and the loitering tread Of some maid getting slowly back to bed; So there she lay alone in grief and fear, But hope's fresh voice shuddering she needs must hear Whispering wild words, yet sweet, of chance and crime, Telling the wondrous ways of slowfoot time. But now at Bathstead ere they rose that morn, Men deemed they heard the winding of a horn, And, running straightway to the door, could see About the stead a goodly company, And there were Olaf's sons with sixty men Besetting every gate and door; but when The men of Bathstead were all armed and went Unto the door, they saw a gay-striped tent Just raised upon the slope-side ’gainst the hall p. 480 And armed men round about it; one man, tall Beyond his fellows, stood some yards more near The hall-door, leaning on a pennoned spear, Clad in a glittering mail-coat, with a shield About his neck, where, on a golden field The holy Rood of God was painted fair; From ’neath his gilded helm his golden hair Fell waving down, but hidden were his eyes By the wide brim: then did great fear arise Within their hearts, despite their fiery hate, Because they knew that now at last, if late, Was Kiartan's might aroused and in the field. But none the less little would Ospak yield To any fear; before the rest he strode, And cried aloud: "Within this fair abode Has been thy place, O Kiartan Olafson, And not without; what ill deed hast thou done That father Oswif has forbidden thee Thy honoured seat where it was wont to be?" The tall man moved not, but a deep voice came From ’neath his helm: "Thou art right wise to name A hidden head; grow wiser! sick am I, And somewhat deadly now to come anigh; My sword has lost its scabbard ’gainst my will, Beware then, for its naked edge may kill!" Then Ospak raised the spear in his right hand p. 481 And shook it, but the tall man forth did stand And pushed his helm aback and showed the face Of Kiartan, and across the grassy space Cried mightily: "Be wise, and get ye back! Of fighting one day shall ye have small lack; But now beware, because my father's sons Have sworn to spare no man of you, if once A drop of blood is spilt! Come ye not forth Until I bid you, if of any worth Ye hold your lives; and meantime for the sake Of what I had and have not, I will take My due from mead and byre." And therewithal He let his helm down o’er his visage fall, And turned back toward the tent. Back shrank again, Cowed into sullen rage, the Bathstead men, And armed but helpless there within the hall Silent they sat, hearkening the raiders call The cattle o’er the meads: in high-seat there Sat Bodli, but his visage worn with care Of the past days, was sad, but calm and soft, As if he thought of gentle things, though oft Fierce eyes would scowl upon his dreamy face Unnoted of him; in that dreary place He seemed like some dead king, condemned in hell For his one sin among such men to dwell As for their wickedness he hated most Ere righteous ways and life and all were lost. p. 482 And in meantime, ’twixt silent trembling bower And silent cursing hall, hour after hour Did Gudrun pace with restless feet, and heart Betwixt two nameless miseries torn apart, Whence cold despair was being well fashioned now. And Oswif sat apart with wrinkled brow, Unnoted in that house of grief and wrong. But midst their shame, from outside, laugh and song Came loud and louder, mingled with the clank Of mead-horns; the feast's clamour never sank Till mid-day was well passed; then quieter It grew without, and yet they still might hear Lowing of neat and men's shouts. Then a voice Cried from the slope-side: "Bathstead men, rejoice That ye no autumn-feast need hold this year, For certes else should ye find victuals dear And hard to come by! Oswif's sons, come out, Unarmed and peaceable, and have no doubt Of hurt from us!" They stirred not for a space; Then cried the voice: "Lives none within the place? Are ye all dead of fear? Come out, I say, Else o’er your roof the red cock crows to-day!" Then Ospak, cursing, on the pavement cast His shield and spear, and toward the doorway passed, And in likewise the others one by one, Till Bodli and Gudrun were left alone: p. 483 And then she said, "And thou—wilt thou not go? Knowst thou the name of him who shames us so?" "Yea, yea, I know it!" Bodli cried; "farewell! Of me, too, shall there be a tale to tell: I will go forth, but not without my sword." He drew the thing he named with that last word, And ran unto the door; against the wall There stood the sons of Oswif, stout and tall, Foaming, but helpless: in his saddle now Sat Kiartan, unhelmed, his bright hair a-glow With the May sun. His brethren stood around Beside their horses, and a mighty sound Came from the herd of neat that thronged the way Beneath the hill-side; spears with pennons gay Glittered about them in the sunlight fair, For Kiartan's company was gathered there Ready to set forth. So there Bodli stood One moment, thinking that the world was good, Though not for him; then he cried out: "O thou, Thou son of Olaf, come and meet me now, For long have I been weary of the earth; And now to me but one thing seems of worth That I should win death of such hands as thine." Then in the sunlight did the bright steel shine, And Kiartan's brethren soon had ended all, For Bodli ran forth; yet heard Kiartan call p. 484 Across the clash of arms: "Nay, point nor edge His blood shall redden not; make ye a hedge Of your strong shields and thrust him back again Since he knows not that all his might is vain, E’en to win death; live, foster-brother, yet, And get despite of all, what thou mayst get Of joy and honour." Midway, Bodli stayed, And in his hand he poised the heavy blade As he would cast it from him, slowly then Did he give back face foremost from the men, Till in the doorway once again he stood. Then Kiartan said: "Yea, cousin, it is good, If thou must die by me, that thou shouldst bide Some noble fight, some glorious reaping-tide, Where each of each fair fame at least may gain— God grant a little bliss ere that last pain!— But hearken, thievish sons of a wise man! Be taught, ye blustering fools, if yet ye can! From Yule till now I gave you, a long day, To pay the debt that needs was ye must pay; Twice told I take it now, and leave behind What shall seem shame indeed to most men's mind. —This is my bridal gift, think well of it; In your own fields it waxed, while ye did sit Plotting across the meadhorns. Now take heed That oft henceforth your manhood shall ye need If ye would live in peace. Blow loud and clear," p. 485 O horns, for Refna waiteth for us there, And merry shall we be to-night in hall What things soever afterwards may fall!" Still Bodli stood with drawn sword in the door While midst the clang of arms and horn's loud roar, He saw the herd move up the dusty road; He saw how Kiartan for a while abode Behind the rest, and stared at the grey stead Whose roof so often had been o’er his head; He saw him turn, and well might deem he sighed, Then muttered he, "Ah, would God I had died By thee to-day!" and sheathed his sword, and then Was hustled by the sullen baffled men Who shouldered past him back into the hall, Who heeded him just as they did the wall Past which they rubbed; but with the last of these He went in, casting by all hope of peace. But Refna looking from the Herdholt knoll That evening, saw a dust-cloud upward roll And move toward Herdholt, and her heart beat fast When from the midst thereof bright spear-heads passed, And then men's helms, and then the guarded herd; And she bethought her of her mate's last word, And bade the women in their best array, And minstrels, stand on either side the way To greet the new-comers, whose horns blew loud Close by the garth now, while the beasts ’gan crowd p. 486 About the garth-gate; so, the gate past through, Over the homefield toward the wall they drew, Tended by gay-clad men-at-arms, who wore About their helms fair flowers that Bathstead bore, While of the beasts, sharp horn and curl-browed head, And dewlapped neck were well begarlanded. Then from the close loud joyful cries arose, Tinkle of harps, sharp noise of fiddle-bows, And all along the line there ran a shout: Therewith old Olaf to the door came out, And saw his sons swift from the cattle ride, Till Kiartan leapt adown by Refna's side And cast his arms about her, and ’gan cry: "Now is the Queen's-Gift paid for fittingly; For these are thine, e’en as my hand and sword, To put from thee all care, and every word That grieves thee, sweet. O love, but I am gay! Sure a fair life beginneth from to-day!" She gazed at him, and knew not why her heart Scarce in that joyous scene might play its part— Why it was not enough—these words of love, His bright fair face her longing eyes above? Yet with a loving cry she hid her face Upon his breast. Thereat did Olaf gaze And muttered low: "A goodly price in sooth For a girl's coif! but yet, for Kiartan's youth, p. 487 For his fair hope and glory, and increase Of good deeds, and mine own old age of peace, Not too much, not too much! Ah, woe is me That I should live these latter days to see!"