{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_2885/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_2885","id":"gutenberg_2885","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2885","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fantasy","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1904 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David\nPrice, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE OF THE WOLFINGS\nA TALE OF THE HOUSE OF THE WOLFINGS AND ALL THE KINDREDS OF THE MARK\nWRITTEN IN PROSE AND IN VERSE\nby William Morris\n\n\n   Whiles in the early Winter eve\n   We pass amid the gathering night\n   Some homestead that we had to leave\n   Years past; and see its candles bright\n   Shine in the room beside the door\n   Where we were merry years agone\n   But now must never enter more,\n   As still the dark road drives us on.\n   E'en so the world of men may turn\n   At even of some hurried day\n   And see the ancient glimmer burn\n   Across the waste that hath no way;\n   Then with that faint light in its eyes\n   A while I bid it linger near\n   And nurse in wavering memories\n   The bitter-sweet of days that were.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I--THE DWELLINGS OF MID-MARK\n\n\nThe tale tells that in times long past there was a dwelling of men beside\na great wood.  Before it lay a plain, not very great, but which was, as\nit were, an isle in the sea of woodland, since even when you stood on the\nflat ground, you could see trees everywhere in the offing, though as for\nhills, you could scarce say that there were any; only swellings-up of the\nearth here and there, like the upheavings of the water that one sees at\nwhiles going on amidst the eddies of a swift but deep stream.\n\nOn either side, to right and left the tree-girdle reached out toward the\nblue distance, thick close and unsundered, save where it and the plain\nwhich it begirdled was cleft amidmost by a river about as wide as the\nThames at Sheene when the flood-tide is at its highest, but so swift and\nfull of eddies, that it gave token of mountains not so far distant,\nthough they were hidden.  On each side moreover of the stream of this\nriver was a wide space of stones, great and little, and in most places\nabove this stony waste were banks of a few feet high, showing where the\nyearly winter flood was most commonly stayed.\n\nYou must know that this great clearing in the woodland was not a matter\nof haphazard; though the river had driven a road whereby men might fare\non each side of its hurrying stream.  It was men who had made that Isle\nin the woodland.\n\nFor many generations the folk that now dwelt there had learned the craft\nof iron-founding, so that they had no lack of wares of iron and steel,\nwhether they were tools of handicraft or weapons for hunting and for war.\nIt was the men of the Folk, who coming adown by the river-side had made\nthat clearing.  The tale tells not whence they came, but belike from the\ndales of the distant mountains, and from dales and mountains and plains\nfurther aloof and yet further.\n\nAnyhow they came adown the river; on its waters on rafts, by its shores\nin wains or bestriding their horses or their kine, or afoot, till they\nhad a mind to abide; and there as it fell they stayed their travel, and\nspread from each side of the river, and fought with the wood and its wild\nthings, that they might make to themselves a dwelling-place on the face\nof the earth.\n\nSo they cut down the trees, and burned their stumps that the grass might\ngrow sweet for their kine and sheep and horses; and they diked the river\nwhere need was all through the plain, and far up into the wild-wood to\nbridle the winter floods: and they made them boats to ferry them over,\nand to float down stream and track up-stream: they fished the river's\neddies also with net and with line; and drew drift from out of it of far-\ntravelled wood and other matters; and the gravel of its shallows they\nwashed for gold; and it became their friend, and they loved it, and gave\nit a name, and called it the Dusky, and the Glassy, and the\nMirkwood-water; for the names of it changed with the generations of man.\n\nThere then in the clearing of the wood that for many years grew greater\nyearly they drave their beasts to pasture in the new-made meadows, where\nyear by year the grass grew sweeter as the sun shone on it and the\nstanding waters went from it; and now in the year whereof the tale\ntelleth it was a fair and smiling plain, and no folk might have a better\nmeadow.\n\nBut long before that had they learned the craft of tillage and taken heed\nto the acres and begun to grow wheat and rye thereon round about their\nroofs; the spade came into their hands, and they bethought them of the\nplough-share, and the tillage spread and grew, and there was no lack of\nbread.\n\nIn such wise that Folk had made an island amidst of the Mirkwood, and\nestablished a home there, and upheld it with manifold toil too long to\ntell of.  And from the beginning this clearing in the wood they called\nthe Mid-mark: for you shall know that men might journey up and down the\nMirkwood-water, and half a day's ride up or down they would come on\nanother clearing or island in the woods, and these were the Upper-mark\nand the Nether-mark: and all these three were inhabited by men of one\nfolk and one kindred, which was called the Mark-men, though of many\nbranches was that stem of folk, who bore divers signs in battle and at\nthe council whereby they might be known.\n\nNow in the Mid-mark itself were many Houses of men; for by that word had\nthey called for generations those who dwelt together under one token of\nkinship.  The river ran from South to North, and both on the East side\nand on the West were there Houses of the Folk, and their habitations were\nshouldered up nigh unto the wood, so that ever betwixt them and the river\nwas there a space of tillage and pasture.\n\nTells the tale of one such House, whose habitations were on the west side\nof the water, on a gentle slope of land, so that no flood higher than\ncommon might reach them.  It was straight down to the river mostly that\nthe land fell off, and on its downward-reaching slopes was the tillage,\n\"the Acres,\" as the men of that time always called tilled land; and\nbeyond that was the meadow going fair and smooth, though with here and\nthere a rising in it, down to the lips of the stony waste of the winter\nriver.\n\nNow the name of this House was the Wolfings, and they bore a Wolf on\ntheir banners, and their warriors were marked on the breast with the\nimage of the Wolf, that they might be known for what they were if they\nfell in battle, and were stripped.\n\nThe house, that is to say the Roof, of the Wolfings of the Mid-mark stood\non the topmost of the slope aforesaid with its back to the wild-wood and\nits face to the acres and the water.  But you must know that in those\ndays the men of one branch of kindred dwelt under one roof together, and\nhad therein their place and dignity; nor were there many degrees amongst\nthem as hath befallen afterwards, but all they of one blood were brethren\nand of equal dignity.  Howbeit they had servants or thralls, men taken in\nbattle, men of alien blood, though true it is that from time to time were\nsome of such men taken into the House, and hailed as brethren of the\nblood.\n\nAlso (to make an end at once of these matters of kinship and affinity)\nthe men of one House might not wed the women of their own House: to the\nWolfing men all Wolfing women were as sisters: they must needs wed with\nthe Hartings or the Elkings or the Bearings, or other such Houses of the\nMark as were not so close akin to the blood of the Wolf; and this was a\nlaw that none dreamed of breaking.  Thus then dwelt this Folk and such\nwas their Custom.\n\nAs to the Roof of the Wolfings, it was a great hall and goodly, after the\nfashion of their folk and their day; not built of stone and lime, but\nframed of the goodliest trees of the wild-wood squared with the adze, and\nbetwixt the framing filled with clay wattled with reeds.  Long was that\nhouse, and at one end anigh the gable was the Man's-door, not so high\nthat a man might stand on the threshold and his helmcrest clear the\nlintel; for such was the custom, that a tall man must bow himself as he\ncame into the hall; which custom maybe was a memory of the days of\nonslaught when the foemen were mostly wont to beset the hall; whereas in\nthe days whereof the tale tells they drew out into the fields and fought\nunfenced; unless at whiles when the odds were over great, and then they\ndrew their wains about them and were fenced by the wain-burg.  At least\nit was from no niggardry that the door was made thus low, as might be\nseen by the fair and manifold carving of knots and dragons that was\nwrought above the lintel of the door for some three foot's space.  But a\nlike door was there anigh the other gable-end, whereby the women entered,\nand it was called the Woman's-door.\n\nNear to the house on all sides except toward the wood were there many\nbowers and cots round about the penfolds and the byres: and these were\nbooths for the stowage of wares, and for crafts and smithying that were\nunhandy to do in the house; and withal they were the dwelling-places of\nthe thralls.  And the lads and young men often abode there many days and\nwere cherished there of the thralls that loved them, since at whiles they\nshunned the Great Roof that they might be the freer to come and go at\ntheir pleasure, and deal as they would.  Thus was there a clustering on\nthe slopes and bents betwixt the acres of the Wolfings and the wild-wood\nwherein dwelt the wolves.\n\nAs to the house within, two rows of pillars went down it endlong,\nfashioned of the mightiest trees that might be found, and each one fairly\nwrought with base and chapiter, and wreaths and knots, and fighting men\nand dragons; so that it was like a church of later days that has a nave\nand aisles: windows there were above the aisles, and a passage underneath\nthe said windows in their roofs.  In the aisles were the sleeping-places\nof the Folk, and down the nave under the crown of the roof were three\nhearths for the fires, and above each hearth a luffer or smoke-bearer to\ndraw the smoke up when the fires were lighted.  Forsooth on a bright\nwinter afternoon it was strange to see the three columns of smoke going\nwavering up to the dimness of the mighty roof, and one maybe smitten\nathwart by the sunbeams.  As for the timber of the roof itself and its\nframing, so exceeding great and high it was, that the tale tells how that\nnone might see the fashion of it from the hall-floor unless he were to\nraise aloft a blazing faggot on a long pole: since no lack of timber was\nthere among the men of the Mark.\n\nAt the end of the hall anigh the Man's-door was the dais, and a table\nthereon set thwartwise of the hall; and in front of the dais was the\nnoblest and greatest of the hearths; (but of the others one was in the\nvery midmost, and another in the Woman's-Chamber) and round about the\ndais, along the gable-wall, and hung from pillar to pillar were woven\ncloths pictured with images of ancient tales and the deeds of the\nWolfings, and the deeds of the Gods from whence they came.  And this was\nthe fairest place of all the house and the best-beloved of the Folk, and\nespecially of the older and the mightier men: and there were tales told,\nand songs sung, especially if they were new: and thereto also were\nmessengers brought if any tidings were abroad: there also would the\nelders talk together about matters concerning the House or the Mid-mark\nor the whole Folk of the Markmen.\n\nYet you must not think that their solemn councils were held there, the\nfolk-motes whereat it must be determined what to do and what to forbear\ndoing; for according as such councils, (which they called Things) were of\nthe House or of the Mid-mark or of the whole Folk, were they held each at\nthe due Thing-steads in the Wood aloof from either acre or meadow, (as\nwas the custom of our forefathers for long after) and at such Things\nwould all the men of the House or the Mid-mark or the Folk be present man\nby man.  And in each of these steads was there a Doomring wherein Doom\nwas given by the neighbours chosen, (whom now we call the Jury) in\nmatters between man and man; and no such doom of neighbours was given,\nand no such voice of the Folk proclaimed in any house or under any roof,\nnor even as aforesaid on the tilled acres or the depastured meadows.  This\nwas the custom of our forefathers, in memory, belike, of the days when as\nyet there was neither house nor tillage, nor flocks and herds, but the\nEarth's face only and what freely grew thereon.\n\nBut over the dais there hung by chains and pulleys fastened to a tie-beam\nof the roof high aloft a wondrous lamp fashioned of glass; yet of no such\nglass as the folk made then and there, but of a fair and clear green like\nan emerald, and all done with figures and knots in gold, and strange\nbeasts, and a warrior slaying a dragon, and the sun rising on the earth:\nnor did any tale tell whence this lamp came, but it was held as an\nancient and holy thing by all the Markmen, and the kindred of the Wolf\nhad it in charge to keep a light burning in it night and day for ever;\nand they appointed a maiden of their own kindred to that office; which\ndamsel must needs be unwedded, since no wedded woman dwelling under that\nroof could be a Wolfing woman, but would needs be of the houses wherein\nthe Wolfings wedded.\n\nThis lamp which burned ever was called the Hall-Sun, and the woman who\nhad charge of it, and who was the fairest that might be found was called\nafter it the Hall-Sun also.\n\nAt the other end of the hall was the Woman's-Chamber, and therein were\nthe looms and other gear for the carding and spinning of wool and the\nweaving of cloth.\n\nSuch was the Roof under which dwelt the kindred of the Wolfings; and the\nother kindreds of the Mid-mark had roofs like to it; and of these the\nchiefest were the Elkings, the Vallings, the Alftings, the Beamings, the\nGaltings, and the Bearings; who bore on their banners the Elk, the\nFalcon, the Swan, the Tree, the Boar, and the Bear.  But other lesser and\nnewer kindreds there were than these: as for the Hartings above named,\nthey were a kindred of the Upper-mark.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II--THE FLITTING OF THE WAR-ARROW\n\n\nTells the tale that it was an evening of summer, when the wheat was in\nthe ear, but yet green; and the neat-herds were done driving the milch-\nkine to the byre, and the horseherds and the shepherds had made the night-\nshift, and the out-goers were riding two by two and one by one through\nthe lanes between the wheat and the rye towards the meadow.  Round the\ncots of the thralls were gathered knots of men and women both thralls and\nfreemen, some talking together, some hearkening a song or a tale, some\nsinging and some dancing together; and the children gambolling about from\ngroup to group with their shrill and tuneless voices, like young\nthrostles who have not yet learned the song of their race.  With these\nwere mingled dogs, dun of colour, long of limb, sharp-nosed, gaunt and\ngreat; they took little heed of the children as they pulled them about in\ntheir play, but lay down, or loitered about, as though they had forgotten\nthe chase and the wild-wood.\n\nMerry was the folk with that fair tide, and the promise of the harvest,\nand the joy of life, and there was no weapon among them so close to the\nhouses, save here and there the boar-spear of some herdman or herd-woman\nlate come from the meadow.\n\nTall and for the most part comely were both men and women; the most of\nthem light-haired and grey-eyed, with cheek-bones somewhat high; white of\nskin but for the sun's burning, and the wind's parching, and whereas they\nwere tanned of a very ruddy and cheerful hue.  But the thralls were some\nof them of a shorter and darker breed, black-haired also and dark-eyed,\nlighter of limb; sometimes better knit, but sometimes crookeder of leg\nand knottier of arm.  But some also were of build and hue not much unlike\nto the freemen; and these doubtless came of some other Folk of the Goths\nwhich had given way in battle before the Men of the Mark, either they or\ntheir fathers.\n\nMoreover some of the freemen were unlike their fellows and kindred, being\nslenderer and closer-knit, and black-haired, but grey-eyed withal; and\namongst these were one or two who exceeded in beauty all others of the\nHouse.\n\nNow the sun was set and the glooming was at point to begin and the\nshadowless twilight lay upon the earth.  The nightingales on the borders\nof the wood sang ceaselessly from the scattered hazel-trees above the\ngreensward where the grass was cropped down close by the nibbling of the\nrabbits; but in spite of their song and the divers voices of the men-folk\nabout the houses, it was an evening on which sounds from aloof can be\nwell heard, since noises carry far at such tides.\n\nSuddenly they who were on the edges of those throngs and were the less\nnoisy, held themselves as if to listen; and a group that had gathered\nabout a minstrel to hear his story fell hearkening also round about the\nsilenced and hearkening tale-teller: some of the dancers and singers\nnoted them and in their turn stayed the dance and kept silence to\nhearken; and so from group to group spread the change, till all were\nstraining their ears to hearken the tidings.  Already the men of the\nnight-shift had heard it, and the shepherds of them had turned about, and\nwere trotting smartly back through the lanes of the tall wheat: but the\nhorse-herds were now scarce seen on the darkening meadow, as they\ngalloped on fast toward their herds to drive home the stallions.  For\nwhat they had heard was the tidings of war.\n\nThere was a sound in the air as of a humble-bee close to the ear of one\nlying on a grassy bank; or whiles as of a cow afar in the meadow lowing\nin the afternoon when milking-time draws nigh: but it was ever shriller\nthan the one, and fuller than the other; for it changed at whiles, though\nafter the first sound of it, it did not rise or fall, because the eve was\nwindless.  You might hear at once that for all it was afar, it was a\ngreat and mighty sound; nor did any that hearkened doubt what it was, but\nall knew it for the blast of the great war-horn of the Elkings, whose\nRoof lay up Mirkwood-water next to the Roof of the Wolfings.\n\nSo those little throngs broke up at once; and all the freemen, and of the\nthralls a good many, flocked, both men and women, to the Man's-door of\nthe hall, and streamed in quietly and with little talk, as men knowing\nthat they should hear all in due season.\n\nWithin under the Hall-Sun, amidst the woven stories of time past, sat the\nelders and chief warriors on the dais, and amidst of all a big strong man\nof forty winters, his dark beard a little grizzled, his eyes big and\ngrey.  Before him on the board lay the great War-horn of the Wolfings\ncarved out of the tusk of a sea-whale of the North and with many devices\non it and the Wolf amidst them all; its golden mouth-piece and rim\nwrought finely with flowers.  There it abode the blowing, until the\nspoken word of some messenger should set forth the tidings borne on the\nair by the horn of the Elkings.\n\nBut the name of the dark-haired chief was Thiodolf (to wit Folk-wolf) and\nhe was deemed the wisest man of the Wolfings, and the best man of his\nhands, and of heart most dauntless.  Beside him sat the fair woman called\nthe Hall-Sun; for she was his foster-daughter before men's eyes; and she\nwas black-haired and grey-eyed like to her fosterer, and never was woman\nfashioned fairer: she was young of years, scarce twenty winters old.\n\nThere sat the chiefs and elders on the dais, and round about stood the\nkindred intermingled with the thralls, and no man spake, for they were\nawaiting sure and certain tidings: and when all were come in who had a\nmind to, there was so great a silence in the hall, that the song of the\nnightingales on the wood-edge sounded clear and loud therein, and even\nthe chink of the bats about the upper windows could be heard.  Then\namidst the hush of men-folk, and the sounds of the life of the earth came\nanother sound that made all turn their eyes toward the door; and this was\nthe pad-pad of one running on the trodden and summer-dried ground anigh\nthe hall: it stopped for a moment at the Man's-door, and the door opened,\nand the throng parted, making way for the man that entered and came\nhastily up to the midst of the table that stood on the dais athwart the\nhall, and stood there panting, holding forth in his outstretched hand\nsomething which not all could see in the dimness of the hall-twilight,\nbut which all knew nevertheless.  The man was young, lithe and slender,\nand had no raiment but linen breeches round his middle, and skin shoes on\nhis feet.  As he stood there gathering his breath for speech, Thiodolf\nstood up, and poured mead into a drinking horn and held it out towards\nthe new-comer, and spake, but in rhyme and measure:\n\n   \"Welcome, thou evening-farer, and holy be thine head,\n   Since thou hast sought unto us in the heart of the Wolfings' stead;\n   Drink now of the horn of the mighty, and call a health if thou wilt\n   O'er the eddies of the mead-horn to the washing out of guilt.\n   For thou com'st to the peace of the Wolfings, and our very guest thou\n   art,\n   And meseems as I behold thee, that I look on a child of the Hart.\"\n\nBut the man put the horn from him with a hasty hand, and none said\nanother word to him until he had gotten his breath again; and then he\nsaid:\n\n   \"All hail ye Wood-Wolfs' children! nought may I drink the wine,\n   For the mouth and the maw that I carry this eve are nought of mine;\n   And my feet are the feet of the people, since the word went forth that\n   tide,\n   'O Elf here of the Hartings, no longer shalt thou bide\n   In any house of the Markmen than to speak the word and wend,\n   Till all men know the tidings and thine errand hath an end.'\n   Behold, O Wolves, the token and say if it be true!\n   I bear the shaft of battle that is four-wise cloven through,\n   And its each end dipped in the blood-stream, both the iron and the\n   horn,\n   And its midmost scathed with the fire; and the word that I have borne\n   Along with this war-token is, 'Wolfings of the Mark\n   Whenso ye see the war-shaft, by the daylight or the dark,\n   Busk ye to battle faring, and leave all work undone\n   Save the gathering for the handplay at the rising of the sun.\n   Three days hence is the hosting, and thither bear along\n   Your wains and your kine for the slaughter lest the journey should be\n   long.\n   For great is the Folk, saith the tidings, that against the Markmen\n   come;\n   In a far off land is their dwelling, whenso they sit at home,\n   And Welsh {1} is their tongue, and we wot not of the word that is in\n   their mouth,\n   As they march a many together from the cities of the South.'\"\n\nTherewith he held up yet for a minute the token of the war-arrow ragged\nand burnt and bloody; and turning about with it in his hand went his ways\nthrough the open door, none hindering; and when he was gone, it was as if\nthe token were still in the air there against the heads of the living\nmen, and the heads of the woven warriors, so intently had all gazed at\nit; and none doubted the tidings or the token.  Then said Thiodolf:\n\n   \"Forth will we Wolfing children, and cast a sound abroad:\n   The mouth of the sea-beast's weapon shall speak the battle-word;\n   And ye warriors hearken and hasten, and dight the weed of war,\n   And then to acre and meadow wend ye adown no more,\n   For this work shall be for the women to drive our neat from the mead,\n   And to yoke the wains, and to load them as the men of war have need.\"\n\nOut then they streamed from the hall, and no man was left therein save\nthe fair Hall-Sun sitting under the lamp whose name she bore.  But to the\nhighest of the slope they went, where was a mound made higher by man's\nhandiwork; thereon stood Thiodolf and handled the horn, turning his face\ntoward the downward course of Mirkwood-water; and he set the horn to his\nlips, and blew a long blast, and then again, and yet again the third\ntime; and all the sounds of the gathering night were hushed under the\nsound of the roaring of the war-horn of the Wolfings; and the Kin of the\nBeamings heard it as they sat in their hall, and they gat them ready to\nhearken to the bearer of the tidings who should follow on the sound of\nthe war-blast.\n\nBut when the last sound of the horn had died away, then said Thiodolf:\n\n   \"Now Wolfing children hearken, what the splintered War-shaft saith,\n   The fire scathed blood-stained aspen! we shall ride for life or death,\n   We warriors, a long journey with the herd and with the wain;\n   But unto this our homestead shall we wend us back again,\n   All the gleanings of the battle; and here for them that live\n   Shall stand the Roof of the Wolfings, and for them shall the meadow\n   thrive,\n   And the acres give their increase in the harvest of the year;\n   Now is no long departing since the Hall-Sun bideth here\n   'Neath the holy Roof of the Fathers, and the place of the Wolfing kin,\n   And the feast of our glad returning shall yet be held therein.\n   Hear the bidding of the War-shaft!  All men, both thralls and free,\n   'Twixt twenty winters and sixty, beneath the shield shall be,\n   And the hosting is at the Thing-stead, the Upper-mark anigh;\n   And we wend away to-morrow ere the Sun is noon-tide high.\"\n\nTherewith he stepped down from the mound, and went his way back to the\nhall; and manifold talk arose among the folk; and of the warriors some\nwere already dight for the journey, but most not, and a many went their\nways to see to their weapons and horses, and the rest back again into the\nhall.\n\nBy this time night had fallen, and between then and the dawning would be\nno darker hour, for the moon was just rising; a many of the horse-herds\nhad done their business, and were now making their way back again through\nthe lanes of the wheat, driving the stallions before them, who played\ntogether kicking, biting and squealing, paying but little heed to the\nstanding corn on either side.  Lights began to glitter now in the cots of\nthe thralls, and brighter still in the stithies where already you might\nhear the hammers clinking on the anvils, as men fell to looking to their\nbattle gear.\n\nBut the chief men and the women sat under their Roof on the eve of\ndeparture: and the tuns of mead were broached, and the horns filled and\nborne round by young maidens, and men ate and drank and were merry; and\nfrom time to time as some one of the warriors had done with giving heed\nto his weapons, he entered into the hall and fell into the company of\nthose whom he loved most and by whom he was best beloved; and whiles they\ntalked, and whiles they sang to the harp up and down that long house; and\nthe moon risen high shone in at the windows, and there was much laughter\nand merriment, and talk of deeds of arms of the old days on the eve of\nthat departure: till little by little weariness fell on them, and they\nwent their ways to slumber, and the hall was fallen silent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III--THIODOLF TALKETH WITH THE WOOD-SUN\n\n\nBut yet sat Thiodolf under the Hall-Sun for a while as one in deep\nthought; till at last as he stirred, his sword clattered on him; and then\nhe lifted up his eyes and looked down the hall and saw no man stirring,\nso he stood up and settled his raiment on him, and went forth, and so\ntook his ways through the hall-door, as one who hath an errand.\n\nThe moonlight lay in a great flood on the grass without, and the dew was\nfalling in the coldest hour of the night, and the earth smelled sweetly:\nthe whole habitation was asleep now, and there was no sound to be known\nas the sound of any creature, save that from the distant meadow came the\nlowing of a cow that had lost her calf, and that a white owl was flitting\nabout near the eaves of the Roof with her wild cry that sounded like the\nmocking of merriment now silent.\n\nThiodolf turned toward the wood, and walked steadily through the\nscattered hazel-trees, and thereby into the thick of the beech-trees,\nwhose boles grew smooth and silver-grey, high and close-set: and so on\nand on he went as one going by a well-known path, though there was no\npath, till all the moonlight was quenched under the close roof of the\nbeech-leaves, though yet for all the darkness, no man could go there and\nnot feel that the roof was green above him.  Still he went on in despite\nof the darkness, till at last there was a glimmer before him, that grew\ngreater till he came unto a small wood-lawn whereon the turf grew again,\nthough the grass was but thin, because little sunlight got to it, so\nclose and thick were the tall trees round about it.  In the heavens above\nit by now there was a light that was not all of the moon, though it might\nscarce be told whether that light were the memory of yesterday or the\npromise of to-morrow, since little of the heavens could be seen thence,\nsave the crown of them, because of the tall tree-tops.\n\nNought looked Thiodolf either at the heavens above, or the trees, as he\nstrode from off the husk-strewn floor of the beech wood on to the scanty\ngrass of the lawn, but his eyes looked straight before him at that which\nwas amidmost of the lawn: and little wonder was that; for there on a\nstone chair sat a woman exceeding fair, clad in glittering raiment, her\nhair lying as pale in the moonlight on the grey stone as the barley acres\nin the August night before the reaping-hook goes in amongst them.  She\nsat there as though she were awaiting someone, and he made no stop nor\nstay, but went straight up to her, and took her in his arms, and kissed\nher mouth and her eyes, and she him again; and then he sat himself down\nbeside her.  But her eyes looked kindly on him as she said:\n\n\"O Thiodolf, hardy art thou, that thou hast no fear to take me in thine\narms and to kiss me, as though thou hadst met in the meadow with a maiden\nof the Elkings: and I, who am a daughter of the Gods of thy kindred, and\na Chooser of the Slain!  Yea, and that upon the eve of battle and the\ndawn of thy departure to the stricken field!\"\n\n\"O Wood-Sun,\" he said \"thou art the treasure of life that I found when I\nwas young, and the love of life that I hold, now that my beard is\ngrizzling.  Since when did I fear thee, Wood-Sun?  Did I fear thee when\nfirst I saw thee, and we stood amidst the hazelled field, we twain living\namongst the slain?  But my sword was red with the blood of the foe, and\nmy raiment with mine own blood; and I was a-weary with the day's work,\nand sick with many strokes, and methought I was fainting into death.  And\nthere thou wert before me, full of life and ruddy and smiling both lips\nand eyes; thy raiment clean and clear, thine hands stained with blood:\nthen didst thou take me by my bloody and weary hand, and didst kiss my\nlips grown ashen pale, and thou saidst 'Come with me.'  And I strove to\ngo, and might not; so many and sore were my hurts.  Then amidst my\nsickness and my weariness was I merry; for I said to myself, This is the\ndeath of the warrior, and it is exceeding sweet.  What meaneth it?  Folk\nsaid of me; he is over young to meet the foeman; yet am I not over young\nto die?\"\n\nTherewith he laughed out amid the wild-wood, and his speech became song,\nand he said:\n\n   \"We wrought in the ring of the hazels, and the wine of war we drank:\n   From the tide when the sun stood highest to the hour wherein she sank:\n   And three kings came against me, the mightiest of the Huns,\n   The evil-eyed in battle, the swift-foot wily ones;\n   And they gnashed their teeth against me, and they gnawed on the shield-\n   rims there,\n   On that afternoon of summer, in the high-tide of the year.\n   Keen-eyed I gazed about me, and I saw the clouds draw up\n   Till the heavens were dark as the hollow of a wine-stained iron cup,\n   And the wild-deer lay unfeeding on the grass of the forest glades,\n   And all earth was scared with the thunder above our clashing blades.\n\n   \"Then sank a King before me, and on fell the other twain,\n   And I tossed up the reddened sword-blade in the gathered rush of the\n   rain\n   And the blood and the water blended, and fragrant grew the earth.\n\n   \"There long I turned and twisted within the battle-girth\n   Before those bears of onset: while out from the grey world streamed\n   The broad red lash of the lightening and in our byrnies gleamed.\n   And long I leapt and laboured in that garland of the fight\n   'Mid the blue blades and the lightening; but ere the sky grew light\n   The second of the Hun-kings on the rain-drenched daisies lay;\n   And we twain with the battle blinded a little while made stay,\n   And leaning on our sword-hilts each on the other gazed.\n\n   \"Then the rain grew less, and one corner of the veil of clouds was\n   raised,\n   And as from the broidered covering gleams out the shoulder white\n   Of the bed-mate of the warrior when on his wedding night\n   He layeth his hand to the linen; so, down there in the west\n   Gleamed out the naked heaven: but the wrath rose up in my breast,\n   And the sword in my hand rose with it, and I leaped and hewed at the\n   Hun;\n   And from him too flared the war-flame, and the blades danced bright in\n   the sun\n   Come back to the earth for a little before the ending of day.\n\n   \"There then with all that was in him did the Hun play out the play,\n   Till he fell, and left me tottering, and I turned my feet to wend\n   To the place of the mound of the mighty, the gate of the way without\n   end.\n   And there thou wert.  How was it, thou Chooser of the Slain,\n   Did I die in thine arms, and thereafter did thy mouth-kiss wake me\n   again?\"\n\nEre the last sound of his voice was done she turned and kissed him; and\nthen she said; \"Never hadst thou a fear and thine heart is full of\nhardihood.\"\n\nThen he said:\n\n   \"'Tis the hardy heart, beloved, that keepeth me alive,\n   As the king-leek in the garden by the rain and the sun doth thrive,\n   So I thrive by the praise of the people; it is blent with my drink and\n   my meat;\n   As I slumber in the night-tide it laps me soft and sweet;\n   And through the chamber window when I waken in the morn\n   With the wind of the sun's arising from the meadow is it borne\n   And biddeth me remember that yet I live on earth:\n   Then I rise and my might is with me, and fills my heart with mirth,\n   As I think of the praise of the people; and all this joy I win\n   By the deeds that my heart commandeth and the hope that lieth\n   therein.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" she said, \"but day runneth ever on the heels of day, and there are\nmany and many days; and betwixt them do they carry eld.\"\n\n\"Yet art thou no older than in days bygone,\" said he.  \"Is it so, O\nDaughter of the Gods, that thou wert never born, but wert from before the\nframing of the mountains, from the beginning of all things?\"\n\nBut she said:\n\n   \"Nay, nay; I began, I was born; although it may be indeed\n   That not on the hills of the earth I sprang from the godhead's seed.\n   And e'en as my birth and my waxing shall be my waning and end.\n   But thou on many an errand, to many a field dost wend\n   Where the bow at adventure bended, or the fleeing dastard's spear\n   Oft lulleth the mirth of the mighty.  Now me thou dost not fear,\n   Yet fear with me, beloved, for the mighty Maid I fear;\n   And Doom is her name, and full often she maketh me afraid\n   And even now meseemeth on my life her hand is laid.\"\n\nBut he laughed and said:\n\n   \"In what land is she abiding?  Is she near or far away?\n   Will she draw up close beside me in the press of the battle play?\n   And if then I may not smite her 'midst the warriors of the field\n   With the pale blade of my fathers, will she bide the shove of my\n   shield?\"\n\nBut sadly she sang in answer:\n\n   \"In many a stead Doom dwelleth, nor sleepeth day nor night:\n   The rim of the bowl she kisseth, and beareth the chambering light\n   When the kings of men wend happy to the bride-bed from the board.\n   It is little to say that she wendeth the edge of the grinded sword,\n   When about the house half builded she hangeth many a day;\n   The ship from the strand she shoveth, and on his wonted way\n   By the mountain-hunter fareth where his foot ne'er failed before:\n   She is where the high bank crumbles at last on the river's shore:\n   The mower's scythe she whetteth; and lulleth the shepherd to sleep\n   Where the deadly ling-worm wakeneth in the desert of the sheep.\n   Now we that come of the God-kin of her redes for ourselves we wot,\n   But her will with the lives of men-folk and their ending know we not.\n   So therefore I bid thee not fear for thyself of Doom and her deed,\n   But for me: and I bid thee hearken to the helping of my need.\n   Or else--Art thou happy in life, or lusteth thou to die\n   In the flower of thy days, when thy glory and thy longing bloom on\n   high?\"\n\nBut Thiodolf answered her:\n\n   \"I have deemed, and long have I deemed that this is my second life,\n   That my first one waned with my wounding when thou cam'st to the ring\n   of strife.\n   For when in thine arms I wakened on the hazelled field of yore,\n   Meseemed I had newly arisen to a world I knew no more,\n   So much had all things brightened on that dewy dawn of day.\n   It was dark dull death that I looked for when my thought had died\n   away.\n   It was lovely life that I woke to; and from that day henceforth\n   My joy of the life of man-folk was manifolded of worth.\n   Far fairer the fields of the morning than I had known them erst,\n   And the acres where I wended, and the corn with its half-slaked\n   thirst;\n   And the noble Roof of the Wolfings, and the hawks that sat thereon;\n   And the bodies of my kindred whose deliverance I had won;\n   And the glimmering of the Hall-Sun in the dusky house of old;\n   And my name in the mouth of the maidens, and the praises of the bold,\n   As I sat in my battle-raiment, and the ruddy spear well steeled\n   Leaned 'gainst my side war-battered, and the wounds thine hand had\n   healed.\n   Yea, from that morn thenceforward has my life been good indeed,\n   The gain of to-day was goodly, and good to-morrow's need,\n   And good the whirl of the battle, and the broil I wielded there,\n   Till I fashioned the ordered onset, and the unhoped victory fair.\n   And good were the days thereafter of utter deedless rest\n   And the prattle of thy daughter, and her hands on my unmailed breast.\n   Ah good is the life thou hast given, the life that mine hands have\n   won.\n   And where shall be the ending till the world is all undone?\n   Here sit we twain together, and both we in Godhead clad,\n   We twain of the Wolfing kindred, and each of the other glad.\"\n\nBut she answered, and her face grew darker withal:\n\n   \"O mighty man and joyous, art thou of the Wolfing kin?\n   'Twas no evil deed when we mingled, nor lieth doom therein.\n   Thou lovely man, thou black-haired, thou shalt die and have done no\n   ill.\n   Fame-crowned are the deeds of thy doing, and the mouths of men they\n   fill.\n   Thou betterer of the Godfolk, enduring is thy fame:\n   Yet as a painted image of a dream is thy dreaded name.\n   Of an alien folk thou comest, that we twain might be one indeed.\n   Thou shalt die one day.  So hearken, to help me at my need.\"\n\nHis face grew troubled and he said: \"What is this word that I am no chief\nof the Wolfings?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" she said, \"but better than they.  Look thou on the face of our\ndaughter the Hall-Sun, thy daughter and mine: favoureth she at all of\nme?\"\n\nHe laughed: \"Yea, whereas she is fair, but not otherwise.  This is a hard\nsaying, that I dwell among an alien kindred, and it wotteth not thereof.\nWhy hast thou not told me hereof before?\"\n\nShe said: \"It needed not to tell thee because thy day was waxing, as now\nit waneth.  Once more I bid thee hearken and do my bidding though it be\nhard to thee.\"\n\nHe answered: \"Even so will I as much as I may; and thus wise must thou\nlook upon it, that I love life, and fear not death.\"\n\nThen she spake, and again her words fell into rhyme:\n\n   \"In forty fights hast thou foughten, and been worsted but in four;\n   And I looked on and was merry; and ever more and more\n   Wert thou dear to the heart of the Wood-Sun, and the Chooser of the\n   Slain.\n   But now whereas ye are wending with slaughter-herd and wain\n   To meet a folk that ye know not, a wonder, a peerless foe,\n   I fear for thy glory's waning, and I see thee lying alow.\"\n\nThen he brake in: \"Herein is little shame to be worsted by the might of\nthe mightiest: if this so mighty folk sheareth a limb off the tree of my\nfame, yet shall it wax again.\"\n\nBut she sang:\n\n   \"In forty fights hast thou foughten, and beside thee who but I\n   Beheld the wind-tossed banners, and saw the aspen fly?\n   But to-day to thy war I wend not, for Weird withholdeth me\n   And sore my heart forebodeth for the battle that shall be.\n   To-day with thee I wend not; so I feared, and lo my feet,\n   That are wont to the woodland girdle of the acres of the wheat,\n   For thee among strange people and the foeman's throng have trod,\n   And I tell thee their banner of battle is a wise and a mighty God.\n   For these are the folk of the cities, and in wondrous wise they dwell\n   'Mid confusion of heaped houses, dim and black as the face of hell;\n   Though therefrom rise roofs most goodly, where their captains and\n   their kings\n   Dwell amidst the walls of marble in abundance of fair things;\n   And 'mid these, nor worser nor better, but builded otherwise\n   Stand the Houses of the Fathers, and the hidden mysteries.\n   And as close as are the tree-trunks that within the beech-wood thrive\n   E'en so many are their pillars; and therein like men alive\n   Stand the images of god-folk in such raiment as they wore\n   In the years before the cities and the hidden days of yore.\n   Ah for the gold that I gazed on! and their store of battle gear,\n   And strange engines that I knew not, or the end for which they were.\n   Ah for the ordered wisdom of the war-array of these,\n   And the folks that are sitting about them in dumb down-trodden peace!\n   So I thought now fareth war-ward my well-beloved friend,\n   And the weird of the Gods hath doomed it that no more with him may I\n   wend!\n   Woe's me for the war of the Wolfings wherefrom I am sundered apart,\n   And the fruitless death of the war-wise, and the doom of the hardy\n   heart!\"\n\nThen he answered, and his eyes grew kind as he looked on her:\n\n   \"For thy fair love I thank thee, and thy faithful word, O friend!\n   But how might it otherwise happen but we twain must meet in the end,\n   The God of this mighty people and the Markmen and their kin?\n   Lo, this is the weird of the world, and what may we do herein?\"\n\nThen mirth came into her face again as she said:\n\n\"Who wotteth of Weird, and what she is till the weird is accomplished?\nLong hath it been my weird to love thee and to fashion deeds for thee as\nI may; nor will I depart from it now.\"  And she sang:\n\n   \"Keen-edged is the sword of the city, and bitter is its spear,\n   But thy breast in the battle, beloved, hath a wall of the stithy's\n   gear.\n   What now is thy wont in the handplay with the helm and the hauberk of\n   rings?\n   Farest thou as the thrall and the cot-carle, or clad in the raiment of\n   kings?\"\n\nHe started, and his face reddened as he answered:\n\n   \"O Wood-Sun thou wottest our battle and the way wherein we fare:\n   That oft at the battle's beginning the helm and the hauberk we bear;\n   Lest the shaft of the fleeing coward or the bow at adventure bent\n   Should slay us ere the need be, ere our might be given and spent.\n   Yet oft ere the fight is over, and Doom hath scattered the foe,\n   No leader of the people by his war-gear shall ye know,\n   But by his hurts the rather, from the cot-carle and the thrall:\n   For when all is done that a man may, 'tis the hour for a man to fall.\"\n\nShe yet smiled as she said in answer:\n\n   \"O Folk-wolf, heed and hearken; for when shall thy life be spent\n   And the Folk wherein thou dwellest with thy death be well content?\n   Whenso folk need the fire, do they hew the apple-tree,\n   And burn the Mother of Blossom and the fruit that is to be?\n   Or me wilt thou bid to thy grave-mound because thy battle-wrath\n   May nothing more be bridled than the whirl wind on his path?\n   So hearken and do my bidding, for the hauberk shalt thou bear\n   E'en when the other warriors cast off their battle-gear.\n   So come thou, come unwounded from the war-field of the south,\n   And sit with me in the beech-wood, and kiss me, eyes and mouth.\"\n\nAnd she kissed him in very deed, and made much of him, and fawned on him,\nand laid her hand on his breast, and he was soft and blithe with her, but\nat last he laughed and said:\n\n   \"God's Daughter, long hast thou lived, and many a matter seen,\n   And men full often grieving for the deed that might have been;\n   But here my heart thou wheedlest as a maid of tender years\n   When first in the arms of her darling the horn of war she hears.\n   Thou knowest the axe to be heavy, and the sword, how keen it is;\n   But that Doom of which thou hast spoken, wilt thou not tell of this,\n   God's Daughter, how it sheareth, and how it breaketh through\n   Each wall that the warrior buildeth, yea all deeds that he may do?\n   What might in the hammer's leavings, in the fire's thrall shall abide\n   To turn that Folks' o'erwhelmer from the fated warrior's side?\"\n\nThen she laughed in her turn, and loudly; but so sweetly that the sound\nof her voice mingled with the first song of a newly awakened wood-thrush\nsitting on a rowan twig on the edge of the Wood-lawn.  But she said:\n\n   \"Yea, I that am God's Daughter may tell thee never a whit\n   From what land cometh the hauberk nor what smith smithied it,\n   That thou shalt wear in the handplay from the first stroke to the\n   last;\n   But this thereof I tell thee, that it holdeth firm and fast\n   The life of the body it lappeth, if the gift of the Godfolk it be.\n   Lo this is the yoke-mate of doom, and the gift of me unto thee.\"\n\nThen she leaned down from the stone whereon they sat, and her hand was in\nthe dewy grass for a little, and then it lifted up a dark grey rippling\ncoat of rings; and she straightened herself in the seat again, and laid\nthat hauberk on the knees of Thiodolf, and he put his hand to it, and\nturned it about, while he pondered long: then at last he said:\n\n   \"What evil thing abideth with this warder of the strife,\n   This burg and treasure chamber for the hoarding of my life?\n   For this is the work of the dwarfs, and no kindly kin of the earth;\n   And all we fear the dwarf-kin and their anger and sorrow and mirth.\"\n\nShe cast her arms about him and fondled him, and her voice grew sweeter\nthan the voice of any mortal thing as she answered:\n\n   \"No ill for thee, beloved, or for me in the hauberk lies;\n   No sundering grief is in it, no lonely miseries.\n   But we shall abide together, and that new life I gave,\n   For a long while yet henceforward we twain its joy shall have.\n   Yea, if thou dost my bidding to wear my gift in the fight\n   No hunter of the wild-wood at the changing of the night\n   Shall see my shape on thy grave-mound or my tears in the morning find\n   With the dew of the morning mingled; nor with the evening wind\n   Shall my body pass the shepherd as he wandereth in the mead\n   And fill him with forebodings on the eve of the Wolfings' need.\n   Nor the horse-herd wake in the midnight and hear my fateful cry;\n   Nor yet shall the Wolfing women hear words on the wind go by\n   As they weave and spin the night down when the House is gone to the\n   war,\n   And weep for the swains they wedded and the children that they bore.\n   Yea do my bidding, O Folk-wolf, lest a grief of the Gods should weigh\n   On the ancient House of the Wolfings and my death o'ercloud its day.\"\n\nAnd still she clung about him, while he spake no word of yea or nay: but\nat the last he let himself glide wholly into her arms, and the\ndwarf-wrought hauberk fell from his knees and lay on the grass.\n\nSo they abode together in that wood-lawn till the twilight was long gone,\nand the sun arisen for some while.  And when Thiodolf stepped out of the\nbeech-wood into the broad sunshine dappled with the shadow of the leaves\nof the hazels moving gently in the fresh morning air, he was covered from\nthe neck to the knee by a hauberk of rings dark and grey and gleaming,\nfashioned by the dwarfs of ancient days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV--THE HOUSE FARETH TO THE WAR\n\n\nNow when Thiodolf came back to the habitations of the kindred the whole\nHouse was astir, both thrall-men and women, and free women hurrying from\ncot to stithy, and from stithy to hall bearing the last of the war-gear\nor raiment for the fighting-men.  But they for their part were some\nstanding about anigh the Man's-door, some sitting gravely within the\nhall, some watching the hurry of the thralls and women from the midmost\nof the open space amidst of the habitations, whereon there stood yet\ncertain wains which were belated: for the most of the wains were now\nstanding with the oxen already yoked to them down in the meadow past the\nacres, encircled by a confused throng of kine and horses and thrall-folk,\nfor thither had all the beasts for the slaughter, and the horses for the\nwarriors been brought; and there were the horses tethered or held by the\nthralls; some indeed were already saddled and bridled, and on others were\nthe thralls doing the harness.\n\nBut as for the wains of the Markmen, they were stoutly framed of ash-tree\nwith panels of aspen, and they were broad-wheeled so that they might go\nover rough and smooth.  They had high tilts over them well framed of\nwillow-poles covered over with squares of black felt over-lapping like\nshingles; which felt they made of the rough of their fleeces, for they\nhad many sheep.  And these wains were to them for houses upon the way if\nneed were, and therein as now were stored their meal and their war-store\nand after fight they would flit their wounded men in them, such as were\ntoo sorely hurt to back a horse: nor must it be hidden that whiles they\nlooked to bring back with them the treasure of the south.  Moreover the\nfolk if they were worsted in any battle, instead of fleeing without more\ndone, would often draw back fighting into a garth made by these wains,\nand guarded by some of their thralls; and there would abide the onset of\nthose who had thrust them back in the field.  And this garth they called\nthe Wain-burg.\n\nSo now stood three of these wains aforesaid belated amidst of the\nhabitations of the House, their yoke-beasts standing or lying down\nunharnessed as yet to them: but in the very midst of that place was a\nwain unlike to them; smaller than they but higher; square of shape as to\nthe floor of it; built lighter than they, yet far stronger; as the\nwarrior is stronger than the big carle and trencher-licker that loiters\nabout the hall; and from the midst of this wain arose a mast made of a\ntall straight fir-tree, and thereon hung the banner of the Wolfings,\nwherein was wrought the image of the Wolf, but red of hue as a token of\nwar, and with his mouth open and gaping upon the foemen.  Also whereas\nthe other wains were drawn by mere oxen, and those of divers colours, as\nchance would have it, the wain of the banner was drawn by ten black bulls\nof the mightiest of the herd, deep-dewlapped, high-crested and\ncurly-browed; and their harness was decked with gold, and so was the wain\nitself, and the woodwork of it painted red with vermilion.  There then\nstood the Banner of the House of the Wolfings awaiting the departure of\nthe warriors to the hosting.\n\nSo Thiodolf stood on the top of the bent beside that same mound wherefrom\nhe had blown the War-horn yester-eve, and which was called the Hill of\nSpeech, and he shaded his eyes with his hand and looked around him; and\neven therewith the carles fell to yoking the beasts to the belated wains,\nand the warriors gathered together from out of the mixed throngs, and\ncame from the Roof and the Man's-door and all set their faces toward the\nHill of Speech.\n\nSo Thiodolf knew that all was ready for departure, and it wanted but an\nhour of high-noon; so he turned about and went into the Hall, and there\nfound his shield and his spear hanging in his sleeping place beside the\nhauberk he was wont to wear; then he looked, as one striving with\nthought, at his empty hauberk and his own body covered with the dwarf-\nwrought rings; nor did his face change as he took his shield and his\nspear and turned away.  Then he went to the dais and there sat his foster-\ndaughter (as men deemed her) sitting amidst of it as yester-eve, and now\narrayed in a garment of fine white wool, on the breast whereof were\nwrought in gold two beasts ramping up against a fire-altar whereon a\nflame flickered; and on the skirts and the hems were other devices, of\nwolves chasing deer, and men shooting with the bow; and that garment was\nan ancient treasure; but she had a broad girdle of gold and gems about\nher middle, and on her arms and neck she wore great gold rings wrought\ndelicately.  By then there were few save the Hall-Sun under the Roof, and\nthey but the oldest of the women, or a few very old men, and some who\nwere ailing and might not go abroad.  But before her on the thwart table\nlay the Great War-horn awaiting the coming of Thiodolf to give signal of\ndeparture.\n\nThen went Thiodolf to the Hall-Sun and kissed and embraced her fondly,\nand she gave the horn into his hands, and he went forth and up on to the\nHill of Speech, and blew thence a short blast on the horn, and then came\nall the Warriors flocking to the Hill of Speech, each man stark in his\nharness, alert and joyous.\n\nThen presently through the Man's-door came the Hall-Sun in that ancient\ngarment, which fell straight and stiff down to her ancles as she stepped\nlightly and slowly along, her head crowned with a garland of eglantine.\nIn her right hand also she held a great torch of wax lighted, whose flame\namidst the bright sunlight looked like a wavering leaf of vermilion.\n\nThe warriors saw her, and made a lane for her, and she made her way\nthrough it up to the Hill of Speech, and she went up to the top of it and\nstood there holding the lighted candle in her hand, so that all might see\nit.  Then suddenly was there as great a silence as there may be on a\nforenoon of summer; for even the thralls down in the meadow had noted\nwhat was toward, and ceased their talking and shouting, for as far off as\nthey were, since they could see that the Hall-Sun stood on the Hill of\nSpeech, for the wood was dark behind her; so they knew the Farewell Flame\nwas lighted, and that the maiden would speak; and to all men her speech\nwas a boding of good or of ill.\n\nSo she began in a sweet voice yet clear and far-reaching:\n\n   \"O Warriors of the Wolfings by the token of the flame\n   That here in my right hand flickers, come aback to the House of the\n   Name!\n   For there yet burneth the Hall-Sun beneath the Wolfing roof,\n   And this flame is litten from it, nor as now shall it fare aloof\n   Till again it seeth the mighty and the men to be gleaned from the\n   fight.\n   So wend ye as weird willeth and let your hearts be light;\n   For through your days of battle all the deeds of our days shall be\n   fair.\n   To-morrow beginneth the haysel, as if every carle were here;\n   And who knoweth ere your returning but the hook shall smite the corn?\n   But the kine shall go down to the meadow as their wont is every morn,\n   And each eve shall come back to the byre; and the mares and foals\n   afield\n   Shall ever be heeded duly; and all things shall their increase yield.\n   And if it shall befal us that hither cometh a foe\n   Here have we swains of the shepherds good players with the bow,\n   And old men battle-crafty whose might is nowise spent,\n   And women fell and fearless well wont to tread the bent\n   Amid the sheep and the oxen; and their hands are hard with the spear\n   And their arms are strong and stalwart the battle shield to bear;\n   And store of weapons have we and the mighty walls of the stead;\n   And the Roof shall abide you steadfast with the Hall-Sun overhead.\n   Lo here I quench this candle that is lit from the Hall-Sun's flame\n   Which unto the Wild-wood clearing with the kin of the Wolfings came\n   And shall wend with their departure to the limits of the earth;\n   Nor again shall the torch be lighted till in sorrow or in mirth,\n   Overthrown or overthrowing, ye come aback once more,\n   And bid me bear the candle before the Wolf of War.\"\n\nAs she spake the word she turned the candle downward, and thrust it\nagainst the grass and quenched it indeed; but the whole throng of\nwarriors turned about, for the bulls of the banner-wain lowered their\nheads in the yokes and began to draw, lowing mightily; and the wain\ncreaked and moved on, and all the men-at-arms followed after, and down\nthey went through the lanes of the corn, and a many women and children\nand old men went down into the mead with them.\n\nIn their hearts they all wondered what the Hall-Sun's words might\nsignify; for she had told them nought about the battles to be, saving\nthat some should come back to the Mid-mark; whereas aforetime somewhat\nwould she foretell to them concerning the fortune of the fight, and now\nhad she said to them nothing but what their own hearts told them.\nNevertheless they bore their crests high as they followed the Wolf down\ninto the meadow, where all was now ready for departure.  There they\narrayed themselves and went down to the lip of Mirkwood-water; and such\nwas their array that the banner went first, save that a band of fully\narmed men went before it; and behind it and about were the others as well\narrayed as they.  Then went the wains that bore their munition, with\narmed carles of the thrall-folk about them, who were ever the guard of\nthe wains, and should never leave them night or day; and lastly went the\ngreat band of the warriors and the rest of the thralls with them.\n\nAs to their war-gear, all the freemen had helms of some kind, but not all\nof iron or steel; for some bore helms fashioned of horse-hide and bull-\nhide covered over with the similitude of a Wolf's muzzle; nor were these\nill-defence against a sword-stroke.  Shields they all had, and all these\nhad the image of the Wolf marked on them, but for many their thralls bore\nthem on the journey.  As to their body-armour some carried long byrnies\nof ring-mail, some coats of leather covered with splinters of horn laid\nlike the shingles of a roof, and some skin-coats only: whereof indeed\nthere were some of which tales went that they were better than the\nsmith's hammer-work, because they had had spells sung over them to keep\nout steel or iron.\n\nBut for their weapons, they bore spears with shafts not very long, some\neight feet of our measure; and axes heavy and long-shafted; and bills\nwith great and broad heads; and some few, but not many of the kindred\nwere bowmen, and every freeman was girt with a sword; but of the swords\nsome were long and two-edged, some short and heavy, cutting on one edge,\nand these were of the kind which they and our forefathers long after\ncalled 'sax.'  Thus were the freemen arrayed.\n\nBut for the thralls, there were many bows among them, especially among\nthose who were of blood alien from the Goths; the others bore short\nspears, and feathered broad arrows, and clubs bound with iron, and knives\nand axes, but not every man of them had a sword.  Few iron helms they had\nand no ringed byrnies, but most had a buckler at their backs with no sign\nor symbol on it.\n\nThus then set forth the fighting men of the House of the Wolf toward the\nThing-stead of the Upper-mark where the hosting was to be, and by then\nthey were moving up along the side of Mirkwood-water it was somewhat past\nhigh-noon.\n\nBut the stay-at-home people who had come down with them to the meadow\nlingered long in that place; and much foreboding there was among them of\nevil to come; and of the old folk, some remembered tales of the past days\nof the Markmen, and how they had come from the ends of the earth, and the\nmountains where none dwell now but the Gods of their kindreds; and many\nof these tales told of their woes and their wars as they went from river\nto river and from wild-wood to wild-wood before they had established\ntheir Houses in the Mark, and fallen to dwelling there season by season\nand year by year whether the days were good or ill.  And it fell into\ntheir hearts that now at last mayhappen was their abiding wearing out to\nan end, and that the day should soon be when they should have to bear the\nHall-Sun through the wild-wood, and seek a new dwelling-place afar from\nthe troubling of these newly arisen Welsh foemen.\n\nAnd so those of them who could not rid themselves of this foreboding were\nsomewhat heavier of heart than their wont was when the House went to the\nWar.  For long had they abided there in the Mark, and the life was sweet\nto them which they knew, and the life which they knew not was bitter to\nthem: and Mirkwood-water was become as a God to them no less than to\ntheir fathers of old time; nor lesser was the mead where fed the horses\nthat they loved and the kine that they had reared, and the sheep that\nthey guarded from the Wolf of the Wild-wood: and they worshipped the kind\nacres which they themselves and their fathers had made fruitful, wedding\nthem to the seasons of seed-time and harvest, that the birth that came\nfrom them might become a part of the kindred of the Wolf, and the joy and\nmight of past springs and summers might run in the blood of the Wolfing\nchildren.  And a dear God indeed to them was the Roof of the Kindred,\nthat their fathers had built and that they yet warded against the fire\nand the lightening and the wind and the snow, and the passing of the days\nthat devour and the years that heap the dust over the work of men.  They\nthought of how it had stood, and seen so many generations of men come and\ngo; how often it had welcomed the new-born babe, and given farewell to\nthe old man: how many secrets of the past it knew; how many tales which\nmen of the present had forgotten, but which yet mayhap men of times to\ncome should learn of it; for to them yet living it had spoken time and\nagain, and had told them what their fathers had not told them, and it\nheld the memories of the generations and the very life of the Wolfings\nand their hopes for the days to be.\n\nThus these poor people thought of the Gods whom they worshipped, and the\nfriends whom they loved, and could not choose but be heavy-hearted when\nthey thought that the wild-wood was awaiting them to swallow all up, and\ntake away from them their Gods and their friends and the mirth of their\nlife, and burden them with hunger and thirst and weariness, that their\nchildren might begin once more to build the House and establish the\ndwelling, and call new places by old names, and worship new Gods with the\nancient worship.\n\nSuch imaginations of trouble then were in the hearts of the stay-at-homes\nof the Wolfings; the tale tells not indeed that all had such forebodings,\nbut chiefly the old folk who were nursing the end of their life-days\namidst the cherishing Kindred of the House.\n\nBut now they were beginning to turn them back again to the habitations,\nand a thin stream was flowing through the acres, when they heard a\nconfused sound drawing near blended of horns and the lowing of beasts and\nthe shouting of men; and they looked and saw a throng of brightly clad\nmen coming up stream alongside of Mirkwood-water; and they were not\nafraid, for they knew that it must be some other company of the Markmen\njourneying to the hosting of the Folk: and presently they saw that it was\nthe House of the Beamings following their banner on the way to the Thing-\nstead.  But when the new-comers saw the throng out in the meads, some of\ntheir young men pricked on their horses and galloped on past the women\nand old men, to whom they threw a greeting, as they ran past to catch up\nwith the bands of the Wolfings; for between the two houses was there\naffinity, and much good liking lay between them; and the stay-at-homes,\nmany of them, lingered yet till the main body of the Beamings came with\ntheir banner: and their array was much like to that of the Wolfings, but\ngayer; for whereas it pleased the latter to darken all their war-gear to\nthe colour of the grey Wolf, the Beamings polished all their gear as\nbright as might be, and their raiment also was mostly bright green of hue\nand much beflowered; and the sign on their banner was a green leafy tree,\nand the wain was drawn by great white bulls.\n\nSo when their company drew anear to the throng of the stay-at-homes they\nwent to meet and greet each other, and tell tidings to each other; but\ntheir banner held steadily onward amidst their converse, and in a little\nwhile they followed it, for the way was long to the Thing-stead of the\nUpper-mark.\n\nSo passed away the fighting men by the side of Mirkwood-water, and the\nthrong of the stay-at-homes melted slowly from the meadow and trickled\nalong through the acres to the habitations of the Wolfings, and there\nthey fell to doing whatso of work or play came to their hands.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V--CONCERNING THE HALL-SUN\n\n\nWhen the warriors and the others had gone down to the mead, the Hall-Sun\nwas left standing on the Hill of Speech, and she stood there till she saw\nthe host in due array going on its ways dark and bright and beautiful;\nthen she made as if to turn aback to the Great Roof; but all at once it\nseemed to her as if something held her back, as if her will to move had\ndeparted from her, and that she could not put one foot before the other.\nSo she lingered on the Hill, and the quenched candle fell from her hand,\nand presently she sank adown on the grass and sat there with the face of\none thinking intently.  Yet was it with her that a thousand thoughts were\nin her mind at once and no one of them uppermost, and images of what had\nbeen and what then was flickered about in her brain, and betwixt them\nwere engendered images of things to be, but unstable and not to be trowed\nin.  So sat the Hall-Sun on the Hill of Speech lost in a dream of the\nday, whose stories were as little clear as those of a night-dream.\n\nBut as she sat musing thus, came to her a woman exceeding old to look on,\nwhom she knew not as one of the kindred or a thrall; and this carline\ngreeted her by the name of Hall-Sun and said:\n\n   \"Hail, Hall-Sun of the Markmen! how fares it now with thee\n   When the whelps of the Woodbeast wander with the Leafage of the Tree\n   All up the Mirkwood-water to seek what they shall find,\n   The oak-boles of the battle and the war-wood stark and blind?\"\n\nThen answered the maiden:\n\n   \"It fares with me, O mother, that my soul would fain go forth\n   To behold the ways of the battle, and the praise of the warriors'\n   worth.\n   But yet is it held entangled in a maze of many a thing,\n   As the low-grown bramble holdeth the brake-shoots of the Spring.\n   I think of the thing that hath been, but no shape is in my thought;\n   I think of the day that passeth, and its story comes to nought.\n   I think of the days that shall be, nor shape I any tale.\n   I will hearken thee, O mother, if hearkening may avail.\"\n\nThe Carline gazed at her with dark eyes that shone brightly from amidst\nher brown wrinkled face: then she sat herself down beside her and spake:\n\n   \"From a far folk have I wandered and I come of an alien blood,\n   But I know all tales of the Wolfings and their evil and their good;\n   And when I heard of thy fairness, thereof I heard it said,\n   That for thee should be never a bridal nor a place in the warrior's\n   bed.\"\n\nThe maiden neither reddened nor paled, but looking with calm steady eyes\ninto the Carline's face she answered:\n\n   \"Yea true it is, I am wedded to the mighty ones of old,\n   And the fathers of the Wolfings ere the days of field and fold.\"\n\nThen a smile came into the eyes of the old woman and she said.\n\n   \"How glad shall be thy mother of thy worship and thy worth,\n   And the father that begat thee if yet they dwell on earth!\"\n\nBut the Hall-Sun answered in the same steady manner as before:\n\n   \"None knoweth who is my mother, nor my very father's name;\n   But when to the House of the Wolfings a wild-wood waif I came,\n   They gave me a foster-mother an ancient dame and good,\n   And a glorious foster-father the best of all the blood.\"\n\nSpake the Carline.\n\n   \"Yea, I have heard the story, but scarce therein might I trow\n   That thou with all thy beauty wert born 'neath the oaken bough,\n   And hast crawled a naked baby o'er the rain-drenched autumn-grass;\n   Wilt thou tell the wandering woman what wise it cometh to pass\n   That thou art the Mid-mark's Hall-Sun, and the sign of the Wolfings'\n   gain?\n   Thou shalt pleasure me much by the telling, and there of shalt thou be\n   fain.\"\n\nThen answered the Hall-Sun.\n\n   \"Yea; thus much I remember for the first of my memories;\n   That I lay on the grass in the morning and above were the boughs of\n   the trees.\n   But nought naked was I as the wood-whelp, but clad in linen white,\n   And adown the glades of the oakwood the morning sun lay bright.\n   Then a hind came out of the thicket and stood on the sunlit glade,\n   And turned her head toward the oak tree and a step on toward me made.\n   Then stopped, and bounded aback, and away as if in fear,\n   That I saw her no more; then I wondered, though sitting close anear\n   Was a she-wolf great and grisly.  But with her was I wont to play,\n   And pull her ears, and belabour her rugged sides and grey,\n   And hold her jaws together, while she whimpered, slobbering\n   For the love of my love; and nowise I deemed her a fearsome thing.\n   There she sat as though she were watching, and o'er head a blue-winged\n   jay\n   Shrieked out from the topmost oak-twigs, and a squirrel ran his way\n   Two tree-trunks off.  But the she-wolf arose up suddenly\n   And growled with her neck-fell bristling, as if danger drew anigh;\n   And therewith I heard a footstep, for nice was my ear to catch\n   All the noises of the wild-wood; so there did we sit at watch\n   While the sound of feet grew nigher: then I clapped hand on hand\n   And crowed for joy and gladness, for there out in the sun did stand\n   A man, a glorious creature with a gleaming helm on his head,\n   And gold rings on his arms, in raiment gold-broidered crimson-red.\n   Straightway he strode up toward us nor heeded the wolf of the wood\n   But sang as he went in the oak-glade, as a man whose thought is good,\n   And nought she heeded the warrior, but tame as a sheep was grown,\n   And trotted away through the wild-wood with her crest all laid adown.\n   Then came the man and sat down by the oak-bole close unto me\n   And took me up nought fearful and set me on his knee.\n   And his face was kind and lovely, so my cheek to his cheek I laid\n   And touched his cold bright war-helm and with his gold rings played,\n   And hearkened his words, though I knew not what tale they had to tell,\n   Yet fain was my heart of their music, and meseemed I loved him well.\n   So we fared for a while and were fain, till he set down my feet on the\n   grass,\n   And kissed me and stood up himself, and away through the wood did he\n   pass.\n   And then came back the she-wolf and with her I played and was fain.\n   Lo the first thing I remember: wilt thou have me babble again?\"\n\nSpake the Carline and her face was soft and kind:\n\n   \"Nay damsel, long would I hearken to thy voice this summer day.\n   But how didst thou leave the wild-wood, what people brought thee\n   away?\"\n\nThen said the Hall-Sun:\n\n   \"I awoke on a time in the even, and voices I heard as I woke;\n   And there was I in the wild-wood by the bole of the ancient oak,\n   And a ring of men was around me, and glad was I indeed\n   As I looked upon their faces and the fashion of their weed.\n   For I gazed on the red and the scarlet and the beaten silver and gold,\n   And blithe were their noble faces and kindly to behold,\n   And nought had I seen of such-like since that hour of the other day\n   When that warrior came to the oak glade with the little child to play.\n   And forth now he came, with the face that my hands had fondled before,\n   And a battle shield wrought fairly upon his arm he bore,\n   And thereon the wood-wolf's image in ruddy gold was done.\n   Then I stretched out my little arms towards the glorious shining one\n   And he took me up and set me on his shoulder for a while\n   And turned about to his fellows with a blithe and joyous smile;\n   And they shouted aloud about me and drew forth gleaming swords\n   And clashed them on their bucklers; but nought I knew of the words\n   Of their shouting and rejoicing.  So thereafter was I laid\n   And borne forth on the warrior's warshield, and our way through the\n   wood we made\n   'Midst the mirth and great contentment of those fair-clad shielded\n   men.\n\n   \"But no tale of the wolf and the wild-wood abides with me since then,\n   And the next thing I remember is a huge and dusky hall,\n   A world for my little body from ancient wall to wall;\n   A world of many doings, and nought for me to do,\n   A world of many noises, and known to me were few.\n\n   \"Time wore, and I spoke with the Wolfings and knew the speech of the\n   kin,\n   And was strange 'neath the roof no longer, as a lonely waif therein;\n   And I wrought as a child with my playmates and every hour looked on\n   Unto the next hour's joyance till the happy day was done.\n   And going and coming amidst us was a woman tall and thin\n   With hair like the hoary barley and silver streaks therein.\n   And kind and sad of visage, as now I remember me,\n   And she sat and told us stories when we were aweary with glee,\n   And many of us she fondled, but me the most of all.\n   And once from my sleep she waked me and bore me down the hall,\n   In the hush of the very midnight, and I was feared thereat.\n   But she brought me unto the dais, and there the warrior sat,\n   Who took me up and kissed me, as erst within the wood;\n   And meseems in his arms I slumbered: but I wakened again and stood\n   Alone with the kindly woman, and gone was the goodly man,\n   And athwart the hush of the Folk-hall the moon shone bright and wan,\n   And the woman dealt with a lamp hung up by a chain aloft,\n   And she trimmed it and fed it with oil, while she chanted sweet and\n   soft\n   A song whose words I knew not: then she ran it up again,\n   And up in the darkness above us died the length of its wavering\n   chain.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said the carline, \"this woman will have been the Hall-Sun that\ncame before thee.  What next dost thou remember?\"\n\nSaid the maiden:\n\n   \"Next I mind me of the hazels behind the People's Roof,\n   And the children running thither and the magpie flitting aloof,\n   And my hand in the hand of the Hall-Sun, as after the others we went,\n   And she soberly hearkening my prattle and the words of my intent.\n   And now would I call her 'Mother,' and indeed I loved her well.\n\n   \"So I waxed; and now of my memories the tale were long to tell;\n   But as the days passed over, and I fared to field and wood,\n   Alone or with my playmates, still the days were fair and good.\n   But the sad and kindly Hall-Sun for my fosterer now I knew,\n   And the great and glorious warrior that my heart clung sorely to\n   Was but my foster-father; and I knew that I had no kin\n   In the ancient House of the Wolfings, though love was warm therein.\"\n\nThen smiled the carline and said: \"Yea, he is thy foster-father, and yet\na fond one.\"\n\n\"Sooth is that,\" said the Hall-Sun.  \"But wise art thou by seeming.  Hast\nthou come to tell me of what kindred I am, and who is my father and who\nis my mother?\"\n\nSaid the carline: \"Art thou not also wise?  Is it not so that the Hall-\nSun of the Wolfings seeth things that are to come?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" she said, \"yet have I seen waking or sleeping no other father save\nmy foster-father; yet my very mother I have seen, as one who should meet\nher in the flesh one day.\"\n\n\"And good is that,\" said the carline; and as she spoke her face waxed\nkinder, and she said:\n\n\"Tell us more of thy days in the House of the Wolfings and how thou\nfaredst there.\"\n\nSaid the Hall-Sun:\n\n   \"I waxed 'neath the Roof of the Wolfings, till now to look upon\n   I was of sixteen winters, and the love of the Folk I won,\n   And in lovely weed they clad me like the image of a God:\n   And lonely now full often the wild-wood ways I trod,\n   And I feared no wild-wood creature, and my presence scared them\n   nought;\n   And I fell to know of wisdom, and within me stirred my thought,\n   So that oft anights would I wander through the mead and far away,\n   And swim the Mirkwood-water, and amidst his eddies play\n   When earth was dark in the dawn-tide; and over all the folk\n   I knew of the beasts' desires, as though in words they spoke.\n\n   \"So I saw of things that should be, were they mighty things or small,\n   And upon a day as it happened came the war-word to the hall,\n   And the House must wend to the warfield, and as they sang, and played\n   With the strings of the harp that even, and the mirth of the war-eve\n   made,\n   Came the sight of the field to my eyes, and the words waxed hot in me,\n   And I needs must show the picture of the end of the fight to be.\n   Then I showed them the Red Wolf bristling o'er the broken fleeing foe;\n   And the war-gear of the fleers, and their banner did I show,\n   To wit the Ling-worm's image with the maiden in his mouth;\n   There I saw my foster-father 'mid the pale blades of the South,\n   Till aloof swept all the handplay and the hurry of the chase,\n   And he lay along by an ash-tree, no helm about his face,\n   No byrny on his body; and an arrow in his thigh,\n   And a broken spear in his shoulder.  Then I saw myself draw nigh\n   To sing the song blood-staying.  Then saw I how we twain\n   Went 'midst of the host triumphant in the Wolfings' banner-wain,\n   The black bulls lowing before us athwart the warriors' song,\n   As up from Mirkwood-water we went our ways along\n   To the Great Roof of the Wolfings, whence streamed the women out\n   And the sound of their rejoicing blent with the warriors' shout.\n\n   \"They heard me and saw the picture, and they wotted how wise I was\n   grown,\n   And they loved me, and glad were their hearts at the tale my lips had\n   shown;\n   And my body clad as an image of a God to the field they bore,\n   And I held by the mast of the banner as I looked upon their war,\n   And endured to see unblenching on the wind-swept sunny plain\n   All the picture of my vision by the men-folk done again.\n   And over my Foster-father I sang the staunching-song,\n   Till the life-blood that was ebbing flowed back to his heart the\n   strong,\n   And we wended back in the war-wain 'midst the gleanings of the fight\n   Unto the ancient dwelling and the Hall-Sun's glimmering light.\n\n   \"So from that day henceforward folk hung upon my words,\n   For the battle of the autumn, and the harvest of the swords;\n   And e'en more was I loved than aforetime.  So wore a year away,\n   And heavy was the burden of the lore that on me lay.\n\n   \"But my fosterer the Hall-Sun took sick at the birth of the year,\n   And changed her life as the year changed, as summer drew anear.\n   But she knew that her life was waning, and lying in her bed\n   She taught me the lore of the Hall-Sun, and every word to be said\n   At the trimming in the midnight and the feeding in the morn,\n   And she laid her hands upon me ere unto the howe she was borne\n   With the kindred gathered about us; and they wotted her weird and her\n   will,\n   And hailed me for the Hall-Sun when at last she lay there still.\n   And they did on me the garment, the holy cloth of old,\n   And the neck-chain wrought for the goddess, and the rings of the\n   hallowed gold.\n   So here am I abiding, and of things to be I tell,\n   Yet know not what shall befall me nor why with the Wolfings I dwell.\"\n\nThen said the carline:\n\n   \"What seest thou, O daughter, of the journey of to-day?\n   And why wendest thou not with the war-host on the battle-echoing way?\"\n\nSaid the Hall-Sun.\n\n   \"O mother, here dwelleth the Hall-Sun while the kin hath a dwelling-\n   place,\n   Nor ever again shall I look on the onset or the chase,\n   Till the day when the Roof of the Wolfings looketh down on the girdle\n   of foes,\n   And the arrow singeth over the grass of the kindred's close;\n   Till the pillars shake with the shouting and quivers the roof-tree\n   dear,\n   When the Hall of the Wolfings garners the harvest of the spear.\"\n\nTherewith she stood on her feet and turned her face to the Great Roof,\nand gazed long at it, not heeding the crone by her side; and she muttered\nwords of whose signification the other knew not, though she listened\nintently, and gazed ever at her as closely as might be.\n\nThen fell the Hall-Sun utterly silent, and the lids closed over her eyes,\nand her hands were clenched, and her feet pressed hard on the daisies:\nher bosom heaved with sore sighs, and great tear-drops oozed from under\nher eyelids and fell on to her raiment and her feet and on to the flowery\nsummer grass; and at the last her mouth opened and she spake, but in a\nvoice that was marvellously changed from that she spake in before:\n\n   \"Why went ye forth, O Wolfings, from the garth your fathers built,\n   And the House where sorrow dieth, and all unloosed is guilt?\n   Turn back, turn back, and behold it! lest your feet be over slow\n   When your shields are heavy-burdened with the arrows of the foe;\n   How ye totter, how ye stumble on the rough and corpse-strewn way!\n   And lo, how the eve is eating the afternoon of day!\n   O why are ye abiding till the sun is sunk in night\n   And the forest trees are ruddy with the battle-kindled light?\n   O rest not yet, ye Wolfings, lest void be your resting-place,\n   And into lands that ye know not the Wolf must turn his face,\n   And ye wander and ye wander till the land in the ocean cease,\n   And your battle bring no safety and your labour no increase.\"\n\nThen was she silent for a while, and her tears ceased to flow; but\npresently her eyes opened once more, and she lifted up her voice and\ncried aloud--\n\n   \"I see, I see!  O Godfolk behold it from aloof,\n   How the little flames steal flickering along the ridge of the Roof!\n   They are small and red 'gainst the heavens in the summer afternoon;\n   But when the day is dusking, white, high shall they wave to the moon.\n   Lo, the fire plays now on the windows like strips of scarlet cloth\n   Wind-waved! but look in the night-tide on the onset of its wrath,\n   How it wraps round the ancient timbers and hides the mighty roof\n   But lighteth little crannies, so lost and far aloof,\n   That no man yet of the kindred hath seen them ere to-night,\n   Since first the builder builded in loving and delight!\"\n\nThen again she stayed her speech with weeping and sobbing, but after a\nwhile was still again, and then she spoke pointing toward the roof with\nher right hand.\n\n   \"I see the fire-raisers and iron-helmed they are,\n   Brown-faced about the banners that their hands have borne afar.\n   And who in the garth of the kindred shall bear adown their shield\n   Since the onrush of the Wolfings they caught in the open field,\n   As the might of the mountain lion falls dead in the hempen net?\n   O Wolfings, long have ye tarried, but the hour abideth yet.\n   What life for the life of the people shall be given once for all,\n   What sorrow shall stay sorrow in the half-burnt Wolfing Hall?\n   There is nought shall quench the fire save the tears of the Godfolk's\n   kin,\n   And the heart of the life-delighter, and the life-blood cast therein.\"\n\nThen once again she fell silent, and her eyes closed again, and the slow\ntears gushed out from them, and she sank down sobbing on the grass, and\nlittle by little the storm of grief sank and her head fell back, and she\nwas as one quietly asleep.  Then the carline hung over her and kissed her\nand embraced her; and then through her closed eyes and her slumber did\nthe Hall-Sun see a marvel; for she who was kissing her was young in\nsemblance and unwrinkled, and lovely to look on, with plenteous long hair\nof the hue of ripe barley, and clad in glistening raiment such as has\nbeen woven in no loom on earth.\n\nAnd indeed it was the Wood-Sun in the semblance of a crone, who had come\nto gather wisdom of the coming time from the foreseeing of the Hall-Sun;\nsince now at last she herself foresaw nothing of it, though she was of\nthe kindred of the Gods and the Fathers of the Goths.  So when she had\nheard the Hall-Sun she deemed that she knew but too well what her words\nmeant, and what for love, what for sorrow, she grew sick at heart as she\nheard them.\n\nSo at last she arose and turned to look at the Great Roof; and strong and\nstraight, and cool and dark grey showed its ridge against the pale sky of\nthe summer afternoon all quivering with the heat of many hours' sun: dark\nshowed its windows as she gazed on it, and stark and stiff she knew were\nits pillars within.\n\nThen she said aloud, but to herself: \"What then if a merry and mighty\nlife be given for it, and the sorrow of the people be redeemed; yet will\nnot I give the life which is his; nay rather let him give the bliss which\nis mine.  But oh! how may it be that he shall die joyous and I shall live\nunhappy!\"\n\nThen she went slowly down from the Hill of Speech, and whoso saw her\ndeemed her but a gangrel carline.  So she went her ways and let the wood\ncover her.\n\nBut in a little while the Hall-Sun awoke alone, and sat up with a sigh,\nand she remembered nothing concerning her sight of the flickering flame\nalong the hall-roof, and the fire-tongues like strips of scarlet cloth\nblown by the wind, nor had she any memory of her words concerning the\ncoming day.  But the rest of her talk with the carline she remembered,\nand also the vision of the beautiful woman who had kissed and embraced\nher; and she knew that it was her very mother.  Also she perceived that\nshe had been weeping, therefore she knew that she had uttered words of\nwisdom.  For so it fared with her at whiles, that she knew not her own\nwords of foretelling, but spoke them out as if in a dream.\n\nSo now she went down from the Hill of Speech soberly, and turned toward\nthe Woman's door of the hall, and on her way she met the women and old\nmen and youths coming back from the meadow with little mirth: and there\nwere many of them who looked shyly at her as though they would gladly\nhave asked her somewhat, and yet durst not.  But for her, her sadness\npassed away when she came among them, and she looked kindly on this and\nthat one of them, and entered with them into the Woman's Chamber, and did\nwhat came to her hand to do.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI--THEY TALK ON THE WAY TO THE FOLK-THING\n\n\nAll day long one standing on the Speech-hill of the Wolfings might have\nseen men in their war-array streaming along the side of Mirkwood-water,\non both sides thereof; and the last comers from the Nether-mark came\nhastening all they might; for they would not be late at the\ntrysting-place.  But these were of a kindred called the Laxings, who bore\na salmon on their banner; and they were somewhat few in number, for they\nhad but of late years become a House of the Markmen.  Their banner-wain\nwas drawn by white horses, fleet and strong, and they were no great band,\nfor they had but few thralls with them, and all, free men and thralls,\nwere a-horseback; so they rode by hastily with their banner-wain, their\nfew munition-wains following as they might.\n\nNow tells the tale of the men-at-arms of the Wolfings and the Beamings,\nthat soon they fell in with the Elking host, which was journeying but\nleisurely, so that the Wolfings might catch up with them: they were a\nvery great kindred, the most numerous of all Mid-mark, and at this time\nthey had affinity with the Wolfings.  But old men of the House remembered\nhow they had heard their grandsires and very old men tell that there had\nbeen a time when the Elking House had been established by men from out of\nthe Wolfing kindred, and how they had wandered away from the Mark in the\ndays when it had been first settled, and had abided aloof for many\ngenerations of men; and so at last had come back again to the Mark, and\nhad taken up their habitation at a place in Mid-mark where was dwelling\nbut a remnant of a House called the Thyrings, who had once been exceeding\nmighty, but had by that time almost utterly perished in a great sickness\nwhich befel in those days.  So then these two Houses, the wanderers come\nback and the remnant left by the sickness of the Gods, made one House\ntogether, and increased and throve after their coming together, and\nwedded with the Wolfings, and became a very great House.\n\nGallant and glorious was their array now, as they marched along with\ntheir banner of the Elk, which was drawn by the very beasts themselves\ntamed to draught to that end through many generations; they were fatter\nand sleeker than their wild-wood brethren, but not so mighty.\n\nSo were the men of the three kindreds somewhat mingled together on the\nway.  The Wolfings were the tallest and the biggest made; but of those\ndark-haired men aforesaid, were there fewest amongst the Beamings, and\nmost among the Elkings, as though they had drawn to them more men of\nalien blood during their wanderings aforesaid.  So they talked together\nand made each other good cheer, as is the wont of companions in arms on\nthe eve of battle; and the talk ran, as may be deemed, on that journey\nand what was likely to come of it: and spake an Elking warrior to a\nWolfing by whom he rode:\n\n\"O Wolfkettle, hath the Hall-Sun had any foresight of the day of battle?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the other, \"when she lighted the farewell candle, she bade us\ncome back again, and spoke of the day of our return; but that methinks,\nas thou and I would talk of it, thinking what would be likely to befal.\nSince we are a great host of valiant men, and these Welshmen {2} most\nvaliant, and as the rumour runneth bigger-bodied men than the Hun-folk,\nand so well ordered as never folk have been.  So then if we overthrow\nthem we shall come back again; and if they overthrow us, the remnant of\nus shall fall back before them till we come to our habitations; for it is\nnot to be looked for that they will fall in upon our rear and prevent us,\nsince we have the thicket of the wild-wood on our flanks.\"\n\n\"Sooth is that,\" said the Elking; \"and as to the mightiness of this folk\nand their customs, ye may gather somewhat from the songs which our House\nyet singeth, and which ye have heard wide about in the Mark; for this is\nthe same folk of which a many of them tell, making up that story-lay\nwhich is called the South-Welsh Lay; which telleth how we have met this\nfolk in times past when we were in fellowship with a folk of the Welsh of\nlike customs to ourselves: for we of the Elkings were then but a feeble\nfolk.  So we marched with this folk of the Kymry and met the men of the\ncities, and whiles we overthrew and whiles were overthrown, but at last\nin a great battle were overthrown with so great a slaughter, that the red\nblood rose over the wheels of the wains, and the city-folk fainted with\nthe work of the slaughter, as men who mow a match in the meadows when the\nswathes are dry and heavy and the afternoon of midsummer is hot; and\nthere they stood and stared on the field of the slain, and knew not\nwhether they were in Home or Hell, so fierce the fight had been.\"\n\nTherewith a man of the Beamings, who was riding on the other side of the\nElking, reached out over his horse's neck and said:\n\n\"Yea friend, but is there not some telling of a tale concerning how ye\nand your fellowship took the great city of the Welshmen of the South, and\ndwelt there long.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said the Elking, \"Hearken how it is told in the South-Welsh Lay:\n\n      \"'Have ye not heard\n      Of the ways of Weird?\n      How the folk fared forth\n      Far away from the North?\n      And as light as one wendeth\n      Whereas the wood endeth,\n      When of nought is our need,\n      And none telleth our deed,\n   So Rodgeir unwearied and Reidfari wan\n   The town where none tarried the shield-shaking man.\n   All lonely the street there, and void was the way\n   And nought hindered our feet but the dead men that lay\n   Under shield in the lanes of the houses heavens-high,\n   All the ring-bearing swains that abode there to die.'\n\n\"Tells the Lay, that none abode the Goths and their fellowship, but such\nas were mighty enough to fall before them, and the rest, both man and\nwoman, fled away before our folk and before the folk of the Kymry, and\nleft their town for us to dwell in; as saith the Lay:\n\n      \"'Glistening of gold\n      Did men's eyen behold;\n      Shook the pale sword\n      O'er the unspoken word,\n      No man drew nigh us\n      With weapon to try us,\n      For the Welsh-wrought shield\n      Lay low on the field.\n   By man's hand unbuilded all seemed there to be,\n   The walls ruddy gilded, the pearls of the sea:\n   Yea all things were dead there save pillar and wall,\n   But _they_ lived and _they_ said us the song of the hall;\n   The dear hall left to perish by men of the land,\n   For the Goth-folk to cherish with gold gaining hand.'\n\n\"See ye how the Lay tells that the hall was bolder than the men, who fled\nfrom it, and left all for our fellowship to deal with in the days gone\nby?\"\n\nSaid the Wolfing man:\n\n\"And as it was once, so shall it be again.  Maybe we shall go far on this\njourney, and see at least one of the garths of the Southlands, even those\nwhich they call cities.  For I have heard it said that they have more\ncities than one only, and that so great are their kindreds, that each\nliveth in a garth full of mighty houses, with a wall of stone and lime\naround it; and that in every one of these garths lieth wealth untold\nheaped up.  And wherefore should not all this fall to the Markmen and\ntheir valiancy?\"\n\nSaid the Elking:\n\n\"As to their many cities and the wealth of them, that is sooth; but as to\neach city being the habitation of each kindred, it is otherwise: for\nrather it may be said of them that they have forgotten kindred, and have\nnone, nor do they heed whom they wed, and great is the confusion amongst\nthem.  And mighty men among them ordain where they shall dwell, and what\nshall be their meat, and how long they shall labour after they are weary,\nand in all wise what manner of life shall be amongst them; and though\nthey be called free men who suffer this, yet may no house or kindred\ngainsay this rule and order.  In sooth they are a people mighty, but\nunhappy.\"\n\nSaid Wolfkettle:\n\n\"And hast thou learned all this from the ancient story lays, O Hiarandi?\nFor some of them I know, though not all, and therein have I noted nothing\nof all this.  Is there some new minstrel arisen in thine House of a\nmemory excelling all those that have gone before?  If that be so, I bid\nhim to the Roof of the Wolfings as soon as may be; for we lack new\ntales.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Hiarandi, \"This that I tell thee is not a tale of past days,\nbut a tale of to-day.  For there came to us a man from out of the wild-\nwood, and prayed us peace, and we gave it him; and he told us that he was\nof a House of the Gael, and that his House had been in a great battle\nagainst these Welshmen, whom he calleth the Romans; and that he was taken\nin the battle, and sold as a thrall in one of their garths; and howbeit,\nit was not their master-garth, yet there he learned of their customs: and\nsore was the lesson!  Hard was his life amongst them, for their thralls\nbe not so well entreated as their draught-beasts, so many do they take in\nbattle; for they are a mighty folk; and these thralls and those aforesaid\nunhappy freemen do all tilling and herding and all deeds of\ncraftsmanship: and above these are men whom they call masters and lords\nwho do nought, nay not so much as smithy their own edge-weapons, but\nlinger out their days in their dwellings and out of their dwellings,\nlying about in the sun or the hall-cinders, like cur-dogs who have fallen\naway from kind.\n\n\"So this man made a shift to flee away from out of that garth, since it\nwas not far from the great river; and being a valiant man, and young and\nmighty of body, he escaped all perils and came to us through the\nMirkwood.  But we saw that he was no liar, and had been very evilly\nhandled, for upon his body was the mark of many a stripe, and of the\nshackles that had been soldered on to his limbs; also it was more than\none of these accursed people whom he had slain when he fled.  So he\nbecame our guest and we loved him, and he dwelt among us and yet\ndwelleth, for we have taken him into our House.  But yesterday he was\nsick and might not ride with us; but may be he will follow on and catch\nup with us in a day or two.  And if he come not, then will I bring him\nover to the Wolfings when the battle is done.\"\n\nThen laughed the Beaming man, and spake:\n\n\"How then if ye come not back, nor Wolfkettle, nor the Welsh Guest, nor I\nmyself?  Meseemeth no one of these Southland Cities shall we behold, and\nno more of the Southlanders than their war-array.\"\n\n\"These are evil words,\" said Wolfkettle, \"though such an outcome must be\nthought on.  But why deemest thou this?\"\n\nSaid the Beaming: \"There is no Hall-Sun sitting under our Roof at home to\ntell true tales concerning the Kindred every day.  Yet forsooth from time\nto time is a word said in our Folk-hall for good or for evil; and who can\nchoose but hearken thereto?  And yestereve was a woeful word spoken, and\nthat by a man-child of ten winters.\"\n\nSaid the Elking: \"Now that thou hast told us thus much, thou must tell us\nmore, yea, all the word which was spoken; else belike we shall deem of it\nas worse than it was.\"\n\nSaid the Beaming: \"Thus it was; this little lad brake out weeping\nyestereve, when the Hall was full and feasting; and he wailed, and roared\nout, as children do, and would not be pacified, and when he was asked why\nhe made that to do, he said: 'Well away!  Raven hath promised to make me\na clay horse and to bake it in the kiln with the pots next week; and now\nhe goeth to the war, and he shall never come back, and never shall my\nhorse be made.'  Thereat we all laughed as ye may well deem.  But the lad\nmade a sour countenance on us and said, 'why do ye laugh? look yonder,\nwhat see ye?'  'Nay,' said one, 'nought but the Feast-hall wall and the\nhangings of the High-tide thereon.'  Then said the lad sobbing: 'Ye see\nill: further afield see I: I see a little plain, on a hill top, and fells\nbeyond it far bigger than our speech-hill: and there on the plain lieth\nRaven as white as parchment; and none hath such hue save the dead.'  Then\nsaid Raven, (and he was a young man, and was standing thereby).  'And\nwell is that, swain, to die in harness!  Yet hold up thine heart; here is\nGunbert who shall come back and bake thine horse for thee.'  'Nay never\nmore,' quoth the child, 'For I see his pale head lying at Raven's feet;\nbut his body with the green gold-broidered kirtle I see not.'  Then was\nthe laughter stilled, and man after man drew near to the child, and\nquestioned him, and asked, 'dost thou see me?' 'dost thou see me?'  And\nhe failed to see but few of those that asked him.  Therefore now\nmeseemeth that not many of us shall see the cities of the South, and\nthose few belike shall look on their own shackles therewithal.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Hiarandi, \"What is all this? heard ye ever of a company of\nfighting men that fared afield, and found the foe, and came back home\nleaving none behind them?\"\n\nSaid the Beaming: \"Yet seldom have I heard a child foretell the death of\nwarriors.  I tell thee that hadst thou been there, thou wouldst have\nthought of it as if the world were coming to an end.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Wolfkettle, \"let it be as it may!  Yet at least I will not\nbe led away from the field by the foemen.  Oft may a man be hindered of\nvictory, but never of death if he willeth it.\"\n\nTherewith he handled a knife that hung about his neck, and went on to\nsay: \"But indeed, I do much marvel that no word came into the mouth of\nthe Hall-Sun yestereven or this morning, but such as any woman of the\nkindred might say.\"\n\nTherewith fell their talk awhile, and as they rode they came to where the\nwood drew nigher to the river, and thus the Mid-mark had an end; for\nthere was no House had a dwelling in the Mid-mark higher up the water\nthan the Elkings, save one only, not right great, who mostly fared to war\nalong with the Elkings: and this was the Oselings, whose banner bore the\nimage of the Wood-ousel, the black bird with the yellow neb; and they had\njust fallen into the company of the greater House.\n\nSo now Mid-mark was over and past, and the serried trees of the wood came\ndown like a wall but a little way from the lip of the water; and\nscattered trees, mostly quicken-trees grew here and there on the very\nwater side.  But Mirkwood-water ran deep swift and narrow between high\nclean-cloven banks, so that none could dream of fording, and not so many\nof swimming its dark green dangerous waters.  And the day wore on towards\nevening and the glory of the western sky was unseen because of the wall\nof high trees.  And still the host made on, and because of the narrowness\nof the space between river and wood it was strung out longer and looked a\nvery great company of men.  And moreover the men of the eastern-lying\npart of Mid-mark, were now marching thick and close on the other side of\nthe river but a little way from the Wolfings and their fellows; for\nnothing but the narrow river sundered them.\n\nSo night fell, and the stars shone, and the moon rose, and yet the\nWolfings and their fellows stayed not, since they wotted that behind them\nfollowed a many of the men of the Mark, both the Mid and the Nether, and\nthey would by no means hinder their march.\n\nSo wended the Markmen between wood and stream on either side of Mirkwood-\nwater, till now at last the night grew deep and the moon set, and it was\nhard on midnight, and they had kindled many torches to light them on\neither side of the water.  So whereas they had come to a place where the\ntrees gave back somewhat from the river, which was well-grassed for their\nhorses and neat, and was called Baitmead, the companies on the western\nside made stay there till morning.  And they drew the wains right up to\nthe thick of the wood, and all men turned aside into the mead from the\nbeaten road, so that those who were following after might hold on their\nway if so they would.  There then they appointed watchers of the night,\nwhile the rest of them lay upon the sward by the side of the trees, and\nslept through the short summer night.\n\nThe tale tells not that any man dreamed of the fight to come in such wise\nthat there was much to tell of his dream on the morrow; many dreamed of\nno fight or faring to war, but of matters little, and often laughable,\nmere mingled memories of bygone time that had no waking wits to marshal\nthem.\n\nBut that man of the Beamings dreamed that he was at home watching a\npotter, a man of the thralls of the House working at his wheel, and\nfashioning bowls and ewers: and he had a mind to take of his clay and\nfashion a horse for the lad that had bemoaned the promise of his toy.  And\nhe tried long and failed to fashion anything; for the clay fell to pieces\nin his hands; till at last it held together and grew suddenly, not into\nan image of a horse, but of the Great Yule Boar, the similitude of the\nHoly Beast of Frey.  So he laughed in his sleep and was glad, and leaped\nup and drew his sword with his clay-stained hands that he might wave it\nover the Earth Boar, and swear a great oath of a doughty deed.  And\ntherewith he found himself standing on his feet indeed, just awakened in\nthe cold dawn, and holding by his right hand to an ash-sapling that grew\nbeside him.  So he laughed again, and laid him down, and leaned back and\nslept his sleep out till the sun and the voices of his fellows stirring\nawakened him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII--THEY GATHER TO THE FOLK-MOTE\n\n\nWhen it was the morning, all the host of the Markmen was astir on either\nside of the water, and when they had broken their fast, they got speedily\ninto array, and were presently on the road again; and the host was now\nstrung out longer yet, for the space between water and wood once more\ndiminished till at last it was no wider than ten men might go abreast,\nand looking ahead it was as if the wild-wood swallowed up both river and\nroad.\n\nBut the fighting-men hastened on merrily with their hearts raised high,\nsince they knew that they would soon be falling in with more of their\npeople, and the coming fight was growing a clearer picture to their eyes;\nso from side to side of the river they shouted out the cries of their\nHouses, or friend called to friend across the eddies of Mirkwood-water,\nand there was game and glee enough.\n\nSo they fared till the wood gave way before them, and lo, the beginning\nof another plain, somewhat like the Mid-mark.  There also the water\nwidened out before them, and there were eyots in it with stony shores\ncrowned with willow or with alder, and aspens rising from the midst of\nthem.\n\nBut as for the plain, it was thus much different from Mid-mark, that the\nwood which begirt it rose on the south into low hills, and away beyond\nthem were other hills blue in the distance, for the most bare of wood,\nand not right high, the pastures of the wild-bull and the bison, whereas\nnow dwelt a folk somewhat scattered and feeble; hunters and herdsmen,\nwith little tillage about their abodes, a folk akin to the Markmen and\nallied to them.  They had come into those parts later than the Markmen,\nas the old tales told; which said moreover that in days gone by a folk\ndwelt among those hills who were alien from the Goths, and great foes to\nthe Markmen; and how that on a time they came down from their hills with\na great host, together with new-comers of their own blood, and made their\nway through the wild-wood, and fell upon the Upper-mark; and how that\nthere befel a fearful battle that endured for three days; and the first\nday the Aliens worsted the Markmen, who were but a few, since they were\nthey of the Upper-mark only.  So the Aliens burned their houses and slew\ntheir old men, and drave off many of their women and children; and the\nremnant of the men of the Upper-mark with all that they had, which was\nnow but little, took refuge in an island of Mirkwood-water, where they\nfenced themselves as well as they could for that night; for they expected\nthe succour of their kindred of the Mid-mark and the Nether-mark, unto\nwhom they had sped the war-arrow when they first had tidings of the onset\nof the Aliens.\n\nSo at the sun-rising they sacrificed to the Gods twenty chieftains of the\nAliens whom they had taken, and therewithal a maiden of their own\nkindred, the daughter of their war-duke, that she might lead that mighty\ncompany to the House of the Gods; and thereto was she nothing loth, but\nwent right willingly.\n\nThere then they awaited the onset.  But the men of Mid-mark came up in\nthe morning, when the battle was but just joined, and fell on so fiercely\nthat the aliens gave back, and then they of the Upper-mark stormed out of\ntheir eyot, and fell on over the ford, and fought till the water ran red\nwith their blood, and the blood of the foemen.  So the Aliens gave back\nbefore the onset of the Markmen all over the meads; but when they came to\nthe hillocks and the tofts of the half-burned habitations, and the wood\nwas on their flank, they made a stand again, and once more the battle\nwaxed hot, for they were very many, and had many bowmen: there fell the\nWar-duke of the Markmen, whose daughter had been offered up for victory,\nand his name was Agni, so that the tofts where he fell have since been\ncalled Agni's Tofts.  So that day they fought all over the plain, and a\ngreat many died, both of the Aliens and the Markmen, and though these\nlast were victorious, yet when the sun went down there still were the\nAliens abiding in the Upper-mark, fenced by their wain-burg, beaten, and\nmuch diminished in number, but still a host of men: while of the Markmen\nmany had fallen, and many more were hurt, because the Aliens were good\nbowmen.\n\nBut on the morrow again, as the old tale told, came up the men of the\nNether-mark fresh and unwounded; and so the battle began again on the\nsouthern limit of the Upper-mark where the Aliens had made their wain-\nburg.  But not long did it endure; for the Markmen fell on so fiercely,\nthat they stormed over the wain-burg, and slew all before them, and there\nwas a very great slaughter of the Aliens; so great, tells the old tale,\nthat never again durst they meet the Markmen in war.\n\nThus went forth the host of the Markmen, faring along both sides of the\nwater into the Upper-mark; and on the west side, where went the Wolfings,\nthe ground now rose by a long slope into a low hill, and when they came\nunto the brow thereof, they beheld before them the whole plain of the\nUpper-mark, and the dwellings of the kindred therein all girdled about by\nthe wild-wood; and beyond, the blue hills of the herdsmen, and beyond\nthem still, a long way aloof, lying like a white cloud on the verge of\nthe heavens, the snowy tops of the great mountains.  And as they looked\ndown on to the plain they saw it embroidered, as it were, round about the\nhabitations which lay within ken by crowds of many people, and the\nbanners of the kindreds and the arms of men; and many a place they saw\nnamed after the ancient battle and that great slaughter of the Aliens.\n\nOn their left hand lay the river, and as it now fairly entered with them\ninto the Upper-mark, it spread out into wide rippling shallows beset with\nyet more sandy eyots, amongst which was one much greater, rising amidmost\ninto a low hill, grassy and bare of tree or bush; and this was the island\nwhereon the Markmen stood on the first day of the Great Battle, and it\nwas now called the Island of the Gods.\n\nThereby was the ford, which was firm and good and changed little from\nyear to year, so that all Markmen knew it well and it was called\nBattleford: thereover now crossed all the eastern companies, footmen and\nhorsemen, freemen and thralls, wains and banners, with shouting and\nlaughter, and the noise of horns and the lowing of neat, till all that\nplain's end was flooded with the host of the Markmen.\n\nBut when the eastern-abiders had crossed, they made no stay, but went\nduly ordered about their banners, winding on toward the first of the\nabodes on the western side of the water; because it was but a little way\nsouthwest of this that the Thing-stead of the Upper-mark lay; and the\nwhole Folk was summoned thither when war threatened from the South, just\nas it was called to the Thing-stead of the Nether-mark, when the threat\nof war came from the North.  But the western companies stayed on the brow\nof that low hill till all the eastern men were over the river, and on\ntheir way to the Thing-stead, and then they moved on.\n\nSo came the Wolfings and their fellows up to the dwellings of the\nnorthernmost kindred, who were called the Daylings, and bore on their\nbanner the image of the rising sun.  Thereabout was the Mark somewhat\nmore hilly and broken than in the Mid-mark, so that the Great Roof of the\nDaylings, which was a very big house, stood on a hillock whose sides had\nbeen cleft down sheer on all sides save one (which was left as a bridge)\nby the labour of men, and it was a very defensible place.\n\nThereon were now gathered round about the Roof all the stay-at-homes of\nthe kindred, who greeted with joyous cries the men-at-arms as they\npassed.  Albeit one very old man, who sat in a chair near to the edge of\nthe sheer hill looking on the war array, when he saw the Wolfing banner\ndraw near, stood up to gaze on it, and then shook his head sadly, and\nsank back again into his chair, and covered his face with his hands: and\nwhen the folk saw that, a silence bred of the coldness of fear fell on\nthem, for that elder was deemed a foreseeing man.\n\nBut as those three fellows, of whose talk of yesterday the tale has told,\ndrew near and beheld what the old carle did (for they were riding\ntogether this day also) the Beaming man laid his hand on Wolfkettle's\nrein and said:\n\n\"Lo you, neighbour, if thy Vala hath seen nought, yet hath this old man\nseen somewhat, and that somewhat even as the little lad saw it.  Many a\nmother's son shall fall before the Welshmen.\"\n\nBut Wolfkettle shook his rein free, and his face reddened as of one who\nis angry, yet he kept silence, while the Elking said:\n\n\"Let be, Toti! for he that lives shall tell the tale to the foreseers,\nand shall make them wiser than they are to-day.\"\n\nThen laughed Toti, as one who would not be thought to be too heedful of\nthe morrow.  But Wolfkettle brake out into speech and rhyme, and said:\n\n   \"O warriors, the Wolfing kindred shall live or it shall die;\n   And alive it shall be as the oak-tree when the summer storm goes by;\n   But dead it shall be as its bole, that they hew for the corner-post\n   Of some fair and mighty folk-hall, and the roof of a war-fain host.\"\n\nSo therewith they rode their ways past the abode of the Daylings.\n\nStraight to the wood went all the host, and so into it by a wide way\ncleft through the thicket, and in some thirty minutes they came thereby\ninto a great wood-lawn cleared amidst of it by the work of men's hands.\nThere already was much of the host gathered, sitting or standing in a\ngreat ring round about a space bare of men, where amidmost rose a great\nmound raised by men's hands and wrought into steps to be the\nsitting-places of the chosen elders and chief men of the kindred; and\natop the mound was flat and smooth save for a turf bench or seat that\nwent athwart it whereon ten men might sit.\n\nAll the wains save the banner-wains had been left behind at the Dayling\nabode, nor was any beast there save the holy beasts who drew the banner-\nwains and twenty white horses, that stood wreathed about with flowers\nwithin the ring of warriors, and these were for the burnt offering to be\ngiven to the Gods for a happy day of battle.  Even the war-horses of the\nhost they must leave in the wood without the wood-lawn, and all men were\nafoot who were there.\n\nFor this was the Thing-stead of the Upper-mark, and the holiest place of\nthe Markmen, and no beast, either neat, sheep, or horse might pasture\nthere, but was straightway slain and burned if he wandered there; nor\nmight any man eat therein save at the holy feasts when offerings were\nmade to the Gods.\n\nSo the Wolfings took their place there in the ring of men with the\nElkings on their right hand and the Beamings on their left.  And in the\nmidst of the Wolfing array stood Thiodolf clad in the dwarf-wrought\nhauberk: but his head was bare; for he had sworn over the Cup of Renown\nthat he would fight unhelmed throughout all that trouble, and would bear\nno shield in any battle thereof however fierce the onset might be.\n\nShort, and curling close to his head was his black hair, a little\ngrizzled, so that it looked like rings of hard dark iron: his forehead\nwas high and smooth, his lips full and red, his eyes steady and\nwide-open, and all his face joyous with the thought of the fame of his\ndeeds, and the coming battle with a foeman whom the Markmen knew not yet.\n\nHe was tall and wide-shouldered, but so exceeding well fashioned of all\nhis limbs and body that he looked no huge man.  He was a man well beloved\nof women, and children would mostly run to him gladly and play with him.\nA most fell warrior was he, whose deeds no man of the Mark could equal,\nbut blithe of speech even when he was sorrowful of mood, a man that knew\nnot bitterness of heart: and for all his exceeding might and valiancy, he\nwas proud and high to no man; so that the very thralls loved him.\n\nHe was not abounding in words in the field; nor did he use much the\ncustom of those days in reviling and defying with words the foe that was\nto be smitten with swords.\n\nThere were those who had seen him in the field for the first time who\ndeemed him slack at the work: for he would not always press on with the\nforemost, but would hold him a little aback, and while the battle was\nyoung he forbore to smite, and would do nothing but help a kinsman who\nwas hard pressed, or succour the wounded.  So that if men were dealing\nwith no very hard matter, and their hearts were high and overweening, he\nwould come home at whiles with unbloodied blade.  But no man blamed him\nsave those who knew him not: for his intent was that the younger men\nshould win themselves fame, and so raise their courage, and become high-\nhearted and stout.\n\nBut when the stour was hard, and the battle was broken, and the hearts of\nmen began to fail them, and doubt fell upon the Markmen, then was he\nanother man to see: wise, but swift and dangerous, rushing on as if shot\nout by some mighty engine: heedful of all, on either side and in front;\nrunning hither and thither as the fight failed and the fire of battle\nfaltered; his sword so swift and deadly that it was as if he wielded the\nvery lightening of the heavens: for with the sword it was ever his wont\nto fight.\n\nBut it must be said that when the foemen turned their backs, and the\nchase began, then Thiodolf would nowise withhold his might as in the\nearly battle, but ever led the chase, and smote on the right hand and on\nthe left, sparing none, and crying out to the men of the kindred not to\nweary in their work, but to fulfil all the hours of their day.\n\nFor thuswise would he say and this was a word of his:\n\n   \"Let us rest to-morrow, fellows, since to-day we have fought amain!\n   Let not these men we have smitten come aback on our hands again,\n   And say 'Ye Wolfing warriors, ye have done your work but ill,\n   Fall to now and do it again, like the craftsman who learneth his\n   skill.'\"\n\nSuch then was Thiodolf, and ever was he the chosen leader of the Wolfings\nand often the War-duke of the whole Folk.\n\nBy his side stood the other chosen leader, whose name was Heriulf; a man\nwell stricken in years, but very mighty and valiant; wise in war and well\nrenowned; of few words save in battle, and therein a singer of songs, a\nlaugher, a joyous man, a merry companion.  He was a much bigger man than\nThiodolf; and indeed so huge was his stature, that he seemed to be of the\nkindred of the Mountain Giants; and his bodily might went with his\nstature, so that no one man might deal with him body to body.  His face\nwas big; his cheek-bones high; his nose like an eagle's neb, his mouth\nwide, his chin square and big; his eyes light-grey and fierce under\nshaggy eyebrows: his hair white and long.\n\nSuch were his raiment and weapons, that he wore a coat of fence of dark\niron scales sewn on to horse-hide, and a dark iron helm fashioned above\nhis brow into the similitude of the Wolf's head with gaping jaws; and\nthis he had wrought for himself with his own hands, for he was a good\nsmith.  A round buckler he bore and a huge twibill, which no man of the\nkindred could well wield save himself; and it was done both blade and\nshaft with knots and runes in gold; and he loved that twibill well, and\ncalled it the Wolf's Sister.\n\nThere then stood Heriulf, looking no less than one of the forefathers of\nthe kindred come back again to the battle of the Wolfings.\n\nHe was well-beloved for his wondrous might, and he was no hard man,\nthough so fell a warrior, and though of few words, as aforesaid, was a\nblithe companion to old and young.  In numberless battles had he fought,\nand men deemed it a wonder that Odin had not taken to him a man so much\nafter his own heart; and they said it was neighbourly done of the Father\nof the Slain to forbear his company so long, and showed how well he loved\nthe Wolfing House.\n\nFor a good while yet came other bands of Markmen into the Thing-stead;\nbut at last there was an end of their coming.  Then the ring of men\nopened, and ten warriors of the Daylings made their way through it, and\none of them, the oldest, bore in his hand the War-horn of the Daylings;\nfor this kindred had charge of the Thing-stead, and of all appertaining\nto it.  So while his nine fellows stood round about the Speech-Hill, the\nold warrior clomb up to the topmost of it, and blew a blast on the horn.\nThereon they who were sitting rose up, and they who were talking each to\neach held their peace, and the whole ring drew nigher to the hill, so\nthat there was a clear space behind them 'twixt them and the wood, and a\nspace before them between them and the hill, wherein were those nine\nwarriors, and the horses for the burnt-offering, and the altar of the\nGods; and now were all well within ear-shot of a man speaking amidst the\nsilence in a clear voice.\n\nBut there were gathered of the Markmen to that place some four thousand\nmen, all chosen warriors and doughty men; and of the thralls and aliens\ndwelling with them they were leading two thousand.  But not all of the\nfreemen of the Upper-mark could be at the Thing; for needs must there be\nsome guard to the passes of the wood toward the south and the hills of\nthe herdsmen, whereas it was no wise impassable to a wisely led host: so\nfive hundred men, what of freemen, what of thralls, abode there to guard\nthe wild-wood; and these looked to have some helping from the hill-men.\n\nNow came an ancient warrior into the space between the men and the wild-\nwood holding in his hand a kindled torch; and first he faced due south by\nthe sun, then, turning, he slowly paced the whole circle going from east\nto west, and so on till he had reached the place he started from: then he\ndashed the torch to the ground and quenched the fire, and so went his\nways to his own company again.\n\nThen the old Dayling warrior on the mound-top drew his sword, and waved\nit flashing in the sun toward the four quarters of the heavens; and\nthereafter blew again a blast on the War-horn.  Then fell utter silence\non the whole assembly, and the wood was still around them, save here and\nthere the stamping of a war-horse or the sound of his tugging at the\nwoodland grass; for there was little resort of birds to the depths of the\nthicket, and the summer morning was windless.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII--THE FOLK-MOTE OF THE MARKMEN\n\n\nSo the Dayling warrior lifted up his voice and said:\n\n   \"O kindreds of the Markmen, hearken the words I say;\n   For no chancehap assembly is gathered here to-day.\n   The fire hath gone around us in the hands of our very kin,\n   And twice the horn hath sounded, and the Thing is hallowed in.\n   Will ye hear or forbear to hearken the tale there is to tell?\n   There are many mouths to tell it, and a many know it well.\n   And the tale is this, that the foemen against our kindreds fare\n   Who eat the meadows desert, and burn the desert bare.\"\n\nThen sat he down on the turf seat; but there arose a murmur in the\nassembly as of men eager to hearken; and without more ado came a man out\nof a company of the Upper-mark, and clomb up to the top of the Speech-\nHill, and spoke in a loud voice:\n\n\"I am Bork, a man of the Geirings of the Upper-mark: two days ago I and\nfive others were in the wild-wood a-hunting, and we wended through the\nthicket, and came into the land of the hill-folk; and after we had gone a\nwhile we came to a long dale with a brook running through it, and yew-\ntrees scattered about it and a hazel copse at one end; and by the copse\nwas a band of men who had women and children with them, and a few neat,\nand fewer horses; but sheep were feeding up and down the dale; and they\nhad made them booths of turf and boughs, and were making ready their\ncooking fires, for it was evening.  So when they saw us, they ran to\ntheir arms, but we cried out to them in the tongue of the Goths and bade\nthem peace.  Then they came up the bent to us and spake to us in the\nGothic tongue, albeit a little diversely from us; and when we had told\nthem what and whence we were, they were glad of us, and bade us to them,\nand we went, and they entreated us kindly, and made us such cheer as they\nmight, and gave us mutton to eat, and we gave them venison of the wild-\nwood which we had taken, and we abode with them there that night.\n\n\"But they told us that they were a house of the folk of the herdsmen, and\nthat there was war in the land, and that the people thereof were fleeing\nbefore the cruelty of a host of warriors, men of a mighty folk, such as\nthe earth hath not heard of, who dwell in great cities far to the south;\nand how that this host had crossed the mountains, and the Great Water\nthat runneth from them, and had fallen upon their kindred, and overcome\ntheir fighting-men, and burned their dwellings, slain their elders, and\ndriven their neat and their sheep, yea, and their women and children in\nno better wise than their neat and sheep.\n\n\"And they said that they had fled away thus far from their old\nhabitations, which were a long way to the south, and were now at point to\nbuild them dwellings there in that Dale of the Hazels, and to trust to it\nthat these Welshmen, whom they called Romans, would not follow so far,\nand that if they did, they might betake them to the wild-wood, and let\nthe thicket cover them, they being so nigh to it.\n\n\"Thus they told us; wherefore we sent back one of our fellowship, Birsti\nof the Geirings, to tell the tale; and one of the herdsmen folk went with\nhim, but we ourselves went onward to hear more of these Romans; for the\nfolk when we asked them, said that they had been in battle against them,\nbut had fled away for fear of their rumour only.  Therefore we went on,\nand a young man of this kindred, who named themselves the Hrutings of the\nFell-folk, went along with us.  But the others were sore afeard, for all\nthey had weapons.\n\n\"So as we went up the land we found they had told us the very sooth, and\nwe met divers Houses, and bands, and broken men, who were fleeing from\nthis trouble, and many of them poor and in misery, having lost their\nflocks and herds as well as their roofs; and this last be but little loss\nto them, as their dwellings are but poor, and for the most part they have\nno tillage.  Now of these men, we met not a few who had been in battle\nwith the Roman host, and much they told us of their might not to be dealt\nwith, and their mishandling of those whom they took, both men and women;\nand at the last we heard true tidings how they had raised them a garth,\nand made a stronghold in the midst of the land, as men who meant abiding\nthere, so that neither might the winter drive them aback, and that they\nmight be succoured by their people on the other side of the Great River;\nto which end they have made other garths, though not so great, on the\nroad to that water, and all these well and wisely warded by tried men.\nFor as to the Folks on the other side of the Water, all these lie under\ntheir hand already, what by fraud what by force, and their warriors go\nwith them to the battle and help them; of whom we met bands now and\nagain, and fought with them, and took men of them, who told us all this\nand much more, over long to tell of here.\"\n\nHe paused and turned about to look on the mighty assembly, and his ears\ndrank in the long murmur that followed his speaking, and when it had died\nout he spake again, but in rhyme:\n\n   \"Lo thus much of my tidings!  But this too it behoveth to tell,\n   That these masterful men of the cities of the Markmen know full well:\n   And they wot of the well-grassed meadows, and the acres of the Mark,\n   And our life amidst of the wild-wood like a candle in the dark;\n   And they know of our young men's valour and our women's loveliness,\n   And our tree would they spoil with destruction if its fruit they may\n   never possess.\n   For their lust is without a limit, and nought may satiate\n   Their ravening maw; and their hunger if ye check it turneth to hate,\n   And the blood-fever burns in their bosoms, and torment and anguish and\n   woe\n   O'er the wide field ploughed by the sword-blade for the coming years\n   they sow;\n   And ruth is a thing forgotten and all hopes they trample down;\n   And whatso thing is steadfast, whatso of good renown,\n   Whatso is fair and lovely, whatso is ancient sooth\n   In the bloody marl shall they mingle as they laugh for lack of ruth.\n   Lo the curse of the world cometh hither; for the men that we took in\n   the land\n   Said thus, that their host is gathering with many an ordered band\n   To fall on the wild-wood passes and flood the lovely Mark,\n   As the river over the meadows upriseth in the dark.\n   Look to it, O ye kindred! availeth now no word\n   But the voice of the clashing of iron, and the sword-blade on the\n   sword.\"\n\nTherewith he made an end, and deeper and longer was the murmur of the\nhost of freemen, amidst which Bork gat him down from the Speech-Hill, his\nweapons clattering about him, and mingled with the men of his kindred.\n\nThen came forth a man of the kin of the Shieldings of the Upper-mark, and\nclomb the mound; and he spake in rhyme from beginning to end; for he was\na minstrel of renown:\n\n   \"Lo I am a man of the Shieldings and Geirmund is my name;\n   A half-moon back from the wild-wood out into the hills I came,\n   And I went alone in my war-gear; for we have affinity\n   With the Hundings of the Fell-folk, and with them I fain would be;\n   For I loved a maid of their kindred.  Now their dwelling was not far\n   From the outermost bounds of the Fell-folk, and bold in the battle\n   they are,\n   And have met a many people, and held their own abode.\n   Gay then was the heart within me, as over the hills I rode\n   And thought of the mirth of to-morrow and the sweet-mouthed Hunding\n   maid\n   And their old men wise and merry and their young men unafraid,\n   And the hall-glee of the Hundings and the healths o'er the guesting\n   cup.\n   But as I rode the valley, I saw a smoke go up\n   O'er the crest of the last of the grass-hills 'twixt me and the\n   Hunding roof,\n   And that smoke was black and heavy: so a while I bided aloof,\n   And drew my girths the tighter, and looked to the arms I bore\n   And handled my spear for the casting; for my heart misgave me sore,\n   For nought was that pillar of smoke like the guest-fain cooking-fire.\n   I lingered in thought for a minute, then turned me to ride up higher,\n   And as a man most wary up over the bent I rode,\n   And nigh hid peered o'er the hill-crest adown on the Hunding abode;\n   And forsooth 'twas the fire wavering all o'er the roof of old,\n   And all in the garth and about it lay the bodies of the bold;\n   And bound to a rope amidmost were the women fair and young,\n   And youths and little children, like the fish on a withy strung\n   As they lie on the grass for the angler before the beginning of night.\n   Then the rush of the wrath within me for a while nigh blinded my\n   sight;\n   Yet about the cowering war-thralls, short dark-faced men I saw,\n   Men clad in iron armour, this way and that way draw,\n   As warriors after the battle are ever wont to do.\n   Then I knew them for the foemen and their deeds to be I knew,\n   And I gathered the reins together to ride down the hill amain,\n   To die with a good stroke stricken and slay ere I was slain.\n   When lo, on the bent before me rose the head of a brown-faced man,\n   Well helmed and iron-shielded, who some Welsh speech began\n   And a short sword brandished against me; then my sight cleared and I\n   saw\n   Five others armed in likewise up hill and toward me draw,\n   And I shook the spear and sped it and clattering on his shield\n   He fell and rolled o'er smitten toward the garth and the Fell-folk's\n   field.\n\n   \"But my heart changed with his falling and the speeding of my stroke,\n   And I turned my horse; for within me the love of life awoke,\n   And I spurred, nor heeded the hill-side, but o'er rough and smooth I\n   rode\n   Till I heard no chase behind me; then I drew rein and abode.\n   And down in a dell was I gotten with a thorn-brake in its throat,\n   And heard but the plover's whistle and the blackbird's broken note\n   'Mid the thorns; when lo! from a thorn-twig away the blackbird swept,\n   And out from the brake and towards me a naked man there crept,\n   And straight I rode up towards him, and knew his face for one\n   I had seen in the hall of the Hundings ere its happy days were done.\n   I asked him his tale, but he bade me forthright to bear him away;\n   So I took him up behind me, and we rode till late in the day,\n   Toward the cover of the wild-wood, and as swiftly as we might.\n   But when yet aloof was the thicket and it now was moonless night,\n   We stayed perforce for a little, and he told me all the tale:\n   How the aliens came against them, and they fought without avail\n   Till the Roof o'er their heads was burning and they burst forth on the\n   foe,\n   And were hewn down there together; nor yet was the slaughter slow.\n   But some they saved for thralldom, yea, e'en of the fighting men,\n   Or to quell them with pains; so they stripped them; and this man\n   espying just then\n   Some chance, I mind not whatwise, from the garth fled out and away.\n\n   \"Now many a thing noteworthy of these aliens did he say,\n   But this I bid you hearken, lest I wear the time for nought,\n   That still upon the Markmen and the Mark they set their thought;\n   For they questioned this man and others through a go-between in words\n   Of us, and our lands and our chattels, and the number of our swords;\n   Of the way and the wild-wood passes and the winter and his ways.\n   Now look to see them shortly; for worn are fifteen days\n   Since in the garth of the Hundings I saw them dight for war,\n   And a hardy folk and ready and a swift-foot host they are.\"\n\nTherewith Geirmund went down clattering from the Hill and stood with his\ncompany.  But a man came forth from the other side of the ring, and clomb\nthe Hill: he was a red-haired man, rather big, clad in a skin coat, and\nbearing a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows at his back, and a\nlittle axe hung by his side.  He said:\n\n\"I dwell in the House of the Hrossings of the Mid-mark, and I am now made\na man of the kindred: howbeit I was not born into it; for I am the son of\na fair and mighty woman of a folk of the Kymry, who was taken in war\nwhile she went big with me; I am called Fox the Red.\n\n\"These Romans have I seen, and have not died: so hearken! for my tale\nshall be short for what there is in it.\n\n\"I am, as many know, a hunter of Mirkwood, and I know all its ways and\nthe passes through the thicket somewhat better than most.\n\n\"A moon ago I fared afoot from Mid-mark through Upper-mark into the\nthicket of the south, and through it into the heath country; and I went\nover a neck and came in the early dawn into a little dale when somewhat\nof mist still hung over it.  At the dale's end I saw a man lying asleep\non the grass under a quicken tree, and his shield and sword hanging over\nhis head to a bough thereof, and his horse feeding hoppled higher up the\ndale.\n\n\"I crept up softly to him with a shaft nocked on the string, but when I\ndrew near I saw him to be of the sons of the Goths.  So I doubted\nnothing, but laid down my bow, and stood upright, and went to him and\nroused him, and he leapt up, and was wroth.\n\n\"I said to him, 'Wilt thou be wroth with a brother of the kindred meeting\nhim in unpeopled parts?'\n\n\"But he reached out for his weapons; but ere he could handle them I ran\nin on him so that he gat not his sword, and had scant time to smite at me\nwith a knife which he drew from his waist.\n\n\"I gave way before him for he was a very big man, and he rushed past me,\nand I dealt him a blow on the side of the head with my little axe which\nis called the War-babe, and gave him a great wound: and he fell on the\ngrass, and as it happened that was his bane.\n\n\"I was sorry that I had slain him, since he was a man of the Goths:\nalbeit otherwise he had slain me, for he was very wroth and dazed with\nslumber.\n\n\"He died not for a while; and he bade me fetch him water; and there was a\nwell hard by on the other side of the tree; so I fetched it him in a\ngreat shell that I carry, and he drank.  I would have sung the\nblood-staunching song over him, for I know it well.  But he said, 'It\navaileth nought: I have enough: what man art thou?'\n\n\"I said, 'I am a fosterling of the Hrossings, and my mother was taken in\nwar: my name is Fox.'\n\n\"Said he; 'O Fox, I have my due at thy hands, for I am a Markman of the\nElkings, but a guest of the Burgundians beyond the Great River; and the\nRomans are their masters and they do their bidding: even so did I who was\nbut their guest: and I a Markman to fight against the Markmen, and all\nfor fear and for gold!  And thou an alien-born hast slain their traitor\nand their dastard!  This is my due.  Give me to drink again.'\n\n\"So did I; and he said; 'Wilt thou do an errand for me to thine own\nhouse?'  'Yea,' said I.\n\n\"Said he, 'I am a messenger to the garth of the Romans, that I may tell\nthe road to the Mark, and lead them through the thicket; and other guides\nare coming after me: but not yet for three days or four.  So till they\ncome there will be no man in the Roman garth to know thee that thou art\nnot even I myself.  If thou art doughty, strip me when I am dead and do\nmy raiment on thee, and take this ring from my neck, for that is my\ntoken, and when they ask thee for a word say, \"_No limit_\"; for that is\nthe token-word.  Go south-east over the dales keeping Broadshield-fell\nsquare with thy right hand, and let thy wisdom, O Fox, lead thee to the\nGarth of the Romans, and so back to thy kindred with all tidings thou\nhast gathered--for indeed they come--a many of them.  Give me to drink.'\n\n\"So he drank again, and said, 'The bearer of this token is called\nHrosstyr of the River Goths.  He hath that name among dastards.  Thou\nshalt lay a turf upon my head.  Let my death pay for my life.'\n\n\"Therewith he fell back and died.  So I did as he bade me and took his\ngear, worth six kine, and did it on me; I laid turf upon him in that\ndale, and hid my bow and my gear in a blackthorn brake hard by, and then\ntook his horse and rode away.\n\n\"Day and night I rode till I came to the garth of the Romans; there I\ngave myself up to their watchers, and they brought me to their Duke, a\ngrim man and hard.  He said in a terrible voice, 'Thy name?'  I said,\n'Hrosstyr of the River Goths.'  He said, 'What limit?'  I answered, '_No\nlimit_.'  'The token!' said he, and held out his hand.  I gave him the\nring.  'Thou art the man,' said he.\n\n\"I thought in my heart, 'thou liest, lord,' and my heart danced for joy.\n\n\"Then he fell to asking me questions a many, and I answered every one\nglibly enough, and told him what I would, but no word of truth save for\nhis hurt, and my soul laughed within me at my lies; thought I, the\nothers, the traitors, shall come, and they shall tell him the truth, and\nhe will not trow it, or at the worst he will doubt them.  But me he\ndoubted nothing, else had he called in the tormentors to have the truth\nof me by pains; as I well saw afterwards, when they questioned with\ntorments a man and a woman of the hill-folk whom they had brought in\ncaptive.\n\n\"I went from him and went all about that garth espying everything,\nfearing nothing; albeit there were divers woful captives of the Goths,\nwho cursed me for a dastard, when they saw by my attire that I was of\ntheir blood.\n\n\"I abode there three days, and learned all that I might of the garth and\nthe host of them, and the fourth day in the morning I went out as if to\nhunt, and none hindered me, for they doubted me not.\n\n\"So I came my ways home to the Upper-mark, and was guested with the\nGeirings.  Will ye that I tell you somewhat of the ways of these Romans\nof the garth?  The time presses, and my tale runneth longer than I would.\nWhat will ye?\"\n\nThen there arose a murmur, \"Tell all, tell all.\"  \"Nay,\" said the Fox,\n\"All I may not tell; so much did I behold there during the three days'\nstay; but this much it behoveth you to know: that these men have no other\nthought save to win the Mark and waste it, and slay the fighting men and\nthe old carles, and enthrall such as they will, that is, all that be fair\nand young, and they long sorely for our women either to have or to sell.\n\n\"As for their garth, it is strongly walled about with a dyke newly dug;\non the top thereof are they building a wall made of clay, and burned like\npots into ashlar stones hard and red, and these are laid in lime.\n\n\"It is now the toil of the thralls of our blood whom they have taken,\nboth men and women, to dig that clay and to work it, and bear it to\nkilns, and to have for reward scant meat and many stripes.  For it is a\ngrim folk, that laugheth to see others weep.\n\n\"Their men-at-arms are well dight and for the most part in one way: they\nare helmed with iron, and have iron on their breasts and reins, and bear\nlong shields that cover them to the knees.  They are girt with a sax and\nhave a heavy casting-spear.  They are dark-skinned and ugly of aspect,\nsurly and of few words: they drink little, and eat not much.\n\n\"They have captains of tens and of hundreds over them, and that war-duke\nover all; he goeth to and fro with gold on his head and his breast, and\ncommonly hath a cloak cast over him of the colour of the crane's-bill\nblossom.\n\n\"They have an altar in the midst of their burg, and thereon they\nsacrifice to their God, who is none other than their banner of war, which\nis an image of the ravening eagle with outspread wings; but yet another\nGod they have, and look you! it is a wolf, as if they were of the kin of\nour brethren; a she-wolf and two man-children at her dugs; wonderful is\nthis.\n\n\"I tell you that they are grim; and know it by this token: those captains\nof tens, and of hundreds, spare not to smite the warriors with staves\neven before all men, when all goeth not as they would; and yet, though\nthey be free men, and mighty warriors, they endure it and smite not in\nturn.  They are a most evil folk.\n\n\"As to their numbers, they of the burg are hard on three thousand footmen\nof the best; and of horsemen five hundred, nowise good; and of bowmen and\nslingers six hundred or more: their bows weak; their slingers cunning\nbeyond measure.  And the talk is that when they come upon us they shall\nhave with them some five hundred warriors of the Over River Goths, and\nothers of their own folk.\"\n\nThen he said:\n\n   \"O men of the Mark, will ye meet them in the meadows and the field,\n   Or will ye flee before them and have the wood for a shield?\n   Or will ye wend to their war-burg with weapons cast away,\n   With your women and your children, a peace of them to pray?\n   So doing, not all shall perish; but most shall long to die\n   Ere in the garths of the Southland two moons have loitered by.\"\n\nThen rose the rumour loud and angry mingled with the rattle of swords and\nthe clash of spears on shields; but Fox said:\n\n\"Needs must ye follow one of these three ways.  Nay, what say I? there\nare but two ways and not three; for if ye flee they shall follow you to\nthe confines of the earth.  Either these Welsh shall take all, and our\nlives to boot, or we shall hold to all that is ours, and live merrily.\nThe sword doometh; and in three days it may be the courts shall be\nhallowed: small is the space between us.\"\n\nTherewith he also got him down from the Hill, and joined his own house:\nand men said that he had spoken well and wisely.  But there arose a noise\nof men talking together on these tidings; and amidst it an old warrior of\nthe Nether-mark strode forth and up to the Hill-top.  Gaunt and stark he\nwas to look on; and all men knew him and he was well-beloved, so all held\ntheir peace as he said:\n\n\"I am Otter of the Laxings: now needeth but few words till the War-duke\nis chosen, and we get ready to wend our ways in arms.  Here have ye heard\nthree good men and true tell of our foes, and this last, Fox the Red,\nhath seen them and hath more to tell when we are on the way; nor is the\nway hard to find.  It were scarce well to fall upon these men in their\ngarth and war-burg; for hard is a wall to slay.  Better it were to meet\nthem in the Wild-wood, which may well be a friend to us and a wall, but\nto them a net.  O Agni of the Daylings, thou warder of the Thing-stead,\nbid men choose a War-duke if none gainsay it.\"\n\nAnd without more words he clattered down the Hill, and went and stood\nwith the Laxing band.  But the old Dayling arose and blew the horn, and\nthere was at once a great silence, amidst which he said:\n\n\"Children of Slains-father, doth the Folk go to the war?\"\n\nThere was no voice but shouted \"yea,\" and the white swords sprang aloft,\nand the westering sun swept along a half of them as they tossed to and\nfro, and the others showed dead-white and fireless against the dark wood.\n\nThen again spake Agni:\n\n\"Will ye choose the War-duke now and once, or shall it be in a while,\nafter others have spoken?\"\n\nAnd the voice of the Folk went up, \"Choose!  Choose!\"\n\nSaid Agni: \"Sayeth any aught against it?\"  But no voice of a gainsayer\nwas heard, and Agni said:\n\n\"Children of Tyr, what man will ye have for a leader and a duke of war?\"\n\nThen a great shout sprang up from amidst the swords: \"We will have\nThiodolf; Thiodolf the Wolfing!\"\n\nSaid Agni: \"I hear no other name; are ye of one mind? hath any aught to\nsay against it?  If that be so, let him speak now, and not forbear to\nfollow in the wheatfield of the spears.  Speak, ye that will not follow\nThiodolf!\"\n\nNo voice gainsaid him: then said the Dayling: \"Come forth thou War-duke\nof the Markmen! take up the gold ring from the horns of the altar, set it\non thine arm and come up hither!\"\n\nThen came forth Thiodolf into the sun, and took up the gold ring from\nwhere it lay, and did it on his arm.  And this was the ring of the leader\nof the folk whenso one should be chosen: it was ancient and daintily\nwrought, but not very heavy: so ancient it was that men said it had been\nwrought by the dwarfs.\n\nSo Thiodolf went up on to the hill, and all men cried out on him for joy,\nfor they knew his wisdom in war.  Many wondered to see him unhelmed, but\nthey had a deeming that he must have made oath to the Gods thereof and\ntheir hearts were glad of it.  They took note of the dwarf-wrought\nhauberk, and even from a good way off they could see what a treasure of\nsmith's work it was, and they deemed it like enough that spells had been\nsung over it to make it sure against point and edge: for they knew that\nThiodolf was well beloved of the Gods.\n\nBut when Thiodolf was on the Hill of Speech, he said:\n\n\"Men of the kindreds, I am your War-duke to-day; but it is oftenest the\ncustom when ye go to war to choose you two dukes, and I would it were so\nnow.  No child's play is the work that lies before us; and if one leader\nchance to fall let there be another to take his place without stop or\nstay.  Thou Agni of the Daylings, bid the Folk choose them another duke\nif so they will.\"\n\nSaid Agni: \"Good is this which our War-duke hath spoken; say then, men of\nthe Mark, who shall stand with Thiodolf to lead you against the aliens?\"\n\nThen was there a noise and a crying of names, and more than two names\nseemed to be cried out; but by far the greater part named either Otter of\nthe Laxings, or Heriulf of the Wolfings.  True it is that Otter was a\nvery wise warrior, and well known to all the men of the Mark; yet so dear\nwas Heriulf to them, that none would have named Otter had it not been\nmostly their custom not to choose both War-dukes from one House.\n\nNow spake Agni: \"Children of Tyr, I hear you name more than one name: now\nlet each man cry out clearly the name he nameth.\"\n\nSo the Folk cried the names once more, but this time it was clear that\nnone was named save Otter and Heriulf; so the Dayling was at point to\nspeak again, but or ever a word left his lips, Heriulf the mighty, the\nancient of days, stood forth: and when men saw that he would take up the\nword there was a great silence.  So he spake:\n\n\"Hearken, children!  I am old and war-wise; but my wisdom is the wisdom\nof the sword of the mighty warrior, that knoweth which way it should\nwend, and hath no thought of turning back till it lieth broken in the\nfield.  Such wisdom is good against Folks that we have met heretofore; as\nwhen we have fought with the Huns, who would sweep us away from the face\nof the earth, or with the Franks or the Burgundians, who would quell us\ninto being something worser than they be.  But here is a new foe, and new\nwisdom, and that right shifty, do we need to meet them.  One wise duke\nhave ye gotten, Thiodolf to wit; and he is young beside me and beside\nOtter of the Laxings.  And now if ye must needs have an older man to\nstand beside him, (and that is not ill) take ye Otter; for old though his\nbody be, the thought within him is keen and supple like the best of Welsh-\nwrought blades, and it liveth in the days that now are: whereas for me,\nmeseemeth, my thoughts are in the days bygone.  Yet look to it, that I\nshall not fail to lead as the sword of the valiant leadeth, or the shaft\nshot by the cunning archer.  Choose ye Otter; I have spoken over long.\"\n\nThen spoke Agni the Dayling, and laughed withal: \"One man of the Folk\nhath spoken for Otter and against Heriulf--now let others speak if they\nwill!\"\n\nSo the cry came forth, \"Otter let it be, we will have Otter!\"\n\n\"Speaketh any against Otter?\" said Agni.  But there was no voice raised\nagainst him.\n\nThen Agni said: \"Come forth, Otter of the Laxings, and hold the ring with\nThiodolf.\"\n\nThen Otter went up on to the hill and stood by Thiodolf, and they held\nthe ring together; and then each thrust his hand and arm through the ring\nand clasped hands together, and stood thus awhile, and all the Folk\nshouted together.\n\nThen spake Agni: \"Now shall we hew the horses and give the gifts to the\nGods.\"\n\nTherewith he and the two War-dukes came down from the hill; and stood\nbefore the altar; and the nine warriors of the Daylings stood forth with\naxes to hew the horses and with copper bowls wherein to catch the blood\nof them, and each hewed down his horse to the Gods, but the two War-dukes\nslew the tenth and fairest: and the blood was caught in the bowls, and\nAgni took a sprinkler and went round about the ring of men, and cast the\nblood of the Gods'-gifts over the Folk, as was the custom of those days.\n\nThen they cut up the carcases and burned on the altar the share of the\nGods, and Agni and the War-dukes tasted thereof, and the rest they bore\noff to the Daylings' abode for the feast to be holden that night.\n\nThen Otter and Thiodolf spake apart together for awhile, and presently\nwent up again on to the Speech-Hill, and Thiodolf said:\n\n   \"O kindreds of the Markmen; to-morrow with the day\n   We shall wend up Mirkwood-water to bar our foes the way;\n   And there shall we make our wain-burg on the edges of the wood,\n   Where in the days past over at last the aliens stood,\n   The Slaughter Tofts ye call it.  There tidings shall we get\n   If the curse of the world is awakened, and the serpent crawleth yet\n   Amidst the Mirkwood thicket; and when the sooth we know,\n   Then bearing battle with us through the thicket shall we go,\n   The ancient Wood-wolf's children, and the People of the Shield,\n   And the Spear-kin and the Horse-kin, while the others keep the field\n   About the warded wain-burg; for not many need we there\n   Where amidst of the thickets' tangle and the woodland net they fare,\n   And the hearts of the aliens falter and they curse the fight ne'er\n   done,\n   And wonder who is fighting and which way is the sun.\"\n\nThus he spoke; then Agni took up the war-horn again, and blew a blast,\nand then he cried out:\n\n   \"Now sunder we the Folk-mote! and the feast is for to-night,\n   And to-morrow the Wayfaring; But unnamed is the day of the fight;\n   O warriors, look ye to it that not long we need abide\n   'Twixt the hour of the word we have spoken, and our fair-fame's\n   blooming tide!\n   For then 'midst the toil and the turmoil shall we sow the seeds of\n   peace,\n   And the Kindreds' long endurance, and the Goth-folk's great increase.\"\n\nThen arose the last great shout, and soberly and in due order, kindred by\nkindred, they turned and departed from the Thing-stead and went their way\nthrough the wood to the abode of the Daylings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX--THE ANCIENT MAN OF THE DAYLINGS\n\n\nThere still hung the more part of the stay-at-homes round about the Roof.\nBut on the plain beneath the tofts were all the wains of the host drawn\nup round about a square like the streets about a market-place; all these\nnow had their tilts rigged over them, some white, some black, some red,\nsome tawny of hue; and some, which were of the Beamings, green like the\nleafy tree.\n\nThe warriors of the host went down into this wain-town, which they had\nnot fenced in any way, since they in no wise looked for any onset there;\nand there were their thralls dighting the feast for them, and a many of\nthe Dayling kindred, both men and women, went with them; but some men did\nthe Daylings bring into their Roof, for there was room for a good many\nbesides their own folk.  So they went over the Bridge of turf into the\ngarth and into the Great Roof of the Daylings; and amongst these were the\ntwo War-dukes.\n\nSo when they came to the dais it was as fair all round about there as\nmight well be; and there sat elders and ancient warriors to welcome the\nguests; and among them was the old carle who had sat on the edge of the\nburg to watch the faring of the host, and had shuddered back at the sight\nof the Wolfing Banner.\n\nAnd when the old carle saw the guests, he fixed his eyes on Thiodolf, and\npresently came up and stood before him; and Thiodolf looked on the old\nman, and greeted him kindly and smiled on him; but the carle spake not\ntill he had looked on him a while; and at last he fell a-trembling, and\nreached his hands out to Thiodolf's bare head, and handled his curls and\ncaressed them, as a mother does with her son, even if he be a grizzled-\nhaired man, when there is none by: and at last he said:\n\n   \"How dear is the head of the mighty, and the apple of the tree\n   That blooms with the life of the people which is and yet shall be!\n   It is helmed with ancient wisdom, and the long remembered thought,\n   That liveth when dead is the iron, and its very rust but nought.\n   Ah! were I but young as aforetime, I would fare to the battle-stead\n   And stand amidst of the spear-hail for the praise of the hand and the\n   head!\"\n\nThen his hands left Thiodolf's head, and strayed down to his shoulders\nand his breast, and he felt the cold rings of the hauberk, and let his\nhands fall down to his side again; and the tears gushed out of his old\neyes and again he spake:\n\n   \"O house of the heart of the mighty, O breast of the battle-lord\n   Why art thou coldly hidden from the flickering flame of the sword?\n   I know thee not, nor see thee; thou art as the fells afar\n   Where the Fathers have their dwelling, and the halls of Godhome are:\n   The wind blows wild betwixt us, and the cloud-rack flies along,\n   And high aloft enfoldeth the dwelling of the strong;\n   They are, as of old they have been, but their hearths flame not for\n   me;\n   And the kindness of their feast-halls mine eyes shall never see.\"\n\nThiodolf's lips still smiled on the old man, but a shadow had come over\nhis eyes and his brow; and the chief of the Daylings and their mighty\nguests stood by listening intently with the knit brows of anxious men;\nnor did any speak till the ancient man again betook him to words:\n\n   \"I came to the house of the foeman when hunger made me a fool;\n   And the foeman said, 'Thou art weary, lo, set thy foot on the stool;'\n   And I stretched out my feet,--and was shackled: and he spake with a\n   dastard's smile,\n   'O guest, thine hands are heavy; now rest them for a while!'\n   So I stretched out my hands, and the hand-gyves lay cold on either\n   wrist:\n   And the wood of the wolf had been better than that feast-hall, had I\n   wist\n   That this was the ancient pit-fall, and the long expected trap,\n   And that now for my heart's desire I had sold the world's goodhap.\"\n\nTherewith the ancient man turned slowly away from Thiodolf, and departed\nsadly to his own place.  Thiodolf changed countenance but little, albeit\nthose about him looked strangely on him, as though if they durst they\nwould ask him what these words might be, and if he from his hidden\nknowledge might fit a meaning to them.  For to many there was a word of\nwarning in them, and to some an evil omen of the days soon to be; and\nscarce anyone heard those words but he had a misgiving in his heart, for\nthe ancient man was known to be foreseeing, and wild and strange his\nwords seemed to them.\n\nBut Agni would make light of it, and he said: \"Asmund the Old is of good\nwill, and wise he is; but he hath great longings for the deeds of men,\nwhen he hath tidings of battle; for a great warrior and a red-hand hewer\nhe hath been in times past; he loves the Kindred, and deems it ill if he\nmay not fare afield with them; for the thought of dying in the straw is\nhateful to him.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said another, \"and moreover he hath seen sons whom he loved slain\nin battle; and when he seeth a warrior in his prime he becometh dear to\nhim, and he feareth for him.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" said a third, \"Asmund is foreseeing; and may be, Thiodolf, thou\nwilt wot of the drift of these words, and tell us thereof.\"\n\nBut Thiodolf spake nought of the matter, though in his heart he pondered\nit.\n\nSo the guests were led to table, and the feast began, within the hall and\nwithout it, and wide about the plain; and the Dayling maidens went in\nbands trimly decked out throughout all the host and served the warriors\nwith meat and drink, and sang the overword to their lays, and smote the\nharp, and drew the bow over the fiddle till it laughed and wailed and\nchuckled, and were blithe and merry with all, and great was the glee on\nthe eve of battle.  And if Thiodolf's heart were overcast, his face\nshowed it not, but he passed from hall to wain-burg and from wain-burg to\nhall again blithe and joyous with all men.  And thereby he raised the\nhearts of men, and they deemed it good that they had gotten such a War-\nduke, meet to uphold all hearts of men both at the feast and in the fray.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X--THAT CARLINE COMETH TO THE ROOF OF THE WOLFINGS\n\n\nNow it was three days after this that the women were gathering to the\nWomen's-Chamber of the Roof of the Wolfings a little before the afternoon\nchanges into evening.  The hearts of most were somewhat heavy, for the\ndoubt wherewith they had watched the departure of the fighting-men still\nhung about them; nor had they any tidings from the host (nor was it like\nthat they should have).  And as they were somewhat down-hearted, so it\nseemed by the aspect of all things that afternoon.  It was not yet the\nevening, as is aforesaid, but the day was worn and worsened, and all\nthings looked weary.  The sky was a little clouded, but not much; yet was\nit murky down in the south-east, and there was a threat of storm in it,\nand in the air close round each man's head, and in the very waving of the\nleafy boughs.  There was by this time little doing in field and fold (for\nthe kine were milked), and the women were coming up from the acres and\nthe meadow and over the open ground anigh the Roof; there was the grass\nworn and dusty, and the women that trod it, their feet were tanned and\nworn, and dusty also; skin-dry and weary they looked, with the sweat\ndried upon them; their girt-up gowns grey and lightless, their\nhalf-unbound hair blowing about them in the dry wind, which had in it no\nmorning freshness, and no evening coolness.\n\nIt was a time when toil was well-nigh done, but had left its aching\nbehind it; a time for folk to sleep and forget for a little while, till\nthe low sun should make it evening, and make all things fair with his\nlevel rays; no time for anxious thoughts concerning deeds doing, wherein\nthe anxious ones could do nought to help.  Yet such thoughts those stay-\nat-homes needs must have in the hour of their toil scarce over, their\nrest and mirth not begun.\n\nSlowly one by one the women went in by the Women's-door, and the Hall-Sun\nsat on a stone hard by, and watched them as they passed; and she looked\nkeenly at all persons and all things.  She had been working in the acres,\nand her hand was yet on the hoe she had been using, and but for her face\nher body was as of one resting after toil: her dark blue gown was\nungirded, her dark hair loose and floating, the flowers that had wreathed\nit, now faded, lying strewn upon the grass before her: her feet bare for\ncoolness' sake, her left hand lying loose and open upon her knee.\n\nYet though her body otherwise looked thus listless, in her face was no\nlistlessness, nor rest: her eyes were alert and clear, shining like two\nstars in the heavens of dawn-tide; her lips were set close, her brow\nknit, as of one striving to shape thoughts hard to understand into words\nthat all might understand.\n\nSo she sat noting all things, as woman by woman went past her into the\nhall, till at last she slowly rose to her feet; for there came two young\nwomen leading between them that same old carline with whom she had talked\non the Hill-of-Speech.  She looked on the carline steadfastly, but gave\nno token of knowing her; but the ancient woman spoke when she came near\nto the Hall-Sun, and old as her semblance was, yet did her speech sound\nsweet to the Hall-Sun, and indeed to all those that heard it and she\nsaid:\n\n\"May we be here to-night, O Hall-Sun, thou lovely Seeress of the mighty\nWolfings? may a wandering woman sit amongst you and eat the meat of the\nWolfings?\"\n\nThen spake the Hall-Sun in a sweet measured voice: \"Surely mother: all\nmen who bring peace with them are welcome guests to the Wolfings: nor\nwill any ask thine errand, but we will let thy tidings flow from thee as\nthou wilt.  This is the custom of the kindred, and no word of mine own; I\nspeak to thee because thou hast spoken to me, but I have no authority\nhere, being myself but an alien.  Albeit I serve the House of the\nWolfings, and I love it as the hound loveth his master who feedeth him,\nand his master's children who play with him.  Enter, mother, and be glad\nof heart, and put away care from thee.\"\n\nThen the old woman drew nigher to her and sat down in the dust at her\nfeet, for she was now sitting down again, and took her hand and kissed it\nand fondled it, and seemed loth to leave handling the beauty of the Hall-\nSun; but she looked kindly on the carline, and smiled on her, and leaned\ndown to her, and kissed her mouth, and said:\n\n\"Damsels, take care of this poor woman, and make her good cheer; for she\nis wise of wit, and a friend of the Wolfings; and I have seen her before,\nand spoken with her; and she loveth us.  But as for me I must needs be\nalone in the meads for a while; and it may be that when I come to you\nagain, I shall have a word to tell you.\"\n\nNow indeed it was in a manner true that the Hall-Sun had no authority in\nthe Wolfing House; yet was she so well beloved for her wisdom and beauty\nand her sweet speech, that all hastened to do her will in small matters\nand in great, and now as they looked at her after the old woman had\ncaressed her, it seemed to them that her fairness grew under their eyes,\nand that they had never seen her so fair; and the sight of her seemed so\ngood to them, that the outworn day and its weariness changed to them, and\nit grew as pleasant as the first hours of the sunlight, when men arise\nhappy from their rest, and look on the day that lieth hopeful before them\nwith all its deeds to be.\n\nSo they grew merry, and they led the carline into the Hall with them, and\nset her down in the Women's-Chamber, and washed her feet, and gave her\nmeat and drink, and bade her rest and think of nothing troublous, and in\nall wise made her good cheer; and she was merry with them, and praised\ntheir fairness and their deftness, and asked them many questions about\ntheir weaving and spinning and carding; (howbeit the looms were idle as\nthen because it was midsummer, and the men gone to the war).  And this\nthey deemed strange, as it seemed to them that all women should know of\nsuch things; but they thought it was a token that she came from far away.\n\nBut afterwards she sat among them, and told them pleasant tales of past\ntimes and far countries, and was blithe to them and they to her and the\ntime wore on toward nightfall in the Women's-Chamber.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI--THE HALL-SUN SPEAKETH\n\n\nBut for the Hall-Sun; she sat long on that stone by the Women's-door; but\nwhen the evening was now come, she arose and went down through the\ncornfields and into the meadow, and wandered away as her feet took her.\n\nNight was falling by then she reached that pool of Mirkwood-water, whose\neddies she knew so well.  There she let the water cover her in the deep\nstream, and she floated down and sported with the ripples where the river\nleft that deep to race over the shallows; and the moon was casting\nshadows by then she came up the bank again by the shallow end bearing in\nher arms a bundle of the blue-flowering mouse-ear.  Then she clad herself\nat once, and went straight as one with a set purpose toward the Great\nRoof, and entered by the Man's-door; and there were few men within and\nthey but old and heavy with the burden of years and the coming of night-\ntide; but they wondered and looked to each other and nodded their heads\nas she passed them by, as men who would say, There is something toward.\n\nSo she went to her sleeping-place, and did on fresh raiment, and came\nforth presently clad in white and shod with gold and having her hair\nwreathed about with the herb of wonder, the blue-flowering mouse-ear of\nMirkwood-water.  Thus she passed through the Hall, and those elders were\nstirred in their hearts when they beheld her beauty.  But she opened the\ndoor of the Women's-Chamber, and stood on the threshold; and lo, there\nsat the carline amidst a ring of the Wolfing women, and she telling them\ntales of old time such as they had not yet heard; and her eyes were\nglittering, and the sweet words were flowing from her mouth; but she sat\nstraight up like a young woman; and at whiles it seemed to those who\nhearkened, that she was no old and outworn woman, but fair and strong,\nand of much avail.  But when she heard the Hall-Sun she turned and saw\nher on the threshold, and her speech fell suddenly, and all that might\nand briskness faded from her, and she fixed her eyes on the Hall-Sun and\nlooked wistfully and anxiously on her.\n\nThen spake the Hall-Sun standing in the doorway:\n\n   \"Hear ye a matter, maidens, and ye Wolfing women all,\n   And thou alien guest of the Wolfings!  But come ye up the hall,\n   That the ancient men may hearken: for methinks I have a word\n   Of the battle of the Kindreds, and the harvest of the sword.\"\n\nThen all arose up with great joy, for they knew that the tidings were\ngood, when they looked on the face of the Hall-Sun and beheld the pride\nof her beauty unmarred by doubt or pain.\n\nShe led them forth to the dais, and there were the sick and the elders\ngathered and some ancient men of the thralls: so she stepped lightly up\nto her place, and stood under her namesake, the wondrous lamp of ancient\ndays.  And thus she spake:\n\n   \"On my soul there lies no burden, and no tangle of the fight\n   In plain or dale or wild-wood enmeshes now my sight.\n   I see the Markmen's wain-burg, and I see their warriors go\n   As men who wait for battle and the coming of the foe.\n   And they pass 'twixt the wood and the wain-burg within earshot of the\n   horn,\n   But over the windy meadows no sound thereof is borne,\n   And all is well amongst them.  To the burg I draw anigh\n   And I see all battle-banners in the breeze of morning fly,\n   But no Wolfings round their banner and no warrior of the Shield,\n   No Geiring and no Hrossing in the burg or on the field.\"\n\nShe held her peace for a little while, and no one dared to speak; then\nshe lifted up her head and spake:\n\n   \"Now I go by the lip of the wild-wood and a sound withal I hear,\n   As of men in the paths of the thicket, and a many drawing anear.\n   Then, muffled yet by the tree-boles, I hear the Shielding song,\n   And warriors blithe and merry with the battle of the strong.\n   Give back a little, Markmen, make way for men to pass\n   To your ordered battle-dwelling o'er the trodden meadow-grass,\n   For alive with men is the wild-wood and shineth with the steel,\n   And hath a voice most merry to tell of the Kindreds' weal,\n   'Twixt each tree a warrior standeth come back from the spear-strewn\n   way,\n   And forth they come from the wild-wood and a little band are they.\"\n\nThen again was she silent; but her head sank not, as of one thinking, as\nbefore it did, but she looked straight forward with bright eyes and\nsmiling, as she said:\n\n   \"Lo, now the guests they are bringing that ye have not seen before;\n   Yet guests but ill-entreated; for they lack their shields of war,\n   No spear in the hand they carry and with no sax are girt.\n   Lo, these are the dreaded foemen, these once so strong to hurt;\n   The men that all folk fled from, the swift to drive the spoil,\n   The men that fashioned nothing but the trap to make men toil.\n   They drew the sword in the cities, they came and struck the stroke\n   And smote the shield of the Markmen, and point and edge they broke.\n   They drew the sword in the war-garth, they swore to bring aback\n   God's gifts from the Markmen houses where the tables never lack.\n   O Markmen, take the God-gifts that came on their own feet\n   O'er the hills through the Mirkwood thicket the Stone of Tyr to meet!\"\n\nAgain she stayed her song, which had been loud and joyous, and they who\nheard her knew that the Kindreds had gained the day, and whilst the Hall-\nSun was silent they fell to talking of this fair day of battle and the\ntaking of captives.  But presently she spread out her hands again and\nthey held their peace, and she said:\n\n   \"I see, O Wolfing women, and many a thing I see,\n   But not all things, O elders, this eve shall ye learn of me,\n   For another mouth there cometh: the thicket I behold\n   And the Sons of Tyr amidst it, and I see the oak-trees old,\n   And the war-shout ringing round them; and I see the battle-lord\n   Unhelmed amidst of the mighty; and I see his leaping sword;\n   Strokes struck and warriors falling, and the streaks of spears I see,\n   But hereof shall the other tell you who speaketh after me.\n   For none other than the Shieldings from out the wood have come,\n   And they shift the turn with the Daylings to drive the folk-spear\n   home,\n   And to follow with the Wolfings and thrust the war-beast forth.\n   And so good men deem the tidings that they bid them journey north\n   On the feet of a Shielding runner, that Gisli hath to name;\n   And west of the water he wendeth by the way that the Wolfings came;\n   Now for sleep he tarries never, and no meat is in his mouth\n   Till the first of the Houses hearkeneth the tidings of the south;\n   Lo, he speaks, and the mead-sea sippeth, and the bread by the way doth\n   eat,\n   And over the Geiring threshold and outward pass his feet;\n   And he breasts the Burg of the Daylings and saith his happy word,\n   And stayeth to drink for a minute of the waves of Battleford.\n   Lone then by the stream he runneth, and wendeth the wild-wood road,\n   And dasheth through the hazels of the Oselings' fair abode,\n   And the Elking women know it, and their hearts are glad once more,\n   And ye--yea, hearken, Wolfings, for his feet are at the door.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII--TIDINGS OF THE BATTLE IN MIRKWOOD\n\n\nAs the Hall-Sun made an end they heard in good sooth the feet of the\nrunner on the hard ground without the hall, and presently the door opened\nand he came leaping over the threshold, and up to the table, and stood\nleaning on it with one hand, his breast heaving with his last swift run.\nThen he spake presently:\n\n\"I am Gisli of the Shieldings: Otter sendeth me to the Hall-Sun; but on\nthe way I was to tell tidings to the Houses west of the Water: so have I\ndone.  Now is my journey ended; for Otter saith: 'Let the Hall-Sun note\nthe tidings and send word of them by four of the lightest limbed of the\nwomen, or by lads a-horseback, both west and east of the Water; let her\nsend the word as it seemeth to her, whether she hath seen it or not.  I\nwill drink a short draught since my running is over.\"\n\nThen a damsel brought him a horn of mead and let it come into his hand,\nand he drank sighing with pleasure, while the damsel for pleasure of him\nand his tidings laid her hand on his shoulder.  Then he set down the horn\nand spake:\n\n\"We, the Shieldings, with the Geirings, the Hrossings, and the Wolfings,\nthree hundred warriors and more, were led into the Wood by Thiodolf the\nWar-duke, beside whom went Fox, who hath seen the Romans.  We were all\nafoot; for there is no wide way through the Wood, nor would we have it\notherwise, lest the foe find the thicket easy.  But many of us know the\nthicket and its ways; so we made not the easy hard.  I was near the War-\nduke, for I know the thicket and am light-foot: I am a bowman.  I saw\nThiodolf that he was unhelmed and bore no shield, nor had he any coat of\nfence; nought but a deer-skin frock.\"\n\nAs he said that word, the carline, who had drawn very near to him and was\nlooking hard at his face, turned and looked on the Hall-Sun and stared at\nher till she reddened under those keen eyes: for in her heart began to\ngather some knowledge of the tale of her mother and what her will was.\n\nBut Gisli went on: \"Yet by his side was his mighty sword, and we all knew\nit for Throng-plough, and were glad of it and of him and the unfenced\nbreast of the dauntless.  Six hours we went spreading wide through the\nthicket, not always seeing one another, but knowing one another to be\nnigh; those that knew the thicket best led, the others followed on.  So\nwe went till it was high noon on the plain and glimmering dusk in the\nthicket, and we saw nought, save here and there a roe, and here and there\na sounder of swine, and coneys where it was opener, and the sun shone and\nthe grass grew for a little space.  So came we unto where the thicket\nended suddenly, and there was a long glade of the wild-wood, all set\nabout with great oak-trees and grass thereunder, which I knew well; and\nthereof the tale tells that it was a holy place of the folk who abided in\nthese parts before the Sons of the Goths.  Now will I drink.\"\n\nSo he drank of the horn and said: \"It seemeth that Fox had a deeming of\nthe way the Romans should come; so now we abided in the thicket without\nthat glade and lay quiet and hidden, spreading ourselves as much about\nthat lawn of the oak-trees as we might, the while Fox and three others\ncrept through the wood to espy what might be toward: not long had they\nbeen gone ere we heard a war-horn blow, and it was none of our horns: it\nwas a long way off, but we looked to our weapons: for men are eager for\nthe foe and the death that cometh, when they lie hidden in the thicket.  A\nwhile passed, and again we heard the horn, and it was nigher and had a\nmarvellous voice; then in a while was a little noise of men, not their\nvoices, but footsteps going warily through the brake to the south, and\ntwelve men came slowly and warily into that oak-lawn, and lo, one of them\nwas Fox; but he was clad in the raiment of the dastard of the Goths whom\nhe had slain.  I tell you my heart beat, for I saw that the others were\nRoman men, and one of them seemed to be a man of authority, and he held\nFox by the shoulder, and pointed to the thicket where we lay, and\nsomething he said to him, as we saw by his gesture and face, but his\nvoice we heard not, for he spake soft.\n\n\"Then of those ten men of his he sent back two, and Fox going between\nthem, as though he should be slain if he misled them; and he and the\neight abided there wisely and warily, standing silently some six feet\nfrom each other, moving scarce at all, but looking like images fashioned\nof brown copper and iron; holding their casting-spears (which be\nmarvellous heavy weapons) and girt with the sax.\n\n\"As they stood there, not out of earshot of a man speaking in his wonted\nvoice, our War-duke made a sign to those about him, and we spread very\nquietly to the right hand and the left of him once more, and we drew as\nclose as might be to the thicket's edge, and those who had bows the\nnighest thereto.  Thus then we abided a while again; and again came the\nhorn's voice; for belike they had no mind to come their ways covertly\nbecause of their pride.\n\n\"Soon therewithal comes Fox creeping back to us, and I saw him whisper\ninto the ear of the War-duke, but heard not the word he said.  I saw that\nhe had hanging to him two Roman saxes, so I deemed he had slain those\ntwo, and so escaped the Romans.  Maidens, it were well that ye gave me to\ndrink again, for I am weary and my journey is done.\"\n\nSo again they brought him the horn, and made much of him; and he drank,\nand then spake on.\n\n\"Now heard we the horn's voice again quite close, and it was sharp and\nshrill, and nothing like to the roar of our battle-horns: still was the\nwood and no wind abroad, not even down the oak-lawn; and we heard now the\ntramp of many men as they thrashed through the small wood and bracken of\nthe thicket-way; and those eight men and their leader came forward,\nmoving like one, close up to the thicket where I lay, just where the path\npassed into the thicket beset by the Sons of the Goths: so near they were\nthat I could see the dints upon their armour, and the strands of the wire\non their sax-handles.  Down then bowed the tall bracken on the further\nside of the wood-lawn, the thicket crashed before the march of men, and\non they strode into the lawn, a goodly band, wary, alert, and silent of\ncries.\n\n\"But when they came into the lawn they spread out somewhat to their left\nhands, that is to say on the west side, for that way was the clear glade;\nbut on the east the thicket came close up to them and edged them away.\nTherein lay the Goths.\n\n\"There they stayed awhile, and spread out but a little, as men marching,\nnot as men fighting.  A while we let them be; and we saw their captain,\nno big man, but dight with very fair armour and weapons; and there drew\nup to him certain Goths armed, the dastards of the folk, and another\nunarmed, an old man bound and bleeding.  With these Goths had the captain\nsome converse, and presently he cried out two or three words of Welsh in\na loud voice, and the nine men who were ahead shifted them somewhat away\nfrom us to lead down the glade westward.\n\n\"The prey had come into the net, but they had turned their faces toward\nthe mouth of it.\n\n\"Then turned Thiodolf swiftly to the man behind him who carried the war-\nhorn, and every man handled his weapons: but that man understood, and set\nthe little end to his mouth, and loud roared the horn of the Markmen, and\nneither friend nor foe misdoubted the tale thereof.  Then leaped every\nman to his feet, all bow-strings twanged and the cast-spears flew; no man\nforebore to shout; each as he might leapt out of the thicket and fell on\nwith sword and axe and spear, for it was from the bowmen but one shaft\nand no more.\n\n\"Then might you have seen Thiodolf as he bounded forward like the wild-\ncat on the hare, how he had no eyes for any save the Roman captain.\nFoemen enough he had round about him after the two first bounds from the\nthicket; for the Romans were doing their best to spread, that they might\nhandle those heavy cast-spears, though they might scarce do it, just come\nout of the thicket as they were, and thrust together by that onslaught of\nthe kindreds falling on from two sides and even somewhat from behind.  To\nright and left flashed Throng-plough, while Thiodolf himself scarce\nseemed to guide it: men fell before him at once, and close at his heels\npoured the Wolfing kindred into the gap, and in a minute of time was he\namidst of the throng and face to face with the gold-dight captain.\n\n\"What with the sweep of Throng-plough and the Wolfing onrush, there was\nspace about him for a great stroke; he gave a side-long stroke to his\nright and hewed down a tall Burgundian, and then up sprang the white\nblade, but ere its edge fell he turned his wrist, and drove the point\nthrough that Captain's throat just above the ending of his hauberk, so\nthat he fell dead amidst of his folk.\n\n\"All the four kindreds were on them now, and amidst them, and needs must\nthey give way: but stoutly they fought; for surely no other warriors\nmight have withstood that onslaught of the Markmen for the twinkling of\nan eye: but had the Romans had but the space to have spread themselves\nout there, so as to handle their shot-weapons, many a woman's son of us\nhad fallen; for no man shielded himself in his eagerness, but let the\nswiftness of the Onset of point-and-edge shield him; which, sooth to say,\nis often a good shield, as here was found.\n\n\"So those that were unslain and unhurt fled west along the glade, but not\nas dastards, and had not Thiodolf followed hard in the chase according to\nhis wont, they might even yet have made a fresh stand and spread from oak-\ntree to oak-tree across the glade: but as it befel, they might not get a\nfair offing so as to disentangle themselves and array themselves in good\norder side by side; and whereas the Markmen were fleet of foot, and in\nthe woods they knew, there were a many aliens slain in the chase or taken\nalive unhurt or little hurt: but the rest fled this way and that way into\nthe thicket, with whom were some of the Burgundians; so there they abide\nnow as outcasts and men unholy, to be slain as wild-beasts one by one as\nwe meet them.\n\n\"Such then was the battle in Mirkwood.  Give me the mead-horn that I may\ndrink to the living and the dead, and the memory of the dead, and the\ndeeds of the living that are to be.\"\n\nSo they brought him the horn, and he waved it over his head and drank\nagain and spake:\n\n\"Sixty and three dead men of the Romans we counted there up and down that\noak-glade; and we cast earth over them; and three dead dastards of the\nGoths, and we left them for the wolves to deal with.  And twenty-five men\nof the Romans we took alive to be for hostages if need should be, and\nthese did we Shielding men, who are not very many, bring aback to the\nwain-burg; and the Daylings, who are a great company, were appointed to\nenter the wood and be with Thiodolf; and me did Otter bid to bear the\ntidings, even as I have told you.  And I have not loitered by the way.\"\n\nGreat then was the joy in the Hall; and they took Gisli, and made much of\nhim, and led him to the bath, and clad him in fine raiment taken from the\ncoffer which was but seldom opened, because the cloths it held were\nprecious; and they set a garland of green wheat-ears on his head.  Then\nthey fell to and spread the feast in the hall; and they ate and drank and\nwere merry.\n\nBut as for speeding the tidings, the Hall-Sun sent two women and two\nlads, all a-horseback, to bear the words: the women to remember the words\nwhich she taught them carefully, the lads to be handy with the horses, or\nin the ford, or the swimming of the deeps, or in the thicket.  So they\nwent their ways, down the water: one pair went on the western side, and\nthe other crossed Mirkwood-water at the shallows (for being Midsummer the\nwater was but small), and went along the east side, so that all the\nkindred might know of the tidings and rejoice.\n\nGreat was the glee in the Hall, though the warriors of the House were\naway, and many a song and lay they sang: but amidst the first of the\nsinging they bethought them of the old woman, and would have bidden her\ntell them some tale of times past, since she was so wise in the ancient\nlore.  But when they sought for her on all sides she was not to be found,\nnor could anyone remember seeing her depart from the Hall.  But this had\nthey no call to heed, and the feast ended, as it began, in great glee.\n\nAlbeit the Hall-Sun was troubled about the carline, both that she had\ncome, and that she had gone: and she determined that the next time she\nmet her she would strive to have of her a true tale of what she was, and\nof all that was toward.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII--THE HALL-SUN SAITH ANOTHER WORD\n\n\nIt was no later than the next night, and a many of what thralls were not\nwith the host were about in the feast-hall with the elders and lads and\nweaklings of the House; for last night's tidings had drawn them thither.\nGisli had gone back to his kindred and the wain-burg in the Upper-mark,\nand the women were sitting, most of them, in the Women's-Chamber, some of\nthem doing what little summer work needed doing about the looms, but more\nresting from their work in field and acre.\n\nThen came the Hall-Sun forth from her room clad in glittering raiment,\nand summoned no one, but went straight to her place on the dais under her\nnamesake the Lamp, and stood there a little without speaking.  Her face\nwas pale now, her lips a little open, her eyes set and staring as if they\nsaw nothing of all that was round about her.\n\nNow went the word through the Hall and the Women's-Chamber that the Hall-\nSun would speak again, and that great tidings were toward; so all folk\ncame flock-meal to the dais, both thralls and free; and scarce were all\ngathered there, ere the Hall-Sun began speaking, and said:\n\n   \"The days of the world thrust onward, and men are born therein\n   A many and a many, and divers deeds they win\n   In the fashioning of stories for the kindreds of the earth,\n   A garland interwoven of sorrow and of mirth.\n   To the world a warrior cometh; from the world he passeth away,\n   And no man then may sunder his good from his evil day.\n   By the Gods hath he been tormented, and been smitten by the foe:\n   He hath seen his maiden perish, he hath seen his speech-friend go:\n   His heart hath conceived a joyance and hath brought it unto birth:\n   But he hath not carried with him his sorrow or his mirth.\n   He hath lived, and his life hath fashioned the outcome of the deed,\n   For the blossom of the people, and the coming kindreds' seed.\n\n   \"Thus-wise the world is fashioned, and the new sun of the morn\n   Where earth last night was desert beholds a kindred born,\n   That to-morrow and to-morrow blossoms all gloriously\n   With many a man and maiden for the kindreds yet to be,\n   And fair the Goth-folk groweth.  And yet the story saith\n   That the deeds that make the summer make too the winter's death,\n   That summer-tides unceasing from out the grave may grow\n   And the spring rise up unblemished from the bosom of the snow.\n\n   \"Thus as to every kindred the day comes once for all\n   When yesterday it was not, and to-day it builds the hall,\n   So every kindred bideth the night-tide of the day,\n   Whereof it knoweth nothing, e'en when noon is past away.\n   E'en thus the House of the Wolfings 'twixt dusk and dark doth stand,\n   And narrow is the pathway with the deep on either hand.\n   On the left are the days forgotten, on the right the days to come,\n   And another folk and their story in the stead of the Wolfing home.\n   Do the shadows darken about it, is the even here at last?\n   Or is this but a storm of the noon-tide that the wind is driving past?\n\n   \"Unscathed as yet it standeth; it bears the stormy drift,\n   Nor bows to the lightening flashing adown from the cloudy lift.\n   I see the hail of battle and the onslaught of the strong,\n   And they go adown to the folk-mote that shall bide there over long.\n   I see the slain-heaps rising and the alien folk prevail,\n   And the Goths give back before them on the ridge o'er the treeless\n   vale.\n   I see the ancient fallen, and the young man smitten dead,\n   And yet I see the War-duke shake Throng-plough o'er his head,\n   And stand unhelmed, unbyrnied before the alien host,\n   And the hurt men rise around him to win back battle lost;\n   And the wood yield up her warriors, and the whole host rushing on,\n   And the swaying lines of battle until the lost is won.\n   Then forth goes the cry of triumph, as they ring the captives round\n   And cheat the crow of her portion and heap the warriors' mound.\n   There are faces gone from our feast-hall not the least beloved nor\n   worst,\n   But the wane of the House of the Wolfings not yet the world hath\n   cursed.\n   The sun shall rise to-morrow on our cold and dewy roof,\n   For they that longed for slaughter were slaughtered far aloof.\"\n\nShe ceased for a little, but her countenance, which had not changed\nduring her song, changed not at all now: so they all kept silence\nalthough they were rejoicing in this new tale of victory; for they deemed\nthat she was not yet at the end of her speaking.  And in good sooth she\nspake again presently, and said:\n\n   \"I wot not what hath befallen nor where my soul may be,\n   For confusion is within me and but dimly do I see,\n   As if the thing that I look on had happed a while ago.\n   They stand by the tofts of a war-garth, a captain of the foe,\n   And a man that is of the Goth-folk, and as friend and friend they\n   speak,\n   But I hear no word they are saying, though for every word I seek.\n   And now the mist flows round me and blind I come aback\n   To the House-roof of the Wolfings and the hearth that hath no lack.\"\n\nHer voice grew weaker as she spake the last words, and she sank backward\non to her chair: her clenched hands opened, the lids fell down over her\nbright eyes, her breast heaved no more as it had done, and presently she\nfell asleep.\n\nThe folk were doubtful and somewhat heavy-hearted because of those last\nwords of hers; but they would not ask her more, or rouse her from her\nsleep, lest they should grieve her; so they departed to their beds and\nslept for what was yet left of the night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV--THE HALL-SUN IS CAREFUL CONCERNING THE PASSES OF THE WOOD\n\n\nIn the morning early folk arose; and the lads and women who were not of\nthe night-shift got them ready to go to the mead and the acres; for the\nsunshine had been plenty these last days and the wheat was done\nblossoming, and all must be got ready for harvest.  So they broke their\nfast, and got their tools into their hands: but they were somewhat heavy-\nhearted because of those last words of the Hall-Sun, and the doubt of\nlast night still hung about them, and they were scarcely as merry as men\nare wont to be in the morning.\n\nAs for the Hall-Sun, she was afoot with the earliest, and was no less,\nbut mayhap more merry than her wont was, and was blithe with all, both\nold and young.\n\nBut as they were at the point of going she called to them, and said:\n\n\"Tarry a little, come ye all to the dais and hearken to me.\"\n\nSo they all gathered thereto, and she stood in her place and spake.\n\n\"Women and elders of the Wolfings, is it so that I spake somewhat of\ntidings last night?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said they all.\n\nShe said, \"And was it a word of victory?\"\n\nThey answered \"yea\" again.\n\n\"Good is that,\" she said; \"doubt ye not! there is nought to unsay.  But\nhearken!  I am nothing wise in war like Thiodolf or Otter of the Laxings,\nor as Heriulf the Ancient was, though he was nought so wise as they be.\nNevertheless ye shall do well to take me for your captain, while this\nHouse is bare of warriors.\"\n\n\"Yea, yea,\" they said, \"so will we.\"\n\nAnd an old warrior, hight Sorli, who sat in his chair, no longer quite\nway-worthy, said:\n\n\"Hall-Sun, this we looked for of thee; since thy wisdom is not wholly the\nwisdom of a spae-wife, but rather is of the children of warriors: and we\nknow thine heart to be high and proud, and that thy death seemeth to thee\na small matter beside the life of the Wolfing House.\"\n\nThen she smiled and said, \"Will ye all do my bidding?\"\n\nAnd they all cried out heartily, \"Yea, Hall-Sun, that will we.\"\n\nShe said: \"Hearken then; ye all know that east of Mirkwood-water, when ye\ncome to the tofts of the Bearings, and their Great Roof, the thicket\nbehind them is close, but that there is a wide way cut through it; and\noften have I gone there: if ye go by that way, in a while ye come to the\nthicket's end and to bare places where the rocks crop up through the\ngravel and the woodland loam.  There breed the coneys without number; and\nwild-cats haunt the place for that sake, and foxes; and the wood-wolf\nwalketh there in summer-tide, and hard by the she-wolf hath her litter of\nwhelps, and all these have enough; and the bald-head erne hangeth over it\nand the kite, and also the kestril, for shrews and mice abound there.  Of\nthese things there is none that feareth me, and none that maketh me\nafraid.  Beyond this place for a long way the wood is nowise thick, for\nfirst grow ash-trees about the clefts of the rock and also quicken-trees,\nbut not many of either; and here and there a hazel brake easy to thrust\nthrough; then comes a space of oak-trees scattered about the lovely wood-\nlawn, and then at last the beech-wood close above but clear beneath.  This\nI know well, because I myself have gone so far and further; and by this\neasy way have I gone so far to the south, that I have come out into the\nfell country, and seen afar off the snowy mountains beyond the Great\nWater.\n\n\"Now fear ye not, but pluck up a heart!  For either I have seen it or\ndreamed it, or thought it, that by this road easy to wend the Romans\nshould come into the Mark.  For shall not those dastards and traitors\nthat wear the raiment and bodies of the Goths over the hearts and the\nlives of foemen, tell them hereof?  And will they not have heard of our\nThiodolf, and this my holy namesake?\n\n\"Will they not therefore be saying to themselves, 'Go to now, why should\nwe wrench the hinges off the door with plenteous labour, when another\ndoor to the same chamber standeth open before us?  This House of the\nWolfings is the door to the treasure chamber of the Markmen; let us fall\non that at once rather than have many battles for other lesser matters,\nand then at last have to fight for this also: for having this we have\nall, and they shall be our thralls, and we may slaughter what we will,\nand torment what we will and deflower what we will, and make our souls\nglad with their grief and anguish, and take aback with us to the cities\nwhat we will of the thralls, that their anguish and our joy may endure\nthe longer.'  Thus will they say: therefore is it my rede that the\nstrongest and hardiest of you women take horse, a ten of you and one to\nlead besides, and ride the shallows to the Bearing House, and tell them\nof our rede; which is to watch diligently the ways of the wood; the\noutgate to the Mark, and the places where the wood is thin and easy to\ntravel on: and ye shall bid them give you of their folk as many as they\ndeem fittest thereto to join your company, so that ye may have a chain of\nwatchers stretching far into the wilds; but two shall lie without the\nwood, their horses ready for them to leap on and ride on the spur to the\nwain-burg in the Upper-mark if any tidings befal.\n\n\"Now of these eleven I ordain Hrosshild to be the leader and captain, and\nto choose for her fellows the stoutest-limbed and heaviest-handed of all\nthe maidens here: art thou content Hrosshild?\"\n\nThen stood Hrosshild forth and said nought, but nodded yea; and soon was\nher choice made amid jests and laughter, for this seemed no hard matter\nto them.\n\nSo the ten got together, and the others fell off from them, and there\nstood the ten maidens with Hrosshild, well nigh as strong as men, clean-\nlimbed and tall, tanned with sun and wind; for all these were unwearied\nafield, and oft would lie out a-nights, since they loved the lark's song\nbetter than the mouse's squeak; but as their kirtles shifted at neck and\nwrist, you might see their skins as white as privet-flower where they\nwere wont to be covered.\n\nThen said the Hall-Sun: \"Ye have heard the word, see ye to it, Hrosshild,\nand take this other word also: Bid the Bearing stay-at-homes bide not the\nsword and the torch at home if the Romans come, but hie them over hither,\nto hold the Hall or live in the wild-wood with us, as need may be; for\nmight bides with many.\n\n\"But ye maidens, take this counsel for yourselves; do ye each bear with\nyou a little keen knife, and if ye be taken, and it seem to you that ye\nmay not bear the smart of the Roman torments (for they be wise in\ntormenting), but will speak and bewray us under them, then thrust this\nlittle edge tool into the place of your bodies where the life lieth\nclosest, and so go to the Gods with a good tale in your mouths: so may\nthe Almighty God of Earth speed you, and the fathers of the kindred!\"\n\nSo she spoke; and they made no delay but each one took what axe or spear\nor sword she liked best, and two had their bows and quivers of arrows;\nand so all folk went forth from the Hall.\n\nSoon were the horses saddled and bridled, and the maidens bestrode them\njoyously and set forth on their way, going down the lanes of the wheat,\nand rode down speedily toward the shallows of the water, and all cried\ngood speed after them.  But the others would turn to their day's work,\nand would go about their divers errands.  But even as they were at point\nto sunder, they saw a swift runner passing by those maidens just where\nthe acres joined the meadow, and he waved his hand aloft and shouted to\nthem, but stayed not his running for them, but came up the lanes of the\nwheat at his swiftest: so they knew at once that this was again a\nmessenger from the host, and they stood together and awaited his coming;\nand as he drew near they knew him for Egil, the swiftest-footed of the\nWolfings; and he gave a great shout as he came among them; and he was\ndusty and way-worn, but eager; and they received him with all love, and\nwould have brought him to the Hall to wash him and give him meat and\ndrink, and cherish him in all ways.\n\nBut he cried out, \"To the Speech-Hill first, to the Speech-Hill first!\nBut even before that, one word to thee, Hall-Sun!  Saith Thiodolf, Send\nye watchers to look to the entrance into Mid-mark, which is by the\nBearing dwelling; and if aught untoward befalleth let one ride on the\nspur with the tidings to the Wain-burg.  For by that way also may peril\ncome.\"\n\nThen smiled some of the bystanders, and the Hall-Sun said: \"Good is it\nwhen the thought of a friend stirreth betimes in one's own breast.  The\nthing is done, Egil; or sawest thou not those ten women, and Hrosshild\nthe eleventh, as thou camest up into the acres?\"\n\nSaid Egil; \"Fair fall thine hand, Hall-Sun! thou art the Wolfings'\nRansom.  Wend we now to the Speech-Hill.\"\n\nSo did they, and every thrall that was about the dwellings, man, woman,\nand child fared with them, and stood about the Speech-Hill: and the dogs\nwent round about the edge of that assembly, wandering in and out, and\nsometimes looking hard on some one whom they knew best, if he cried out\naloud.\n\nBut the men-folk gave all their ears to hearkening, and stood as close as\nthey might.\n\nThen Egil clomb the Speech-Hill, and said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV--THEY HEAR TELL OF THE BATTLE ON THE RIDGE\n\n\n\"Ye have heard how the Daylings were appointed to go to help Thiodolf in\ndriving the folk-spear home to the heart of the Roman host.  So they\nwent; but six hours thereafter comes one to Otter bidding him send a\ngreat part of the kindreds to him; for that he had had tidings that a\ngreat host of Romans were drawing near the wood-edge, but were not\nentered therein, and that fain would he meet them in the open field.\n\n\"So the kindreds drew lots, and the lot fell first to the Elkings, who\nare a great company, as ye know; and then to the Hartings, the Beamings,\nthe Alftings, the Vallings (also a great company), the Galtings, (and\nthey no lesser) each in their turn; and last of all to the Laxings; and\nthe Oselings prayed to go with the Elkings, and this Otter deemed good,\nwhereas a many of them be bowmen.\n\n\"All these then to the number of a thousand or more entered the wood; and\nI was with them, for in sooth I was the messenger.\n\n\"No delay made we in the wood, nor went we over warily, trusting to the\nwarding of the wood by Thiodolf; and there were men with us who knew the\npaths well, whereof I was one; so we speedily came through into the open\ncountry.\n\n\"Shortly we came upon our folk and the War-duke lying at the foot of a\nlittle hill that went up as a buttress to a long ridge high above us,\nwhereon we set a watch; and a little brook came down the dale for our\ndrink.\n\n\"Night fell as we came thither; so we slept for a while, but abode not\nthe morning, and we were afoot (for we had no horses with us) before the\nmoon grew white.  We took the road in good order, albeit our folk-banners\nwe had left behind in the burg; so each kindred raised aloft a shield of\nits token to be for a banner.  So we went forth, and some swift footmen,\nwith Fox, who hath seen the Roman war-garth, had been sent on before to\nspy out the ways of the foemen.\n\n\"Two hours after sunrise cometh one of these, and telleth how he hath\nseen the Romans, and how that they are but a short mile hence breaking\ntheir fast, not looking for any onslaught; 'but,' saith he, 'they are on\na high ridge whence they can see wide about, and be in no danger of\nambush, because the place is bare for the most part, nor is there any\ncover except here and there down in the dales a few hazels and blackthorn\nbushes, and the rushes of the becks in the marshy bottoms, wherein a\nsnipe may hide, or a hare, but scarce a man; and note that there is no\nway up to that ridge but by a spur thereof as bare as my hand; so ye will\nbe well seen as ye wend up thereto.'\n\n\"So spake he in my hearing.  But Thiodolf bade him lead on to that spur,\nand old Heriulf, who was standing nigh, laughed merrily and said: 'Yea,\nlead on, and speedily, lest the day wane and nothing done save the\nhunting of snipes.'\n\n\"So on we went, and coming to the hither side of that spur beheld those\nothers and Fox with them; and he held in his hand an arrow of the aliens,\nand his face was all astir with half-hidden laughter, and he breathed\nhard, and pointed to the ridge, and somewhat low down on it we saw a\nsteel cap and three spear-heads showing white from out a little hollow in\nits side, but the men hidden by the hollow: so we knew that Fox had been\nchased, and that the Romans were warned and wary.\n\n\"No delay made the War-duke, but led us up that spur, which was somewhat\nsteep; and as we rose higher we saw a band of men on the ridge, a little\nway down it, not a many; archers and slingers mostly, who abode us till\nwe were within shot, and then sent a few shots at us, and so fled.  But\ntwo men were hurt with the sling-plummets, and one, and he not\ngrievously, with an arrow, and not one slain.\n\n\"Thus we came up on to the ridge, so that there was nothing between us\nand the bare heavens; thence we looked south-east and saw the Romans\nwisely posted on the ridge not far from where it fell down steeply to the\nnorth; but on the south, that is to say on their left hands, and all\nalong the ridge past where we were stayed, the ground sloped gently to\nthe south-west for a good way, before it fell, somewhat steeply, into\nanother long dale.  Looking north we saw the outer edge of Mirkwood but a\nlittle way from us, and we were glad thereof; because ere we left our\nsleeping-place that morn Thiodolf had sent to Otter another messenger\nbidding him send yet more men on to us in case we should be hard-pressed\nin the battle; for he had had a late rumour that the Romans were many.\nAnd now when he had looked on the Roman array and noted how wise it was,\nhe sent three swift-foot ones to take stand on a high knoll which we had\npassed on the way, that they might take heed where our folk came out from\nthe wood and give signal to them by the horn, and lead them to where the\nbattle should be.\n\n\"So we stood awhile and breathed us, and handled our weapons some half a\nfurlong from the alien host.  They had no earth rampart around them, for\nthat ridge is waterless, and they could not abide there long, but they\nhad pitched sharp pales in front of them and they stood in very good\norder, as if abiding an onslaught, and moved not when they saw us; for\nthat band of shooters had joined themselves to them already.  Taken one\nwith another we deemed them to be more than we were; but their hauberked\nfootmen with the heavy cast-spears not so many as we by a good deal.\n\n\"Now we were of mind to fall on them ere they should fall on us; so all\nsuch of us as had shot-weapons spread out from our company and went forth\na little; and of the others Heriulf stood foremost along with the leaders\nof the Beamings and the Elkings; but as yet Thiodolf held aback and led\nthe midmost company, as his wont was, and the more part of the Wolfings\nwere with him.\n\n\"Thus we ordered ourselves, and awaited a little while yet what the\naliens should do; and presently a war-horn blew amongst them, and from\neach flank of their mailed footmen came forth a many bowmen and slingers\nand a band of horsemen; and drew within bowshot, the shooters in open\narray yet wisely, and so fell to on us, and the horsemen hung aback a\nlittle as yet.\n\n\"Their arrow-shot was of little avail, their bowmen fell fast before\nours; but deadly was their sling-shot, and hurt and slew many and some\neven in our main battle; for they slung round leaden balls and not\nstones, and they aimed true and shot quick; and the men withal were so\nlight and lithe, never still, but crouching and creeping and bounding\nhere and there, that they were no easier to hit than coneys amidst of the\nfern, unless they were very nigh.\n\n\"Howbeit when this storm had endured a while, and we moved but little,\nand not an inch aback, and gave them shot for shot, then was another horn\nwinded from amongst the aliens; and thereat the bowmen cast down their\nbows, and the slingers wound their slings about their heads, and they all\ncame on with swords and short spears and feathered darts, running and\nleaping lustily, making for our flanks, and the horsemen set spurs to\ntheir horses and fell on in the very front of our folk like good and\nvaliant men-at-arms.\n\n\"That saw Heriulf and his men, and they set up the war-whoop, and ran\nforth to meet them, axe and sword aloft, terribly yet maybe somewhat\nunwarily.  The archers and slingers never came within sword-stroke of\nthem, but fell away before them on all sides; but the slingers fled not\nfar, but began again with their shot, and slew a many.  Then was a horn\nwinded, as if to call back the horsemen, who, if they heard, heeded not,\nbut rode hard on our kindred like valiant warriors who feared not death.\nSooth to say, neither were the horses big or good, nor the men fit for\nthe work, saving for their hardihood; and their spears were short withal\nand their bucklers unhandy to wield.\n\n\"Now could it be seen how the Goths gave way before them to let them into\nthe trap, and then closed around again, and the axes and edge weapons\nwent awork hewing as in a wood; and Heriulf towered over all the press,\nand the Wolf's-sister flashed over his head in the summer morning.\n\n\"Soon was that storm over, and we saw the Goths tossing up their spears\nover the slain, and horses running loose and masterless adown over the\nwestward-lying slopes, and a few with their riders still clinging to\nthem.  Yet some, sore hurt by seeming, galloping toward the main battle\nof the Romans.\n\n\"Unwarily then fared the children of Tyr that were with Heriulf; for by\nthis time they were well nigh within shot of the spears of those mighty\nfootmen of the Romans: and on their flanks were the slingers, and the\nbowmen, who had now gotten their bows again; and our bowmen, though they\nshot well and strong, were too few to quell them; and indeed some of them\nhad cast by their bows to join in Heriulf's storm.  Also the lie of the\nground was against us, for it sloped up toward the Roman array at first\nvery gently, but afterwards steeply enough to breathe a short-winded man.\nAlso behind them were we of the other kindreds, whom Thiodolf had ordered\ninto the wedge-array; and we were all ready to move forward, so that had\nthey abided somewhat, all had been well and better.\n\n\"So did they not, but straightway set up the Victory-whoop and ran\nforward on the Roman host.  And these were so ordered that, as aforesaid,\nthey had before them sharp piles stuck into the earth and pointed against\nus, as we found afterwards to our cost; and within these piles stood the\nmen some way apart from each other, so as to handle their casting spears,\nand in three ranks were they ordered and many spears could be cast at\nonce, and if any in the front were slain, his fellow behind him took his\nplace.\n\n\"So now the storm of war fell at once upon our folk, and swift and fierce\nas was their onslaught yet were a many slain and hurt or ever they came\nto the piles aforesaid.  Then saw they death before them and heeded it\nnought, but tore up the piles and dashed through them, and fell in on\nthose valiant footmen.  Short is the tale to tell: wheresoever a sword or\nspear of the Goths was upraised there were three upon him, and saith Toti\nof the Beamings, who was hurt and crawled away and yet lives, that on\nHeriulf there were six at first and then more; and he took no thought of\nshielding himself, but raised up the Wolf's-sister and hewed as the\nwoodman in the thicket, when night cometh and hunger is on him.  There\nfell Heriulf the Ancient and many a man of the Beamings and the Elkings\nwith him, and many a Roman.\n\n\"But amidst the slain and the hurt our wedge-array moved forward slowly\nnow, warily shielded against the plummets and shafts on either side; and\nwhen the Romans saw our unbroken array, and Thiodolf the first with\nThrong-plough naked in his hand, they chased not such men of ours unhurt\nor little hurt, as drew aback from before them: so these we took amongst\nus, and when we had gotten all we might, and held a grim face to the foe,\nwe drew aback little by little, still facing them till we were out of\nshot of their spears, though the shot of the arrows and the\nsling-plummets ceased not wholly from us.  Thus ended Heriulf's Storm.\"\n\nThen he rested from his speaking for a while, and none said aught, but\nthey gazed on him as if he bore with him a picture of the battle, and\nmany of the women wept silently for Heriulf, and yet more of the younger\nones were wounded to the heart when they thought of the young men of the\nElkings, and the Beamings, since with both those houses they had\naffinity; and they lamented the loves that they had lost, and would have\nasked concerning their own speech-friends had they durst.  But they held\ntheir peace till the tale was told out to an end.\n\nThen Egil spake again:\n\n\"No long while had worn by in Heriulf's Storm, and though men's hearts\nwere nothing daunted, but rather angered by what had befallen, yet would\nThiodolf wear away the time somewhat more, since he hoped for succour\nfrom the Wain-burg and the Wood; and he would not that any of these\nRomans should escape us, but would give them all to Tyr, and to be a\nfollowing to Heriulf the Old and the Great.\n\n\"So there we abided a while moving nought, and Thiodolf stood with Throng-\nplough on his shoulder, unhelmed, unbyrnied, as though he trusted to the\nkindred for all defence.  Nor for their part did the Romans dare to leave\ntheir vantage-ground, when they beheld what grim countenance we made\nthem.\n\n\"Albeit, when we had thrice made as if we would fall on, and yet they\nmoved not, whereas it trieth a man sorely to stand long before the\nfoeman, and do nought but endure, and whereas many of our bowmen were\nslain or hurt, and the rest too few to make head against the shot-weapons\nof the aliens, then at last we began to draw nearer and a little nearer,\nnot breaking the wedge-array; and at last, just before we were within\nshot of the cast-spears of their main battle, loud roared our war-horn:\nthen indeed we broke the wedge-array, but orderly as we knew how,\nspreading out from right and left of the War-duke till we were facing\nthem in a long line: one minute we abode thus, and then ran forth through\nthe spear-storm: and even therewith we heard, as it were, the echo of our\nown horn, and whoso had time to think betwixt the first of the storm and\nthe handstrokes of the Romans deemed that now would be coming fresh\nkindreds for our helping.\n\n\"Not long endured the spear-rain, so swift we were, neither were we in\none throng as betid in Heriulf's Storm, but spread abroad, each trusting\nin the other that none thought of the backward way.\n\n\"Though we had the ground against us we dashed like fresh men at their\npales, and were under the weapons at once.  Then was the battle grim;\nthey could not thrust us back, nor did we break their array with our\nfirst storm; man hewed at man as if there were no foes in the world but\nthey two: sword met sword, and sax met sax; it was thrusting and hewing\nwith point and edge, and no long-shafted weapons were of any avail; there\nwe fought hand to hand and no man knew by eyesight how the battle went\ntwo yards from where he fought, and each one put all his heart in the\nstroke he was then striking, and thought of nothing else.\n\n\"Yet at the last we felt that they were faltering and that our work was\neasier and our hope higher; then we cried our cries and pressed on\nharder, and in that very nick of time there arose close behind us the\nroar of the Markmen's horn and the cries of the kindreds answering ours.\nThen such of the Romans as were not in the very act of smiting, or\nthrusting, or clinging or shielding, turned and fled, and the whoop of\nvictory rang around us, and the earth shook, and past the place of the\nslaughter rushed the riders of the Goths; for they had sent horsemen to\nus, and the paths were grown easier for our much treading of them.  Then\nI beheld Thiodolf, that he had just slain a foe, and clear was the space\naround him, and he rushed sideways and caught hold of the stirrup of\nAngantyr of the Bearings, and ran ten strides beside him, and then\nbounded on afoot swifter than the red horses of the Bearings, urging on\nthe chase, as his wont was.\n\n\"But we who were wearier, when we had done our work, stood still between\nthe living and the dead, between the freemen of the Mark and their war-\nthralls.  And in no long while there came back to us Thiodolf and the\nchasers, and we made a great ring on the field of the slain, and sang the\nSong of Triumph; and it was the Wolfing Song that we sang.\n\n\"Thus then ended Thiodolf's Storm.\"\n\nWhen he held his peace there was but little noise among the\nstay-at-homes, for still were they thinking about the deaths of their\nkindred and their lovers.  But Egil spoke again.\n\n\"Yet within that ring lay the sorrow of our hearts; for Odin had called a\nmany home, and there lay their bodies; and the mightiest was Heriulf; and\nthe Romans had taken him up from where he fell, and cast him down out of\nthe way, but they had not stripped him, and his hand still gripped the\nWolf's-sister.  His shield was full of shafts of arrows and spears; his\nbyrny was rent in many places, his helm battered out of form.  He had\nbeen grievously hurt in the side and in the thigh by cast-spears or ever\nhe came to hand-blows with the Romans, but moreover he had three great\nwounds from the point of the sax, in the throat, in the side, in the\nbelly, each enough for his bane.  His face was yet fair to look on, and\nwe deemed that he had died smiling.\n\n\"At his feet lay a young man of the Beamings in a gay green coat, and\nbeside him was the head of another of his House, but his green-clad body\nlay some yards aloof.  There lay of the Elkings a many.  Well may ye\nweep, maidens, for them that loved you.  Now fare they to the Gods a\ngoodly company, but a goodly company is with them.\n\n\"Seventy and seven of the Sons of the Goths lay dead within the Roman\nbattle, and fifty-four on the slope before it; and to boot there were\ntwenty-four of us slain by the arrows and plummets of the shooters, and a\nmany hurt withal.\n\n\"But there were no hurt men inside the Roman array or before it.  All\nwere slain outright, for the hurt men either dragged themselves back to\nour folk, or onward to the Roman ranks, that they might die with one more\nstroke smitten.\n\n\"Now of the aliens the dead lay in heaps in that place, for grim was the\nslaughter when the riders of the Bearings and the Wormings fell on the\naliens; and a many of the foemen scorned to flee, but died where they\nstood, craving no peace; and to few of them was peace given.  There fell\nof the Roman footmen five hundred and eighty and five, and the remnant\nthat fled was but little: but of the slingers and bowmen but eighty and\nsix were slain, for they were there to shoot and not to stand; and they\nwere nimble and fleet of foot, men round of limb, very dark-skinned, but\nnot foul of favour.\"\n\nThen he said:\n\n   \"There are men through the dusk a-faring, our speech-fiends and our\n   kin,\n   No more shall they crave our helping, nor ask what work to win;\n   They have done their deeds and departed when they had holpen the\n   House,\n   So high their heads are holden, and their hurts are glorious\n   With the story of strokes stricken, and new weapons to be met,\n   And new scowling of foes' faces, and new curses unknown yet.\n   Lo, they dight the feast in Godhome, and fair are the tables spread,\n   Late come, but well-beloved is every war-worn head,\n   And the God-folk and the Fathers, as these cross the tinkling bridge,\n   Crowd round and crave for stories of the Battle on the Ridge.\"\n\nTherewith he came down from the Speech-Hill and the women-folk came round\nabout him, and they brought him to the Hall, and washed him, and gave him\nmeat and drink; and then would he sleep, for he was weary.\n\nHowbeit some of the women could not refrain themselves, but must needs\nask after their speech-friends who had been in the battle; and he\nanswered as he could, and some he made glad, and some sorry; and as to\nsome, he could not tell them whether their friends were alive or dead.  So\nhe went to his place and fell asleep and slept long, while the women went\ndown to acre and meadow, or saw to the baking of bread or the sewing of\ngarments, or went far afield to tend the neat and the sheep.\n\nHowbeit the Hall-Sun went not with them; but she talked with that old\nwarrior, Sorli, who was now halt and grown unmeet for the road, but was a\nwise man; and she and he together with some old carlines and a few young\nlads fell to work, and saw to many matters about the Hall and the garth\nthat day; and they got together what weapons there were both for shot and\nfor the handplay, and laid them where they were handy to come at, and\nthey saw to the meal in the hall that there was provision for many days;\nand they carried up to a loft above the Women's-Chamber many great\nvessels of water, lest the fire should take the Hall; and they looked\neverywhere to the entrances and windows and had fastenings and bolts and\nbars fashioned and fitted to them; and saw that all things were trim and\nstout.  And so they abided the issue.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI--HOW THE DWARF-WROUGHT HAUBERK WAS BROUGHT AWAY FROM THE HALL\nOF THE DAYLINGS\n\n\nNow it must be told that early in the morning, after the night when Gisli\nhad brought to the Wolfing Stead the tidings of the Battle in the Wood, a\nman came riding from the south to the Dayling abode.  It was just before\nsunrise, and but few folk were stirring about the dwellings.  He rode up\nto the Hall and got off his black horse, and tied it to a ring in the\nwall by the Man's-door, and went in clashing, for he was in his battle-\ngear, and had a great wide-rimmed helm on his head.\n\nFolk were but just astir in the Hall, and there came an old woman to him,\nand looked on him and saw by his attire that he was a man of the Goths\nand of the Wolfing kindred; so she greeted him kindly: but he said:\n\n\"Mother, I am come hither on an errand, and time presses.\"\n\nSaid she: \"Yea, my son, or what tidings bearest thou from the south? for\nby seeming thou art new-come from the host.\"\n\nSaid he: \"The tidings are as yesterday, save that Thiodolf will lead the\nhost through the wild-wood to look for the Romans beyond it: therefore\nwill there soon be battle again.  See ye, Mother, hast thou here one that\nknoweth this ring of Thiodolf's, if perchance men doubt me when I say\nthat I am sent on my errand by him?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" she said, \"Agni will know it; since he knoweth all the chief men\nof the Mark; but what is thine errand, and what is thy name?\"\n\n\"It is soon told,\" said he, \"I am a Wolfing hight Thorkettle, and I come\nto have away for Thiodolf the treasure of the world, the Dwarf-wrought\nHauberk, which he left with you when we fared hence to the south three\ndays ago.  Now let Agni come, that I may have it, for time presses\nsorely.\"\n\nThere were three or four gathered about them now, and a maiden of them\nsaid: \"Shall I bring Agni hither, mother?\"\n\n\"What needeth it?\" said the carline, \"he sleepeth, and shall be hard to\nawaken; and he is old, so let him sleep.  I shall go fetch the hauberk,\nfor I know where it is, and my hand may come on it as easily as on mine\nown girdle.\"\n\nSo she went her ways to the treasury where were the precious things of\nthe kindred; the woven cloths were put away in fair coffers to keep them\nclean from the whirl of the Hall-dust and the reek; and the vessels of\ngold and some of silver were standing on the shelves of a cupboard before\nwhich hung a veil of needlework: but the weapons and war-gear hung upon\npins along the wall, and many of them had much fair work on them, and\nwere dight with gold and gems: but amidst them all was the wondrous\nhauberk clear to see, dark grey and thin, for it was so wondrously\nwrought that it hung in small compass.  So the carline took it down from\nthe pin, and handled it, and marvelled at it, and said:\n\n\"Strange are the hands that have passed over thee, sword-rampart, and in\nstrange places of the earth have they dwelt!  For no smith of the\nkindreds hath fashioned thee, unless he had for his friend either a God\nor a foe of the Gods.  Well shalt thou wot of the tale of sword and spear\nere thou comest back hither!  For Thiodolf shall bring thee where the\nwork is wild.\"\n\nThen she went with the hauberk to the new-come warrior, and made no\ndelay, but gave it to him, and said:\n\n\"When Agni awaketh, I shall tell him that Thorkettle of the Wolfings hath\nborne aback to Thiodolf the Treasure of the World, the Dwarf-wrought\nHauberk.\"\n\nThen Thorkettle took it and turned to go; but even therewith came old\nAsmund from out of his sleeping-place, and gazed around the Hall, and his\neyes fell on the shape of the Wolfing as he was going out of the door,\nand he asked the carline.\n\n\"What doeth he here?  What tidings is there from the host?  For my soul\nwas nought unquiet last night.\"\n\n\"It is a little matter,\" she said; \"the War-duke hath sent for the\nwondrous Byrny that he left in our treasury when he departed to meet the\nRomans.  Belike there shall be a perilous battle, and few hearts need a\nstout sword-wall more than Thiodolf's.\"\n\nAs she spoke, Thorkettle had passed the door, and got into his saddle,\nand sat his black horse like a mighty man as he slowly rode down the turf\nbridge that led into the plain.  And Asmund went to the door and stood\nwatching him till he set spurs to his horse, and departed a great gallop\nto the south.  Then said Asmund:\n\n   \"What then are the Gods devising, what wonders do they will?\n   What mighty need is on them to work the kindreds ill,\n   That the seed of the Ancient Fathers and a woman of their kin\n   With her all unfading beauty must blend herself therein?\n   Are they fearing lest the kindreds should grow too fair and great,\n   And climb the stairs of God-home, and fashion all their fate,\n   And make all earth so merry that it never wax the worse,\n   Nor need a gift from any, nor prayers to quench the curse?\n   Fear they that the Folk-wolf, growing as the fire from out the spark\n   Into a very folk-god, shall lead the weaponed Mark\n   From wood to field and mountain, to stand between the earth\n   And the wrights that forge its thraldom and the sword to slay its\n   mirth?\n   Fear they that the sons of the wild-wood the Loathly Folk shall quell,\n   And grow into Gods thereafter, and aloof in God-home dwell?\"\n\nTherewith he turned back into the Hall, and was heavy-hearted and dreary\nof aspect; for he was somewhat foreseeing; and it may not be hidden that\nthis seeming Thorkettle was no warrior of the Wolfings, but the Wood-Sun\nin his likeness; for she had the power and craft of shape-changing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII--THE WOOD-SUN SPEAKETH WITH THIODOLF\n\n\nNow the Markmen laid Heriulf in howe on the ridge-crest where he had\nfallen, and heaped a mighty howe over him that could be seen from far,\nand round about him they laid the other warriors of the kindreds.  For\nthey deemed it was fittest that they should lie on the place whose story\nthey had fashioned.  But they cast earth on the foemen lower down on the\nwestward-lying bents.\n\nThe sun set amidst their work, and night came on; and Thiodolf was weary\nand would fain rest him and sleep: but he had many thoughts, and pondered\nwhitherward he should lead the folk, so as to smite the Romans once\nagain, and he had a mind to go apart and be alone for rest and slumber;\nso he spoke to a man of the kindred named Solvi in whom he put all trust,\nand then he went down from the ridge, and into a little dale on the\nsouthwest side thereof, a furlong from the place of the battle.  A beck\nran down that dale, and the further end of it was closed by a little wood\nof yew trees, low, but growing thick together, and great grey stones were\nscattered up and down on the short grass of the dale.  Thiodolf went down\nto the brook-side, and to a place where it trickled into a pool, whence\nit ran again in a thin thread down the dale, turning aside before it\nreached the yew-wood to run its ways under low ledges of rock into a\nwider dale.  He looked at the pool and smiled to himself as if he had\nthought of something that pleased him; then he drew a broad knife from\nhis side, and fell to cutting up turfs till he had what he wanted; and\nthen he brought stones to the place, and built a dam across the mouth of\nthe pool, and sat by on a great stone to watch it filling.\n\nAs he sat he strove to think about the Roman host and how he should deal\nwith it; but despite himself his thoughts wandered, and made for him\npictures of his life that should be when this time of battle was over; so\nthat he saw nothing of the troubles that were upon his hands that night,\nbut rather he saw himself partaking in the deeds of the life of man.\nThere he was between the plough-stilts in the acres of the kindred when\nthe west wind was blowing over the promise of early spring; or smiting\ndown the ripe wheat in the hot afternoon amidst the laughter and merry\ntalk of man and maid; or far away over Mirkwood-water watching the edges\nof the wood against the prowling wolf and lynx, the stars just beginning\nto shine over his head, as now they were; or wending the windless woods\nin the first frosts before the snow came, the hunter's bow or javelin in\nhand: or coming back from the wood with the quarry on the sledge across\nthe snow, when winter was deep, through the biting icy wind and the whirl\nof the drifting snow, to the lights and music of the Great Roof, and the\nmerry talk therein and the smiling of the faces glad to see the hunting-\ncarles come back; and the full draughts of mead, and the sweet rest a\nnight-tide when the north wind was moaning round the ancient home.\n\nAll seemed good and fair to him, and whiles he looked around him, and saw\nthe long dale lying on his left hand and the dark yews in its jaws\npressing up against the rock-ledges of the brook, and on his right its\nwindings as the ground rose up to the buttresses of the great ridge.  The\nmoon was rising over it, and he heard the voice of the brook as it\ntinkled over the stones above him; and the whistle of the plover and the\nlaugh of the whimbrel came down the dale sharp and clear in the calm\nevening; and sounding far away, because the great hill muffled them, were\nthe voices of his fellows on the ridge, and the songs of the warriors and\nthe high-pitched cries of the watch.  And this also was a part of the\nsweet life which was, and was to be; and he smiled and was happy and\nloved the days that were coming, and longed for them, as the young man\nlongs for the feet of his maiden at the trysting-place.\n\nSo as he sat there, the dreams wrapping him up from troublous thoughts,\nat last slumber overtook him, and the great warrior of the Wolfings sat\nnodding like an old carle in the chimney ingle, and he fell asleep, his\ndreams going with him, but all changed and turned to folly and emptiness.\n\nHe woke with a start in no long time; the night was deep, the wind had\nfallen utterly, and all sounds were stilled save the voice of the brook,\nand now and again the cry of the watchers of the Goths.  The moon was\nhigh and bright, and the little pool beside him glittered with it in all\nits ripples; for it was full now and trickling over the lip of his dam.\nSo he arose from the stone and did off his war-gear, casting\nThrong-plough down into the grass beside him, for he had been minded to\nbathe him, but the slumber was still on him, and he stood musing while\nthe stream grew stronger and pushed off first one of his turfs and then\nanother, and rolled two or three of the stones over, and then softly\nthrust all away and ran with a gush down the dale, filling all the little\nbights by the way for a minute or two; he laughed softly thereat, and\nstayed the undoing of his kirtle, and so laid himself down on the grass\nbeside the stone looking down the dale, and fell at once into a dreamless\nsleep.\n\nWhen he awoke again, it was yet night, but the moon was getting lower and\nthe first beginnings of dawn were showing in the sky over the ridge; he\nlay still a moment gathering his thoughts and striving to remember where\nhe was, as is the wont of men waking from deep sleep; then he leapt to\nhis feet, and lo, he was face to face with a woman, and she who but the\nWood-Sun? and he wondered not, but reached out his hand to touch her,\nthough he had not yet wholly cast off the heaviness of slumber or\nremembered the tidings of yesterday.\n\nShe drew aback a little from him, and his eyes cleared of the slumber,\nand he saw her that she was scantily clad in black raiment, barefoot,\nwith no gold ring on her arms or necklace on her neck, or crown about her\nhead.  But she looked so fair and lovely even in that end of the night-\ntide, that he remembered all her beauty of the day and the sunshine, and\nhe laughed aloud for joy of the sight of her, and said:\n\n\"What aileth thee, O Wood-Sun, and is this a new custom of thy kindred\nand the folk of God-home that their brides array themselves like thralls\nnew-taken, and as women who have lost their kindred and are outcast?  Who\nthen hath won the Burg of the Anses, and clomb the rampart of God-home?\"\n\nBut she spoke from where she stood in a voice so sweet, that it thrilled\nto the very marrow of his bones.\n\n   \"I have dwelt a while with sorrow since we met, we twain, in the wood:\n   I have mourned, while thou hast been merry, who deemest the war-play\n   good.\n   For I know the heart of the wilful and how thou wouldst cast away\n   The rampart of thy life-days, and the wall of my happy day.\n   Yea I am the thrall of Sorrow; she hath stripped my raiment off\n   And laid sore stripes upon me with many a bitter scoff.\n   Still bidding me remember that I come of the God-folk's kin,\n   And yet for all my godhead no love of thee may win.\"\n\nThen she looked longingly at him a while and at last could no longer\nrefrain her, but drew nigh him and took his hands in hers, and kissed his\nmouth, and said as she caressed him:\n\n   \"O where are thy wounds, beloved? how turned the spear from thy\n   breast,\n   When the storm of war blew strongest, and the best men met the best?\n   Lo, this is the tale of to-day: but what shall to-morrow tell?\n   That Thiodolf the Mighty in the fight's beginning fell;\n   That there came a stroke ill-stricken, there came an aimless thrust,\n   And the life of the people's helper lay quenched in the summer dust.\"\n\nHe answered nothing, but smiled as though the sound of her voice and the\ntouch of her hand were pleasant to him, for so much love there was in\nher, that her very grief was scarcely grievous.  But she said again:\n\n   \"Thou sayest it: I am outcast; for a God that lacketh mirth\n   Hath no more place in God-home and never a place on earth.\n   A man grieves, and he gladdens, or he dies and his grief is gone;\n   But what of the grief of the Gods, and the sorrow never undone?\n   Yea verily I am the outcast.  When first in thine arms I lay\n   On the blossoms of the woodland my godhead passed away;\n   Thenceforth unto thee was I looking for the light and the glory of\n   life\n   And the Gods' doors shut behind me till the day of the uttermost\n   strife.\n   And now thou hast taken my soul, thou wilt cast it into the night,\n   And cover thine head with the darkness, and turn thine eyes from the\n   light.\n   Thou wouldst go to the empty country where never a seed is sown\n   And never a deed is fashioned, and the place where each is alone;\n   But I thy thrall shall follow, I shall come where thou seemest to lie,\n   I shall sit on the howe that hides thee, and thou so dear and nigh!\n   A few bones white in their war-gear that have no help or thought,\n   Shall be Thiodolf the Mighty, so nigh, so dear--and nought.\"\n\nHis hands strayed over her shoulders and arms, caressing them, and he\nsaid softly and lovingly:\n\n   \"I am Thiodolf the Mighty: but as wise as I may be\n   No story of that grave-night mine eyes can ever see,\n   But rather the tale of the Wolfings through the coming days of earth,\n   And the young men in their triumph and the maidens in their mirth;\n   And morn's promise every evening, and each day the promised morn,\n   And I amidst it ever reborn and yet reborn.\n   This tale I know, who have seen it, who have felt the joy and pain,\n   Each fleeing, each pursuing, like the links of the draw-well's chain:\n   But that deedless tide of the grave-mound, and the dayless nightless\n   day,\n   E'en as I strive to see it, its image wanes away.\n   What say'st thou of the grave-mound? shall I be there at all\n   When they lift the Horn of Remembrance, and the shout goes down the\n   hall,\n   And they drink the Mighty War-duke and Thiodolf the old?\n   Nay rather; there where the youngling that longeth to be bold\n   Sits gazing through the hall-reek and sees across the board\n   A vision of the reaping of the harvest of the sword,\n   There shall Thiodolf be sitting; e'en there shall the youngling be\n   That once in the ring of the hazels gave up his life to thee.\"\n\nShe laughed as he ended, and her voice was sweet, but bitter was her\nlaugh.  Then she said:\n\n   \"Nay thou shalt be dead, O warrior, thou shalt not see the Hall\n   Nor the children of thy people 'twixt the dais and the wall.\n   And I, and I shall be living; still on thee shall waste my thought:\n   I shall long and lack thy longing; I shall pine for what is nought.\"\n\nBut he smiled again, and said:\n\n   \"Not on earth shall I learn this wisdom; and how shall I learn it then\n   When I lie alone in the grave-mound, and have no speech with men?\n   But for thee,--O doubt it nothing that my life shall live in thee,\n   And so shall we twain be loving in the days that yet shall be.\"\n\nIt was as if she heard him not; and she fell aback from him a little and\nstood silently for a while as one in deep thought; and then turned and\nwent a few paces from him, and stooped down and came back again with\nsomething in her arms (and it was the hauberk once more), and said\nsuddenly:\n\n   \"O Thiodolf, now tell me for what cause thou wouldst not bear\n   This grey wall of the hammer in the tempest of the spear?\n   Didst thou doubt my faith, O Folk-wolf, or the counsel of the Gods,\n   That thou needs must cast thee naked midst the flashing battle-rods,\n   Or is thy pride so mighty that it seemed to thee indeed\n   That death was a better guerdon than the love of the Godhead's seed?\"\n\nBut Thiodolf said: \"O Wood-Sun, this thou hast a right to ask of me, why\nI have not worn in the battle thy gift, the Treasure of the World, the\nDwarf-wrought Hauberk!  And what is this that thou sayest?  I doubt not\nthy faith towards me and thine abundant love: and as for the rede of the\nGods, I know it not, nor may I know it, nor turn it this way nor that:\nand as for thy love and that I would choose death sooner, I know not what\nthou meanest; I will not say that I love thy love better than life\nitself; for these two, my life and my love, are blended together and may\nnot be sundered.\n\n\"Hearken therefore as to the Hauberk: I wot well that it is for no light\nmatter that thou wouldst have me bear thy gift, the wondrous hauberk,\ninto battle; I deem that some doom is wrapped up in it; maybe that I\nshall fall before the foe if I wear it not; and that if I wear it,\nsomewhat may betide me which is unmeet to betide a warrior of the\nWolfings.  Therefore will I tell thee why I have fought in two battles\nwith the Romans with unmailed body, and why I left the hauberk, (which I\nsee that thou bearest in thine arms) in the Roof of the Daylings.  For\nwhen I entered therein, clad in the hauberk, there came to meet me an\nancient man, one of the very valiant of days past, and he looked on me\nwith the eyes of love, as though he had been the very father of our folk,\nand I the man that was to come after him to carry on the life thereof.\nBut when he saw the hauberk and touched it, then was his love smitten\ncold with sadness and he spoke words of evil omen; so that putting this\ntogether with thy words about the gift, and that thou didst in a manner\ncompel me to wear it, I could not but deem that this mail is for the\nransom of a man and the ruin of a folk.\n\n\"Wilt thou say that it is not so? then will I wear the hauberk, and live\nand die happy.  But if thou sayest that I have deemed aright, and that a\ncurse goeth with the hauberk, then either for the sake of the folk I will\nnot wear the gift and the curse, and I shall die in great glory, and\nbecause of me the House shall live; or else for thy sake I shall bear it\nand live, and the House shall live or die as may be, but I not helping,\nnay I no longer of the House nor in it.  How sayest thou?\"\n\nThen she said:\n\n   \"Hail be thy mouth, beloved, for that last word of thine,\n   And the hope that thine heart conceiveth and the hope that is born in\n   mine.\n   Yea, for a man's delivrance was the hauberk born indeed\n   That once more the mighty warrior might help the folk at need.\n   And where is the curse's dwelling if thy life be saved to dwell\n   Amidst the Wolfing warriors and the folk that loves thee well\n   And the house where the high Gods left thee to be cherished well\n   therein?\n\n   \"Yea more: I have told thee, beloved, that thou art not of the kin;\n   The blood in thy body is blended of the wandering Elking race,\n   And one that I may not tell of, who in God-home hath his place,\n   And who changed his shape to beget thee in the wild-wood's leafy roof.\n   How then shall the doom of the Wolfings be woven in the woof\n   Which the Norns for thee have shuttled? or shall one man of war\n   Cast down the tree of the Wolfings on the roots that spread so far?\n   O friend, thou art wise and mighty, but other men have lived\n   Beneath the Wolfing roof-tree whereby the folk has thrived.\"\n\nHe reddened at her word; but his eyes looked eagerly on her.  She cast\ndown the hauberk, and drew one step nigher to him.  She knitted her\nbrows, her face waxed terrible, and her stature seemed to grow greater,\nas she lifted up her gleaming right arm, and cried out in a great voice.\n\n   \"Thou Thiodolf the Mighty!  Hadst thou will to cast the net\n   And tangle the House in thy trouble, it is I would slay thee yet;\n   For 'tis I and I that love them, and my sorrow would I give,\n   And thy life, thou God of battle, that the Wolfing House might live.\"\n\nTherewith she rushed forward, and cast herself upon him, and threw her\narms about him, and strained him to her bosom, and kissed his face, and\nhe her in likewise, for there was none to behold them, and nought but the\nnaked heaven was the roof above their heads.\n\nAnd now it was as if the touch of her face and her body, and the\nmurmuring of her voice changed and soft close to his ear, as she murmured\nmere words of love to him, drew him away from the life of deeds and\ndoubts and made a new world for him, wherein he beheld all those fair\npictures of the happy days that had been in his musings when first he\nleft the field of the dead.\n\nSo they sat down on the grey stone together hand in hand, her head laid\nupon his shoulder, no otherwise than if they had been two lovers, young\nand without renown in days of deep peace.\n\nSo as they sat, her foot smote on the cold hilts of the sword, which\nThiodolf had laid down in the grass; and she stooped and took it up, and\nlaid it across her knees and his as they sat there; and she looked on\nThrong-plough as he lay still in the sheath, and smiled on him, and saw\nthat the peace-strings were not yet wound about his hilts.  So she drew\nhim forth and raised him up in her hand, and he gleamed white and fearful\nin the growing dawn, for all things had now gotten their colours again,\nwhereas amidst their talking had the night worn, and the moon low down\nwas grown white and pale.\n\nBut she leaned aside, and laid her cheek against Thiodolf's, and he took\nthe sword out of her hand and set it on his knees again, and laid his\nright hand on it, and said:\n\n   \"Two things by these blue edges in the face of the dawning I swear;\n   And first this warrior's ransom in the coming fight to bear,\n   And evermore to love thee who hast given me second birth.\n   And by the sword I swear it, and by the Holy Earth,\n   To live for the House of the Wolfings, and at last to die for their\n   need.\n   For though I trow thy saying that I am not one of their seed,\n   Nor yet by the hand have been taken and unto the Father shown\n   As a very son of the Fathers, yet mid them hath my body grown;\n   And I am the guest of their Folk-Hall, and each one there is my\n   friend.\n   So with them is my joy and sorrow, and my life, and my death in the\n   end.\n   Now whatso doom hereafter my coming days shall bide,\n   Thou speech-friend, thou deliverer, thine is this dawning-tide.\"\n\nShe spoke no word to him; but they rose up and went hand in hand down the\ndale, he still bearing his naked sword over his shoulder, and thus they\nwent together into the yew-copse at the dale's end.  There they abode\ntill after the rising of the sun, and each to each spake many loving\nwords at their departure; and the Wood-Sun went her ways at her will.\n\nBut Thiodolf went up the dale again, and set Throng-plough in his sheath,\nand wound the peace-strings round him.  Then he took up the hauberk from\nthe grass whereas the Wood-Sun had cast it, and did it on him, as it were\nof the attire he was wont to carry daily.  So he girt Throng-plough to\nhim, and went soberly up to the ridge-top to the folk, who were just\nstirring in the early morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII--TIDINGS BROUGHT TO THE WAIN-BURG\n\n\nNow it must be told of Otter and they of the Wain-burg how they had the\ntidings of the overthrow of the Romans on the Ridge, and that Egil had\nleft them on his way to Wolf-stead.  They were joyful of the tale, as was\nlike to be, but eager also to strike their stroke at the foemen, and in\nthat mood they abode fresh tidings.\n\nIt has been told how Otter had sent the Bearings and the Wormings to the\naid of Thiodolf and his folk, and these two were great kindreds, and they\nbeing gone, there abode with Otter, one man with another, thralls and\nfreemen, scant three thousand men: of these many were bowmen good to\nfight from behind a wall or fence, or some such cover, but scarce meet to\nwithstand a shock in the open field.  However it was deemed at this time\nin the Wain-burg that Thiodolf and his men would soon return to them; and\nin any case, they said, he lay between the Romans and the Mark, so that\nthey had but little doubt; or rather they feared that the Romans might\ndraw aback from the Mark before they could be met in battle again, for as\naforesaid they were eager for the fray.\n\nNow it was in the cool of the evening two days after the Battle on the\nRidge, that the men, both freemen and thralls, had been disporting\nthemselves in the plain ground without the Burg in casting the spear and\nputting the stone, and running races a-foot and a-horseback, and now\nclose on sunset three young men, two of the Laxings and one of the\nShieldings, and a grey old thrall of that same House, were shooting a\nmatch with the bow, driving their shafts at a rushen roundel hung on a\npole which the old thrall had dight.  Men were peaceful and happy, for\nthe time was fair and calm, and, as aforesaid, they dreaded not the Roman\nHost any more than if they were Gods dwelling in God-home.  The shooters\nwere deft men, and they of the Burg were curious to note their deftness,\nand many were breathed with the games wherein they had striven, and\nthought it good to rest, and look on the new sport: so they sat and stood\non the grass about the shooters on three sides, and the mead-horn went\nbriskly from man to man; for there was no lack of meat and drink in the\nBurg, whereas the kindreds that lay nighest to it had brought in abundant\nprovision, and women of the kindreds had come to them, and not a few were\nthere scattered up and down among the carles.\n\nNow the Shielding man, Geirbald by name, had just loosed at the mark, and\nhad shot straight and smitten the roundel in the midst, and a shout went\nup from the onlookers thereat; but that shout was, as it were, lined with\nanother, and a cry that a messenger was riding toward the Burg: thereat\nmost men looked round toward the wood, because their minds were set on\nfresh tidings from Thiodolf's company, but as it happened it was from the\nnorth and the side toward Mid-mark that they on the outside of the throng\nhad seen the rider coming; and presently the word went from man to man\nthat so it was, and that the new comer was a young man on a grey horse,\nand would speedily be amongst them; so they wondered what the tidings\nmight be, but yet they did not break up the throng, but abode in their\nplaces that they might receive the messenger more orderly; and as the\nrider drew near, those who were nighest to him perceived that it was a\nwoman.\n\nSo men made way before the grey horse, and its rider, and the horse was\nmuch spent and travel-worn.  So the woman rode right into the ring of\nwarriors, and drew rein there, and lighted down slowly and painfully, and\nwhen she was on the ground could scarce stand for stiffness; and two or\nthree of the swains drew near her to help her, and knew her at once for\nHrosshild of the Wolfings, for she was well-known as a doughty woman.\n\nThen she said: \"Bring me to Otter the War-duke; or bring him hither to\nme, which were best, since so many men are gathered together; and\nmeanwhile give me to drink; for I am thirsty and weary.\"\n\nSo while one went for Otter, another reached to her the mead-horn, and\nshe had scarce done her draught, ere Otter was there, for they had found\nhim at the gate of the Burg.  He had many a time been in the Wolfing\nHall, so he knew her at once and said:\n\n\"Hail, Hrosshild! how farest thou?\"\n\nShe said: \"I fare as the bearer of evil tidings.  Bid thy folk do on\ntheir war-gear and saddle their horses, and make no delay; for now\npresently shall the Roman host be in Mid-mark!\"\n\nThen cried Otter: \"Blow up the war-horn! get ye all to your weapons and\nbe ready to leap on your horses, and come ye to the Thing in good order\nkindred by kindred: later on ye shall hear Hrosshild's story as she shall\ntell it to me!\"\n\nTherewith he led her to a grassy knoll that was hard by, and set her down\nthereon and himself beside her, and said:\n\n\"Speak now, damsel, and fear not!  For now shall one fate go over us all,\neither to live together or die together as the free children of Tyr, and\nfriends of the Almighty God of the Earth.  How camest thou to meet the\nRomans and know of their ways and to live thereafter?\"\n\nShe said: \"Thus it was: the Hall-Sun bethought her how that the eastern\nways into Mid-mark that bring a man to the thicket behind the Roof of the\nBearings are nowise hard, even for an host; so she sent ten women, and me\nthe eleventh to the Bearing dwelling and the road through the thicket\naforesaid; and we were to take of the Bearing stay-at-homes whomso we\nwould that were handy, and then all we to watch the ways for fear of the\nRomans.  And methinks she has had some vision of their ways, though\nmayhap not altogether clear.\n\n\"Anyhow we came to the Bearing dwellings, and they gave us of their folk\neight doughty women and two light-foot lads, and so we were twenty and\none in all.\n\n\"So then we did as the Hall-Sun bade us, and ordained a chain of watchers\nfar up into the waste; and these were to sound a point of war upon their\nhorns each to each till the sound thereof should come to us who lay with\nour horses hoppled ready beside us in the fair plain of the Mark outside\nthe thicket.\n\n\"To be short, the horns waked us up in the midst of yesternight, and of\nthe watches also came to us the last, which had heard the sound amidst\nthe thicket, and said that it was certainly the sound of the Goths' horn,\nand the note agreed on.  Therefore I sent a messenger at once to the\nWolfing Roof to say what was toward; but to thee I would not ride until I\nhad made surer of the tidings; so I waited awhile, and then rode into the\nwild-wood; and a long tale I might make both of the waiting and the\nriding, had I time thereto; but this is the end of it; that going warily\na little past where the thicket thinneth and the road endeth, I came on\nthree of those watches or links in the chain we had made, and half of\nanother watch or link; that is to say six women, who were come together\nafter having blown their horns and fled (though they should rather have\nabided in some lurking-place to espy whatever might come that way) and\none other woman, who had been one of the watch much further off, and had\nspoken with the furthest of all, which one had seen the faring of the\nRoman Host, and that it was very great, and no mere band of pillagers or\nof scouts.  And, said this fleer (who was indeed half wild with fear),\nthat while they were talking together, came the Romans upon them, and saw\nthem; and a band of Romans beat the wood for them when they fled, and\nshe, the fleer, was at point to be taken, and saw two taken indeed, and\nhaled off by the Roman scourers of the wood.  But she escaped and so came\nto the others on the skirts of the thicket, having left of her skin and\nblood on many a thornbush and rock by the way.\n\n\"Now when I heard this, I bade this fleer get her home to the Bearings as\nswiftly as she might, and tell her tale; and she went away trembling, and\nscarce knowing whether her feet were on earth or on water or on fire; but\nbelike failed not to come there, as no Romans were before her.\n\n\"But for the others, I sent one to go straight to Wolf-stead on the heels\nof the first messenger, to tell the Hall-Sun what had befallen, and other\nfive I set to lurk in the thicket, whereas none could lightly lay hands\non them, and when they had new tidings, to flee to Wolf-stead as occasion\nmight serve them; and for myself I tarried not, but rode on the spur to\ntell thee hereof.\n\n\"But my last word to thee, Otter, is that by the Hall-sun's bidding the\nBearings will not abide fire and steel at their own stead, but when they\nhear true tidings of the Romans being hard at hand, will take with them\nall that is not too hot or too heavy to carry, and go their ways unto\nWolf-stead: and the tidings will go up and down the Mark on both sides of\nthe water, so that whatever is of avail for defence will gather there at\nour dwelling, and if we fall, goodly shall be the howe heaped over us,\neven if ye come not in time.\n\n\"Now have I told thee what I needs must and there is no need to question\nme more, for thou hast it all--do thou what thou hast to do!\"\n\nWith that word she cast herself down on the grass by the mound-side, and\nwas presently asleep, for she was very weary.\n\nBut all the time she had been telling her tale had the horn been\nsounding, and there were now a many warriors gathered and more coming in\nevery moment: so Otter stood up on the mound after he had bidden a man of\nhis House to bring him his horse and war-gear, and abided a little, till,\nas might be said, the whole host was gathered: then he bade cry silence,\nand spake:\n\n\"Sons of Tyr, now hath an Host of the Romans gotten into the Mark; a\nmighty host, but not so mighty that it may not be met.  Few words are\nbest: let the Steerings, who are not many, but are men well-tried in war\nand wisdom abide in the Burg along with the fighting thralls: but let the\nBurg be broken up and moved from the place, and let its warders wend\ntowards Mid-mark, but warily and without haste, and each night let them\nmake the wain-garth and keep good watch.\n\n\"But know ye that the Romans shall fall with all their power on the\nWolfing dwellings, deeming that when they have that, they shall have all\nthat is ours with ourselves also.  For there is the Hall-Sun under the\nGreat Roof, and there hath Thiodolf, our War-duke, his dwelling-place;\ntherefore shall all of us, save those that abide with the wains, take\nhorse, and ride without delay, and cross the water at Battleford, so that\nwe may fall upon the foe before they come west of the water; for as ye\nknow there is but one ford whereby a man wending straight from the\nBearings may cross Mirkwood-water, and it is like that the foe will tarry\nat the Bearing stead long enough to burn and pillage it.\n\n\"So do ye order yourselves according to your kindreds, and let the\nShieldings lead.  Make no more delay!  But for me I will now send a\nmessenger to Thiodolf to tell him of the tidings, and then speedily shall\nhe be with us.  Geirbald, I see thee; come hither!\"\n\nNow Geirbald stood amidst the Shieldings, and when Otter had spoken, he\ncame forth bestriding a white horse, and with his bow slung at his back.\nSaid Otter: \"Geirbald, thou shalt ride at once through the wood, and find\nThiodolf; and tell him the tidings, and that in nowise he follow the\nRoman fleers away from the Mark, nor to heed anything but the trail of\nthe foemen through the south-eastern heaths of Mirkwood, whether other\nRomans follow him or not: whatever happens let him lead the Goths by that\nroad, which for him is the shortest, towards the defence of the Wolfing\ndwellings.  Lo thou, my ring for a token!  Take it and depart in haste.\nYet first take thy fellow Viglund the Woodman with thee, lest if\nperchance one fall, the other may bear the message.  Tarry not, nor rest\ntill thy word be said!\"\n\nThen turned Geirbald to find Viglund who was anigh to him, and he took\nthe ring, and the twain went their ways without more ado, and rode into\nthe wild-wood.\n\nBut about the wain-burg was there plenteous stir of men till all was\nordered for the departure of the host, which was no long while, for there\nwas nothing to do but on with the war-gear and up on to the horse.\n\nForth then they went duly ordered in their kindreds towards the head of\nthe Upper-mark, riding as swiftly as they might without breaking their\narray.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX--THOSE MESSENGERS COME TO THIODOLF\n\n\nOf Geirbald and Viglund the tale tells that they rode the woodland paths\nas speedily as they might.  They had not gone far, and were winding\nthrough a path amidst of a thicket mingled of the hornbeam and holly,\nbetwixt the openings of which the bracken grew exceeding tall, when\nViglund, who was very fine-eared, deemed that he heard a horse coming to\nmeet them: so they lay as close as they might, and drew back their horses\nbehind a great holly-bush lest it should be some one or more of the foes\nwho had fled into the wood when the Romans were scattered in that first\nfight.  But as the sound drew nearer, and it was clearly the footsteps of\na great horse, they deemed it would be some messenger from Thiodolf, as\nindeed it turned out: for as the new-comer fared on, somewhat unwarily,\nthey saw a bright helm after the fashion of the Goths amidst of the\ntrees, and then presently they knew by his attire that he was of the\nBearings, and so at last they knew him to be Asbiorn of the said House, a\ndoughty man; so they came forth to meet him and he drew rein when he saw\narmed men, but presently beholding their faces he knew them and laughed\non them, and said:\n\n\"Hail fellows! what tidings are toward?\"\n\n\"These,\" said Viglund, \"that thou art well met, since now shalt thou turn\nback and bring us to Thiodolf as speedily as may be.\"\n\nBut Asbiorn laughed and said: \"Nay rather turn about with me; or why are\nye so grim of countenance?\"\n\n\"Our errand is no light one,\" said Geirbald, \"but thou, why art thou so\nmerry?\"\n\n\"I have seen the Romans fall,\" said he, \"and belike shall soon see more\nof that game: for I am on an errand to Otter from Thiodolf: the War-duke,\nwhen he had questioned some of those whom we took on the Day of the\nRidge, began to have a deeming that the Romans had beguiled us, and will\nfall on the Mark by the way of the south-east heaths: so now is he\nhastening to fetch a compass and follow that road either to overtake them\nor prevent them; and he biddeth Otter tarry not, but ride hard along the\nwater to meet them if he may, or ever they have set their hands to the\ndwellings of my House.  And belike when I have done mine errand to Otter\nI shall ride with him to look on these burners and slayers once more;\ntherefore am I merry.  Now for your tidings, fellows.\"\n\nSaid Geirbald: \"Our tidings are that both our errands are prevented, and\ncome to nought: for Otter hath not tarried, but hath ridden with all his\nfolk toward the stead of thine House.  So shalt thou indeed see these\nburners and slayers if thou ridest hard; since we have tidings that the\nRomans will by now be in Mid-mark.  And as for our errand, it is to bid\nThiodolf do even as he hath done.  Hereby may we see how good a pair of\nWar-dukes we have gotten, since each thinketh of the same wisdom.  Now\ntake we counsel together as to what we shall do; whether we shall go back\nto Otter with thee, or thou go back to Thiodolf with us; or else each go\nthe road ordained for us.\"\n\nSaid Asbiorn: \"To Otter will I ride as I was bidden, that I may look on\nthe burning of our roof, and avenge me of the Romans afterwards; and I\nbid you, fellows, ride with me, since fewer men there are with Otter, and\nhe must be the first to bide the brunt of battle.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Geirbald, \"as for me ye must even lose a man's aid; for to\nThiodolf was I sent, and to Thiodolf will I go: and bethink thee if this\nbe not best, since Thiodolf hath but a deeming of the ways of the Romans\nand we wot surely of them.  Our coming shall make him the speedier, and\nthe less like to turn back if any alien band shall follow after him.  What\nsayest thou, Viglund?\"\n\nSaid Viglund: \"Even as thou, Geirbald: but for myself I deem I may well\nturn back with Asbiorn.  For I would serve the House in battle as soon as\nmay be; and maybe we shall slaughter these kites of the cities, so that\nThiodolf shall have no work to do when he cometh.\"\n\nSaid Asbiorn; \"Geirbald, knowest thou right well the ways through the\nwood and on the other side thereof, to the place where Thiodolf abideth?\nfor ye see that night is at hand.\"\n\n\"Nay, not over well,\" said Geirbald.\n\nSaid Asbiorn: \"Then I rede thee take Viglund with thee; for he knoweth\nthem yard by yard, and where they be hard and where they be soft.\nMoreover it were best indeed that ye meet Thiodolf betimes; for I deem\nnot but that he wendeth leisurely, though always warily, because he\ndeemeth not that Otter will ride before to-morrow morning.  Hearken,\nViglund!  Thiodolf will rest to-night on the other side of the water,\nnigh to where the hills break off into the sheer cliffs that are called\nthe Kites' Nest, and the water runneth under them, coming from the east:\nand before him lieth the easy ground of the eastern heaths where he is\nminded to wend to-morrow betimes in the morning: and if ye do your best\nye shall be there before he is upon the road, and sure it is that your\ntidings shall hasten him.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest sooth,\" saith Geirbald, \"tarry we no longer; here sunder our\nways; farewell!\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" said he, \"and thou, Viglund, take this word in parting, that\nbelike thou shalt yet see the Romans, and strike a stroke, and maybe be\nsmitten.  For indeed they be most mighty warriors.\"\n\nThen made they no delay but rode their ways either side.  And Geirbald\nand Viglund rode over rough and smooth all night, and were out of the\nthick wood by day-dawn: and whereas they rode hard, and Viglund knew the\nways well, they came to Mirkwood-water before the day was old, and saw\nthat the host was stirring, but not yet on the way.  And or ever they\ncame to the water's edge, they were met by Wolfkettle of the Wolfings,\nand Hiarandi of the Elkings, and three others who were but just come from\nthe place where the hurt men lay down in a dale near the Great Ridge;\nthere had Wolfkettle and Hiarandi been tending Toti of the Beamings,\ntheir fellow-in-arms, who had been sorely hurt in the battle, but was\ndoing well, and was like to live.  So when they saw the messengers, they\ncame up to them and hailed them, and asked them if the tidings were good\nor evil.\n\n\"That is as it may be,\" said Geirbald, \"but they are short to tell; the\nRomans are in Mid-mark, and Otter rideth on the spur to meet them, and\nsendeth us to bid Thiodolf wend the heaths to fall in on them also.  Nor\nmay we tarry one minute ere we have seen Thiodolf.\"\n\nSaid Wolfkettle, \"We will lead you to him; he is on the east side of the\nwater, with all his host, and they are hard on departing.\"\n\nSo they went down the ford, which was not very deep; and Wolfkettle rode\nthe ford behind Geirbald, and another man behind Viglund; but Hiarandi\nwent afoot with the others beside the horses, for he was a very tall man.\n\nBut as they rode amidst the clear water Wolfkettle lifted up his voice\nand sang:\n\n   \"White horse, with what are ye laden as ye wade the shallows warm,\n   But with tidings of the battle, and the fear of the fateful storm?\n   What loureth now behind us, what pileth clouds before,\n   On either hand what gathereth save the stormy tide of war?\n   Now grows midsummer mirky, and fallow falls the morn,\n   And dusketh the Moon's Sister, and the trees look overworn;\n   God's Ash tree shakes and shivers, and the sheer cliff standeth white\n   As the bones of the giants' father when the Gods first fared to\n   fight.\"\n\nAnd indeed the morning had grown mirky and grey and threatening, and from\nfar away the thunder growled, and the face of the Kite's Nest showed pale\nand awful against a dark steely cloud; and a few drops of rain pattered\ninto the smooth water before them from a rag of the cloud-flock right\nover head.  They were in mid stream now, for the water was wide there; on\nthe eastern bank were the warriors gathering, for they had beheld the\nfaring of those men, and the voice of Wolfkettle came to them across the\nwater, so they deemed that great tidings were toward, and would fain know\non what errand those were come.\n\nThen the waters of the ford deepened till Hiarandi was wading more than\nwaist-deep, and the water flowed over Geirbald's saddle; then Wolfkettle\nlaughed, and turning as he sat, dragged out his sword, and waved it from\neast to west and sang:\n\n   \"O sun, pale up in heaven, shrink from us if thou wilt,\n   And turn thy face from beholding the shock of guilt with guilt!\n   Stand still, O blood of summer! and let the harvest fade,\n   Till there be nought but fallow where once was bloom and blade!\n   O day, give out but a glimmer of all thy flood of light,\n   If it be but enough for our eyen to see the road of fight!\n   Forget all else and slumber, if still ye let us wake,\n   And our mouths shall make the thunder, and our swords shall the\n   lightening make,\n   And we shall be the storm-wind and drive the ruddy rain,\n   Till the joy of our hearts in battle bring back the day again.\"\n\nAs he spake that word they came up through the shallow water dripping on\nto the bank, and they and the men who abode them on the bank shouted\ntogether for joy of fellowship, and all tossed aloft their weapons.  The\nman who had ridden behind Viglund slipped off on to the ground; but\nWolfkettle abode in his place behind Geirbald.\n\nSo the messengers passed on, and the others closed up round about them,\nand all the throng went up to where Thiodolf was sitting on a rock\nbeneath a sole ash-tree, the face of the Kite's Nest rising behind him on\nthe other side of a bight of the river.  There he sat unhelmed with the\ndwarf-wrought hauberk about him, holding Throng-plough in its sheath\nacross his knees, while he gave word to this and that man concerning the\norder of the host.\n\nSo when they were come thither, the throng opened that the messengers\nmight come forward; for by this time had many more drawn near to hearken\nwhat was toward.  There they sat on their horses, the white and the grey,\nand Wolfkettle stood by Geirbald's bridle rein, for he had now lighted\ndown; and a little behind him, his head towering over the others, stood\nHiarandi great and gaunt.  The ragged cloud had drifted down south-east\nnow and the rain fell no more, but the sun was still pale and clouded.\n\nThen Thiodolf looked gravely on them, and spake:\n\n   \"What do ye sons of the War-shield? what tale is there to tell?\n   Is the kindred fallen tangled in the grasp of the fallow Hell?\n   Crows the red cock over the homesteads, have we met the foe too late?\n   For meseems your brows are heavy with the shadowing o'er of fate.\"\n\nBut Geirbald answered:\n\n   \"Still cold with dew in the morning the Shielding Roof-ridge stands,\n   Nor yet hath grey Hell bounden the Shielding warriors' hands;\n   But lo, the swords, O War-duke, how thick in the wind they shake,\n   Because we bear the message that the battle-road ye take,\n   Nor tarry for the thunder or the coming on of rain,\n   Or the windy cloudy night-tide, lest your battle be but vain.\n   And this is the word that Otter yestre'en hath set in my mouth;\n   Seek thou the trail of the Aliens of the Cities of the South,\n   And thou shalt find it leading o'er the heaths to the beechen-wood,\n   And thence to the stony places where the foxes find their food;\n   And thence to the tangled thicket where the folkway cleaves it\n   through,\n   To the eastern edge of Mid-mark where the Bearings deal and do.\"\n\nThen said Thiodolf in a cold voice, \"What then hath befallen Otter?\"\n\nSaid Geirbald:\n\n   \"When last I looked upon Otter, all armed he rode the plain,\n   With his whole host clattering round him like the rush of the summer\n   rain;\n   To the right or the left they looked not but they rode through the\n   dusk and the dark\n   Beholding nought before them but the dream of the foes in the Mark.\n   So he went; but his word fled from him and on my horse it rode,\n   And again it saith, O War-duke seek thou the Bear's abode,\n   And tarry never a moment for ought that seems of worth,\n   For there shall ye find the sword-edge and the flame of the foes of\n   the earth.\n\n\"Tarry not, Thiodolf, nor turn aback though a new foe followeth on thine\nheels.  No need to question me more; I have no more to tell, save that a\nwoman brought these tidings to us, whom the Hall-Sun had sent with others\nto watch the ways: and some of them had seen the Romans, who are a great\nhost and no band stealing forth to lift the herds.\"\n\nNow all those round about him heard his words, for he spake with a loud\nvoice; and they knew what the bidding of the War-duke would be; so they\nloitered not, but each man went about his business of looking to his war-\ngear and gathering to the appointed place of his kindred.  And even while\nGeirbald had been speaking, had Hiarandi brought up the man who bore the\ngreat horn, who when Thiodolf leapt to his feet to find him, was close at\nhand.  So he bade him blow the war-blast, and all men knew the meaning of\nthat voice of the horn, and every man armed him in haste, and they who\nhad horses (and these were but the Bearings and the Warnings), saddled\nthem, and mounted, and from mouth to mouth went the word that the Romans\nwere gotten into Mid-mark, and were burning the Bearing abodes.  So\nspeedily was the whole host ready for the way, the Wolfings at the head\nof all.  Then came forth Thiodolf from the midst of his kindred, and they\nraised him upon a great war-shield upheld by many men, and he stood\nthereon and spake:\n\n   \"O sons of Tyr, ye have vanquished, and sore hath been your pain;\n   But he that smiteth in battle must ever smite again;\n   And thus with you it fareth, and the day abideth yet\n   When ye shall hold the Aliens as the fishes in the net.\n   On the Ridge ye slew a many; but there came a many more\n   From their strongholds by the water to their new-built garth of war,\n   And all these have been led by dastards o'er the way our feet must\n   tread\n   Through the eastern heaths and the beech-wood to the door of the\n   Bearing stead,\n   Now e'en yesterday I deemed it, but I durst not haste away\n   Ere the word was borne to Otter and 'tis he bids haste to-day;\n   So now by day and by night-tide it behoveth us to wend\n   And wind the reel of battle and weave its web to end.\n   Had ye deemed my eyes foreseeing, I would tell you of my sight,\n   How I see the folk delivered and the Aliens turned to flight,\n   While my own feet wend them onwards to the ancient Father's Home.\n   But belike these are but the visions that to many a man shall come\n   When he goeth adown to the battle, and before him riseth high\n   The wall of valiant foemen to hide all things anigh.\n   But indeed I know full surely that no work that we may win\n   To-morrow or the next day shall quench the Markmen's kin.\n   On many a day hereafter shall their warriors carry shield;\n   On many a day their maidens shall drive the kine afield,\n   On many a day their reapers bear sickle in the wheat\n   When the golden wind-wrought ripple stirs round the feast-hall's feet.\n   Lo, now is the day's work easy--to live and overcome,\n   Or to die and yet to conquer on the threshold of the Home.\"\n\nAnd therewith he gat him down and went a-foot to the head of the Wolfing\nband, a great shout going with him, which was mingled with the voice of\nthe war-horn that bade away.\n\nSo fell the whole host into due array, and they were somewhat over three\nthousand warriors, all good and tried men and meet to face the uttermost\nof battle in the open field; so they went their ways with all the speed\nthat footmen may, and in fair order; and the sky cleared above their\nheads, but the distant thunder still growled about the world.  Geirbald\nand Viglund joined themselves to the Wolfings and went a-foot along with\nWolfkettle; but Hiarandi went with his kindred who were second in the\narray.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX--OTTER AND HIS FOLK COME INTO MID-MARK\n\n\nOtter and his folk rode their ways along Mirkwood-water, and made no\nstay, except now and again to breathe their horses, till they came to\nBattleford in the early morning; there they baited their horses, for the\ngrass was good in the meadow, and the water easy to come at.\n\nSo after they had rested there a short hour, and had eaten what was easy\nfor them to get, they crossed the ford, and wended along Mirkwood-water\nbetween the wood and the river, but went slower than before lest they\nshould weary their horses; so that it was high-noon before they had come\nout of the woodland way into Mid-mark; and at once as soon as the whole\nplain of the Mark opened out before them, they saw what most of them\nlooked to see (since none doubted Hrosshild's tale), and that was a\ncolumn of smoke rising high and straight up into the air, for the\nafternoon was hot and windless.  Great wrath rose in their hearts\nthereat, and many a strong man trembled for anger, though none for fear,\nas Otter raised his right hand and stretched it out towards that token of\nwrack and ruin; yet they made no stay, nor did they quicken their pace\nmuch; because they knew that they should come to Bearham before night-\nfall, and they would not meet the Romans way-worn and haggard; but they\nrode on steadily, a terrible company of wrathful men.\n\nThey passed by the dwellings of the kindreds, though save for the\nGaltings the houses on the east side of the water between the Bearings\nand the wild-wood road were but small; for the thicket came somewhat near\nto the water and pinched the meadows.  But the Galtings were great\nhunters and trackers of the wild-wood, and they of the Geddings, the\nErings and the Withings, which were smaller Houses, lived somewhat on the\ntake of fish from Mirkwood-water (as did the Laxings also of the Nether-\nmark), for thereabout were there goodly pools and eddies, and sun-warmed\nshallows therewithal for the spawning of the trouts; as there were eyots\nin the water, most of which tailed off into a gravelly shallow at their\nlower ends.\n\nNow as the riders of the Goths came over against the dwellings of the\nWithings, they saw people, mostly women, driving up the beasts from the\nmeadow towards the garth; but upon the tofts about their dwellings were\ngathered many folk, who had their eyes turned toward the token of ravage\nthat hung in the sky above the fair plain; but when these beheld the\nriding of the host, they tossed up their arms to them and whatever they\nbore in them, and the sound of their shrill cry (for they were all women\nand young lads) came down the wind to the ears of the riders.  But down\nby the river on a swell of the ground were some swains and a few thralls,\nand among them some men armed and a-horseback; and these, when they\nperceived the host coming on turned and rode to meet them; and as they\ndrew near they shouted as men overjoyed to meet their kindred; and indeed\nthe fighting-men of their own House were riding in the host.  And the\narmed men were three old men, and one very old with marvellous long white\nhair, and four long lads of some fifteen winters, and four stout carles\nof the thralls bearing bows and bucklers, and these rode behind the\nswains; so they found their own kindred and rode amongst them.\n\nBut when they were all jingling and clashing on together, the dust\narising from the sun-dried turf, the earth shaking with the thunder of\nthe horse-hoofs, then the heart of the long-hoary one stirred within him\nas he bethought him of the days of his youth, and to his old nostrils\ncame the smell of the horses and the savour of the sweat of warriors\nriding close together knee to knee adown the meadow.  So he lifted up his\nvoice and sang:\n\n      \"Rideth lovely along\n      The strong by the strong;\n      Soft under his breath\n      Singeth sword in the sheath,\n      And shield babbleth oft\n      Unto helm-crest aloft;\n   How soon shall their words rise mid wrath of the battle\n   Into wrangle unheeded of clanging and rattle,\n   And no man shall note then the gold on the sword\n   When the runes have no meaning, the mouth-cry no word,\n   When all mingled together, the war-sea of men\n   Shall toss up the steel-spray round fourscore and ten.\n\n      \"Now as maids burn the weed\n      Betwixt acre and mead,\n      So the Bearings' Roof\n      Burneth little aloof,\n      And red gloweth the hall\n      Betwixt wall and fair wall,\n   Where often the mead-sea we sipped in old days,\n   When our feet were a-weary with wending the ways;\n   When the love of the lovely at even was born,\n   And our hands felt fair hands as they fell on the horn.\n   There round about standeth the ring of the foe\n   Tossing babes on their spears like the weeds o'er the low.\n\n      \"Ride, ride then! nor spare\n      The red steeds as ye fare!\n      Yet if daylight shall fail,\n      By the fire-light of bale\n      Shall we see the bleared eyes\n      Of the war-learned, the wise.\n   In the acre of battle the work is to win,\n   Let us live by the labour, sheaf-smiting therein;\n   And as oft o'er the sickle we sang in time past\n   When the crake that long mocked us fled light at the last,\n   So sing o'er the sword, and the sword-hardened hand\n   Bearing down to the reaping the wrath of the land.\"\n\nSo he sang; and a great shout went up from his kindred and those around\nhim, and it was taken up all along the host, though many knew not why\nthey shouted, and the whole host quickened its pace, and went a great\ntrot over the smooth meadow.\n\nSo in no long while were they come over against the stead of the Erings,\nand thereabouts were no beasts afield, and no women, for all the neat\nwere driven into the garth of the House; but all they who were not war-\nfit were standing without doors looking down the Mark towards the reek of\nthe Bearing dwellings, and these also sent a cry of welcome toward the\nhost of their kindred.  But along the river-bank came to meet the host an\narmed band of two old men, two youths who were their sons, and twelve\nthralls who were armed with long spears; and all these were a-horseback:\nso they fell in with their kindred and the host made no stay for them,\nbut pressed on over-running the meadow.  And still went up that column of\nsmoke, and thicker and blacker it grew a-top, and ruddier amidmost.\n\nSo came they by the abode of the Geddings, and there also the neat and\nsheep were close in the home-garth: but armed men were lying or standing\nabout the river bank, talking or singing merrily none otherwise than\nthough deep peace were on the land; and when they saw the faring of the\nhost they sprang to their feet with a shout and gat to their horses at\nonce: they were more than the other bands had been, for the Geddings were\na greater House; they were seven old men, and ten swains, and ten thralls\nbearing long spears like to those of the Erings; and no sooner had they\nfallen in with their kindred, than the men of the host espied a greater\ncompany yet coming to meet them: and these were of the folk of the\nGaltings; and amongst them were ten warriors in their prime, because they\nhad but of late come back from the hunting in the wood and had been\nbelated from the muster of the kindreds; and with them were eight old men\nand fifteen lads, and eighteen thralls; and the swains and thralls all\nbore bows besides the swords that they were girt withal, and not all of\nthem had horses, but they who had none rode behind the others: so they\njoined themselves to the host, shouting aloud; and they had with them a\ngreat horn that they blew on till they had taken their place in the\narray; and whereas their kindred was with Thiodolf, they followed along\nwith the hinder men of the Shieldings.\n\nSo now all the host went on together, and when they had passed the\nGalting abodes, there was nothing between them and Bearham, nor need they\nlook for any further help of men; there were no beasts afield nor any to\nherd them, and the stay-at-homes were within doors dighting them for\ndeparture into the wild-wood if need should be: but a little while after\nthey had passed these dwellings came into the host two swains of about\ntwenty winters, and a doughty maid, their sister, and they bare no\nweapons save short spears and knives; they were wet and dripping with the\nwater, for they had just swum Mirkwood-water.  They were of the Wolfing\nHouse, and had been shepherding a few sheep on the west side of the\nwater, when they saw the host faring to battle, and might not refrain\nthem, but swam their horses across the swift deeps to join their kindred\nto live and die with them.  The tale tells that they three fought in the\nbattles that followed after, and were not slain there, though they\nentered them unarmed, but lived long years afterwards: of them need no\nmore be said.\n\nNow, when the host was but a little past the Galting dwellings men began\nto see the flames mingled with the smoke of the burning, and the smoke\nitself growing thinner, as though the fire had over-mastered everything\nand was consuming itself with its own violence; and somewhat afterwards,\nthe ground rising, they could see the Bearing meadow and the foemen\nthereon: yet a little further, and from the height of another swelling of\nthe earth they could see the burning houses themselves and the array of\nthe Romans; so there they stayed and breathed their horses a while.  And\nthey beheld how of the Romans a great company was gathered together in\nclose array betwixt the ford and the Bearing Hall, but nigher unto the\nford, and these were a short mile from them; but others they saw\nstreaming out from the burning dwellings, as if their work were done\nthere, and they could not see that they had any captives with them.  Other\nRomans there were, and amongst them men in the attire of the Goths,\nbusied about the river banks, as though they were going to try the ford.\n\nBut a little while abode Otter in that place, and then waved his arm and\nrode on and all the host followed; and as they drew nigher, Otter, who\nwas wise in war, beheld the Romans and deemed them a great host, and the\nvery kernel and main body of them many more than all his company; and\nmoreover they were duly and well arrayed as men waiting a foe; so he knew\nthat he must be wary or he would lose himself and all his men.\n\nSo he stayed his company when they were about two furlongs from them, and\nthe main body of the foe stirred not, but horsemen and slingers came\nforth from its sides and made on toward the Goths, and in three or four\nminutes were within bowshot of them.  Then the bowmen of the Goths\nslipped down from their horses and bent their bows and nocked their\narrows and let fly, and slew and hurt many of the horsemen, who endured\ntheir shot but for a minute or two and then turned rein and rode back\nslowly to their folk, and the slingers came not on very eagerly whereas\nthey were dealing with men a-horseback, and the bowmen of the Goths also\nheld them still.\n\nNow turned Otter to his folk and made them a sign, which they knew well,\nthat they should get down from their horses; and when they were afoot the\nleaders of tens and hundreds arrayed them, into the wedge-array, with the\nbowmen on either flank: and Otter smiled as he beheld this adoing and\nthat the Romans meddled not with them, belike because they looked to have\nthem good cheap, since they were but a few wild men.\n\nBut when they were all arrayed he sat still on his horse and spake to\nthem short and sharply, saying:\n\n\"Men of the Goths, will ye mount your horses again and ride into the wood\nand let it cover you, or will ye fight these Romans?\"  They answered him\nwith a great shout and the clashing of their weapons on their shields.\n\"That is well,\" quoth Otter, \"since we have come so far; for I perceive\nthat the foe will come to meet us, so that we must either abide their\nshock or turn our backs.  Yet must we fight wisely or we are undone, and\nThiodolf in risk of undoing; this have we to do if we may, to thrust in\nbetween them and the ford, and if we may do that, there let us fight it\nout, till we fall one over another.  But if we may not do it, then will\nwe not throw our lives away but do the foemen what hurt we may without\nmingling ourselves amongst them, and so abide the coming of Thiodolf; for\nif we get not betwixt them and the ford we may in no case hinder them\nfrom crossing.  And all this I tell you that ye may follow me wisely, and\nrefrain your wrath that ye may live yet to give it the rein when the time\ncomes.\"\n\nSo he spake and got down from his horse and drew his sword and went to\nthe head of the wedge-array and began slowly to lead forth; but the\nthralls and swains had heed of the horses, and they drew aback with them\ntowards the wood which was but a little way from them.\n\nBut for Otter he led his men down towards the ford, and when the Romans\nsaw that, their main body began to move forward, faring slant-wise, as a\ncrab, down toward the ford; then Otter hastened somewhat, as he well\nmight, since his men were well learned in war and did not break their\narray; but now by this time were those burners of the Romans come up with\nthe main battle, and the Roman captain sent them at once against the\nGoths, and they advanced boldly enough, a great cloud of men in loose\narray who fell to with arrows and slings on the wedge-array and slew and\nhurt many: yet did not Otter stay his folk; but it was ill going for\nthem, for their unshielded sides were turned to the Romans, nor durst\nOtter scatter his bowmen out from the wedge-array, lest the Romans, who\nwere more than they, should enter in amongst them.  Ever he gazed\nearnestly on the main battle of the Romans, and what they were doing, and\npresently it became clear to him that they would outgo him and come to\nthe ford, and then he wotted well that they would set on him just when\ntheir light-armed were on his flank and his rearward, and then it would\ngo hard but they would break their array and all would be lost: therefore\nhe slacked his pace and went very slowly and the Romans went none the\nslower for that; but their light-armed grew bolder and drew more together\nas they came nigher to the Goths, as though they would give them an\nonset; but just at that nick of time Otter passed the word down the\nranks, and, waving his sword, turned sharply to the right and fell with\nall the wedge-array on the clustering throng of the light-armed, and his\nbowmen spread out now from the right flank of the wedge-array, and shot\nsharp and swift and the bowmen on the left flank ran forward swiftly till\nthey had cleared the wedge-array and were on the flank of the light-armed\nRomans; and they, what between the onset of the swordsmen and spearmen of\nthe Goths, and their sharp arrows, knew not which way to turn, and a\ngreat slaughter befell amongst them, and they of them were the happiest\nwho might save themselves by their feet.\n\nNow after this storm, and after these men had been thrust away, Otter\nstayed not, but swept round about the field toward the horses; and indeed\nhe looked to it that the main-battle of the Romans should follow him, but\nthey did not, but stayed still to receive the fleers of their\nlight-armed.  And this indeed was the goodhap of the Goths; for they were\nsomewhat disordered by their chase of the light-armed, and they smote and\nspared not, their hearts being full of bitter wrath, as might well be;\nfor even as they turned on the Romans, they beheld the great roof of the\nBearings fall in over the burned hall, and a great shower of sparks burst\nup from its fall, and there were the ragged gables left standing, licked\nby little tongues of flame which could not take hold of them because of\nthe clay which filled the spaces between the great timbers and was daubed\nover them.  And they saw that all the other houses were either alight or\nsmouldering, down to the smallest cot of a thrall, and even the barns and\nbooths both great and little.\n\nTherefore, whereas the Markmen were far fewer in all than the Roman main-\nbattle, and whereas this same host was in very good array, no doubt there\nwas that the Markmen would have been grievously handled had the Romans\nfallen on; but the Roman Captain would not have it so: for though he was\na bold man, yet was his boldness that of the wolf, that falleth on when\nhe is hungry and skulketh when he is full.  He was both young and very\nrich, and a mighty man among his townsmen, and well had he learned that\nginger is hot in the mouth, and though he had come forth to the war for\nthe increasing of his fame, he had no will to die among the Markmen,\neither for the sake of the city of Rome, or of any folk whatsoever, but\nwas liefer to live for his own sake.  Therefore was he come out to\nvanquish easily, that by his fame won he might win more riches and\ndominion in Rome; and he was well content also to have for his own\nwhatever was choice amongst the plunder of these wild-men (as he deemed\nthem), if it were but a fair woman or two.  So this man thought, It is my\nbusiness to cross the ford and come to Wolfstead, and there take the\ntreasure of the tribe, and have a stronghold there, whence we may slay so\nmany of these beasts with little loss to us that we may march away easily\nand with our hands full, even if Maenius with his men come not to our\naid, as full surely he will: therefore as to these angry men, who be not\nwithout might and conduct in battle, let us remember the old saw that\nsaith 'a bridge of gold to a fleeing foe,' and let them depart with no\nmore hurt of Romans, and seek us afterwards when we are fenced into their\nstead, which shall then be our stronghold: even so spake he to his\nCaptains about him.\n\nFor it must be told that he had no tidings of the overthrow of the Romans\non the Ridge; nor did he know surely how many fighting-men the Markmen\nmight muster, except by the report of those dastards of the Goths; and\nthough he had taken those two women in the wastes, yet had he got no word\nfrom them, for they did as the Hall-Sun bade them, when they knew that\nthey would be questioned with torments, and smiting themselves each with\na little sharp knife, so went their ways to the Gods.\n\nThus then the Roman Captain let the Markmen go their ways, and turned\ntoward the ford, and the Markmen went slowly now toward their horses.\nHowbeit there were many of them who murmured against Otter, saying that\nit was ill done to have come so far and ridden so hard, and then to have\ndone so little, and that were to-morrow come, they would not be led away\nso easily: but now they said it was ill; for the Romans would cross the\nwater, and make their ways to Wolfstead, none hindering them, and would\nburn the dwellings and slay the old men and thralls, and have away the\nwomen and children and the Hall-Sun the treasure of the Markmen.  In\nsooth, they knew not that a band of the Roman light-armed had already\ncrossed the water, and had fallen upon the dwellings of the Wolfings; but\nthat the old men and younglings and thralls of the House had come upon\nthem as they were entangled amidst the tofts and the garths, and had\novercome them and slain many.\n\nThus went Otter and his men to their horses when it was now drawing\ntoward sunset (for all this was some while adoing), and betook them to a\nrising ground not far from the wood-side, and there made what sort of a\ngarth they might, with their horses and the limbs of trees and\nlong-shafted spears; and they set a watch and abode in the garth right\nwarily, and lighted no fires when night fell, but ate what meat they had\nwith them, which was but little, and so sleeping and watching abode the\nmorning.  But the main body of the Romans did not cross the ford that\nnight, for they feared lest they might go astray therein, for it was an\nill ford to those that knew not the water: so they abode on the bank nigh\nto the water's edge, with the mind to cross as soon as it was fairly\ndaylight.\n\nNow Otter had lost of his men some hundred and twenty slain or grievously\nhurt, and they had away with them the hurt men and the bodies of the\nslain.  The tale tells not how many of the Romans were slain, but a many\nof their light-armed had fallen, since the Markmen had turned so hastily\nupon them, and they had with them many of the best bowmen of the Mark.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI--THEY BICKER ABOUT THE FORD\n\n\nIn the grey of the morning was Otter afoot with the watchers, and\npresently he got on his horse and peered over the plain, but the mist yet\nhung low on it, so that he might see nought for a while; but at last he\nseemed to note something coming toward the host from the upper water\nabove the ford, so he rode forward to meet it, and lo, it was a lad of\nfifteen winters, naked save his breeches, and wet from the river; and\nOtter drew rein, and the lad said to him: \"Art thou the War-duke?\"  \"Yea,\"\nsaid Otter.\n\nSaid the lad, \"I am Ali, the son of Grey, and the Hall-Sun hath sent me\nto thee with this word: 'Are ye coming?  Is Thiodolf at hand?  For I have\nseen the Roof-ridge red in the sunlight as if it were painted with\ncinnabar.'\"\n\nSaid Otter, \"Art thou going back to Wolfstead, son?\"\n\n\"Yea, at once, my father,\" said Ali.\n\n\"Then tell her,\" said Otter, \"that Thiodolf is at hand, and when he\ncometh we shall both together fall upon the Romans either in crossing the\nford or in the Wolfing meadow; but tell her also that I am not strong\nenough to hinder the Romans from crossing.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Ali, \"the Hall-Sun saith: Thou art wise in war; now tell\nus, shall we hold the Hall against the Romans that ye may find us there?\nFor we have discomfited their vanguard already, and we have folk who can\nfight; but belike the main battle of the Romans shall get the upper hand\nof us ere ye come to our helping: belike it were better to leave the\nhall, and let the wood cover us.\"\n\n\"Now is this well asked,\" said Otter; \"get thee back, my son, and bid the\nHall-Sun trust not to warding of the Hall, for the Romans are a mighty\nhost: and this day, even when Thiodolf cometh hither, shall be hard for\nthe Goth-folk: let her hasten lest these thieves come upon her hastily;\nlet her take the Hall-Sun her namesake, and the old men and children and\nthe women, and let those fighting folk she hath be a guard to all this in\nthe wood.  And hearken moreover; it will, maybe, be six hours ere\nThiodolf cometh; tell her I will cast the dice for life or death, and\nstir up these Romans now at once, that they may have other things to\nthink of than burning old men and women and children in their dwellings;\nthus may she reach the wood unhindered.  Hast thou all this in thine\nhead?  Then go thy ways.\"\n\nBut the lad lingered, and he reddened and looked on the ground and then\nhe said: \"My father, I swam the deeps, and when I reached this bank, I\ncrept along by the mist and the reeds toward where the Romans are, and I\ncame near to them, and noted what they were doing; and I tell thee that\nthey are already stirring to take the water at the ford.  Now then do\nwhat thou wilt.\"\n\nTherewith he turned about, and went his way at once, running like a colt\nwhich has never felt halter or bit.\n\nBut Otter rode back hastily and roused certain men in whom he trusted,\nand bid them rouse the captains and all the host and bid men get to horse\nspeedily and with as little noise as might be.  So did they, and there\nwas little delay, for men were sleeping with one eye open, as folk say,\nand many were already astir.  So in a little while they were all in the\nsaddle, and the mist yet stretched low over the meadow; for the morning\nwas cool and without wind.  Then Otter bade the word be carried down the\nranks that they should ride as quietly as may be and fare through the\nmist to do the Romans some hurt, but in nowise to get entangled in their\nranks, and all men to heed well the signal of turning and drawing aback;\nand therewith they rode off down the meadow led by men who could have led\nthem through the dark night.\n\nBut for the Romans, they were indeed getting ready to cross the ford when\nthe mist should have risen; and on the bank it was thinning already and\nmelting away; for a little air of wind was beginning to breathe from the\nnorth-east and the sunrise, which was just at hand; and the bank,\nmoreover, was stonier and higher than the meadow's face, which fell away\nfrom it as a shallow dish from its rim: thereon yet lay the mist like a\nwhite wall.\n\nSo the Romans and their friends the dastards of the Goths had well nigh\ngot all ready, and had driven stakes into the water from bank to bank to\nmark out the safe ford, and some of their light-armed and most of their\nGoths were by now in the water or up on the Wolfing meadow with the more\npart of their baggage and wains; and the rest of the host was drawn up in\ngood order, band by band, waiting the word to take the water, and the\ncaptain was standing nigh to the river bank beside their God the chief\nbanner of the Host.\n\nOf a sudden one of the dastards of the Goths who was close to the Captain\ncried out that he heard horse coming; but because he spake in the Gothic\ntongue, few heeded; but even therewith an old leader of a hundred cried\nout the same tidings in the Roman tongue, and all men fell to handling\ntheir weapons; but before they could face duly toward the meadow, came\nrushing from out of the mist a storm of shafts that smote many men, and\ntherewithal burst forth the sound of the Markmen's war-horn, like the\nroaring of a hundred bulls mingled with the thunder of horses at the\ngallop; and then dark over the wall of mist showed the crests of the\nriders of the Mark, though scarce were their horses seen till their whole\nwar-rank came dark and glittering into the space of the rising-ground\nwhere the mist was but a haze now, and now at last smitten athwart by the\nlow sun just arisen.\n\nTherewith came another storm of shafts, wherein javelins and spears cast\nby the hand were mingled with the arrows: but the Roman ranks had faced\nthe meadow and the storm which it yielded, swiftly and steadily, and they\nstood fast and threw their spears, albeit not with such good aim as might\nhave been, because of their haste, so that few were slain by them.  And\nthe Roman Captain still loth to fight with the Goths in earnest for no\nreward, and still more and more believing that this was the only band of\nthem that he had to look to, bade those who were nighest the ford not to\ntarry for the onset of a few wild riders, but to go their ways into the\nwater; else by a sudden onrush might the Romans have entangled Otter's\nband in their ranks, and so destroyed all.  As it was the horsemen fell\nnot on the Roman ranks full in face, but passing like a storm athwart the\nranks to the right, fell on there where they were in thinnest array (for\nthey were gathered to the ford as aforesaid), and slew some and drave\nsome into the deeps and troubled the whole Roman host.\n\nSo now the Roman Captain was forced to take new order, and gather all his\nmen together, and array his men for a hard fight; and by now the mist was\nrolling off from the face of the whole meadow and the sun was bright and\nhot.  His men serried their ranks, and the front rank cast their spears,\nand slew both men and horses of the Goths as those rode along their front\ncasting their javelins, and shooting here and there from behind their\nhorses if occasion served, or making a shift to send an arrow even as\nthey sat a-horseback; then the second rank of the Romans would take the\nplace of the first, and cast in their turn, and they who had taken the\nwater turned back and took their place behind the others, and many of the\nlight-armed came with them, and all the mass of them flowed forward\ntogether, looking as if it might never be broken.  But Otter would not\nabide the shock, since he had lost men and horses, and had no mind to be\ncaught in the sweep of their net; so he made the sign, and his Company\ndrew off to right and left, yet keeping within bowshot, so that the\nbowmen still loosed at the Romans.\n\nBut they for their part might not follow afoot men on untired horses, and\ntheir own horse was on the west side with the baggage, and had it been\nthere would have been but of little avail, as the Roman Captain knew.  So\nthey stood awhile making grim countenance, and then slowly drew back to\nthe ford under cover of their light-armed who shot at the Goths as they\nrode forward, but abode not their shock.\n\nBut Otter and his folk followed after the Romans again, and again did\nthem some hurt, and at last drew so nigh, that once more the Romans\nstormed forth, and once more smote a stroke in the air; nor even so would\nthe Markmen cease to meddle with them, though never would Otter suffer\nhis men to be mingled with them.  At the last the Romans, seeing that\nOtter would not walk into the open trap, and growing weary of this\nbickering, began to take the water little by little, while a strong\nCompany kept face to the Markmen; and now Otter saw that they would not\nbe hindered any longer, and he had lost many men, and even now feared\nlest he should be caught in the trap, and so lose all.  And on the other\nhand it was high noon by now, so that he had given respite to the stay-at-\nhomes of the Wolfings, so that they might get them into the wood.  So he\ndrew out of bowshot and bade his men breathe their horses and rest\nthemselves and eat something; and they did so gladly, since they saw that\nthey might not fall upon the Romans to live and die for it until Thiodolf\nwas come, or until they knew that he was not coming.  But the Romans\ncrossed the ford in good earnest and were soon all gathered together on\nthe western bank making them ready for the march to Wolfstead.  And it\nmust be told that the Roman Captain was the more deliberate about this\nbecause after the overthrow of his light-armed there the morning before,\nhe thought that the Roof was held by warriors of the kindreds, and not by\na few old men, and women, and lads.  Therefore he had no fear of their\nescaping him.  Moreover it was this imagination of his, to wit that a\nstrong band of warriors was holding Wolf-stead, that made him deem there\nwere no more worth thinking about of the warriors of the Mark save\nOtter's Company and the men in the Hall of the Wolfings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII--OTTER FALLS ON AGAINST HIS WILL\n\n\nIt was with the same imagination working in him belike that the Roman\nCaptain set none to guard the ford on the westward side of\nMirkwood-water.  The Romans tarried there but a little hour, and then\nwent their ways; but Otter sent a man on a swift horse to watch them, and\nwhen they were clean gone for half an hour, he bade his folk to horse,\nand they departed, all save a handful of the swains and elders, who were\nleft to tell the tidings to Thiodolf when he should come into Mid-mark.\n\nSo Otter and his folk crossed the ford, and drew up in good order on the\nwestward bank, and it was then somewhat more than three hours after noon.\nHe had been there but a little while before he noted a stir in the\nBearing meadow, and lo, it was the first of Thiodolf's folk, who had\ngotten out of the wood and had fallen in with the men whom he had left\nbehind.  And these first were the riders of the Bearings, and the\nWormings, (for they had out-gone the others who were afoot).  It may well\nbe thought how fearful was their anger when they set eyes on the\nsmouldering ashes of the dwellings; nor even when those folk of Otter had\ntold them all they had to tell could some of them refrain them from\nriding off to the burnt houses to seek for the bodies of their kindred.\nBut when they came there, and amidst the ashes could find no bones, their\nhearts were lightened, and yet so mad wroth they were, that some could\nscarce sit their horses, and great tears gushed from the eyes of some,\nand pattered down like hail-stones, so eager were they to see the blood\nof the Romans.  So they rode back to where they had left their folk\ntalking with them of Otter; and the Bearings were sitting grim upon their\nhorses and somewhat scowling on Otter's men.  Then the foremost of those\nwho had come back from the houses waved his hand toward the ford, but\ncould say nought for a while; but the captain and chief of the Bearings,\na grizzled man very big of body, whose name was Arinbiorn, spake to that\nman and said; \"What aileth thee Sweinbiorn the Black?  What hast thou\nseen?\"\n\nHe said:\n\n   \"Now red and grey is the pavement of the Bearings' house of old:\n   Red yet is the floor of the dais, but the hearth all grey and cold.\n   I knew not the house of my fathers; I could not call to mind\n   The fashion of the building of that Warder of the Wind.\n   O wide were grown the windows, and the roof exceeding high!\n   For nought there was to look on 'twixt the pavement and the sky.\n   But the tie-beam lay on the dais, and methought its staining fair;\n   For rings of smoothest charcoal were round it here and there,\n   And the red flame flickered o'er it, and never a staining wight\n   Hath red earth in his coffer so clear and glittering bright,\n   And still the little smoke-wreaths curled o'er it pale and blue.\n   Yea, fair is our hall's adorning for a feast that is strange and new.\"\n\nSaid Arinbiorn: \"What sawest thou therein, O Sweinbiorn, where sat thy\ngrandsire at the feast?  Where were the bones of thy mother lying?\"\n\nSaid Sweinbiorn:\n\n   \"We sought the feast-hall over, and nought we found therein\n   Of the bones of the ancient mothers, or the younglings of the kin.\n   The men are greedy, doubtless, to lose no whit of the prey,\n   And will try if the hoary elders may yet outlive the way\n   That leads to the southland cities, till at last they come to stand\n   With the younglings in the market to be sold in an alien land.\"\n\nArinbiorn's brow lightened somewhat; but ere he could speak again an\nancient thrall of the Galtings spake and said:\n\n\"True it is, O warriors of the Bearings, that we might not see any war-\nthralls being led away by the Romans when they came away from the burning\ndwellings; and we deem it certain that they crossed the water before the\ncoming of the Romans, and that they are now with the stay-at-homes of the\nWolfings in the wild-wood behind the Wolfing dwellings, for we hear tell\nthat the War-duke would not that the Hall-Sun should hold the Hall\nagainst the whole Roman host.\"\n\nThen Sweinbiorn tossed up his sword into the air and caught it by the\nhilts as it fell, and cried out: \"On, on to the meadow, where these\nthieves abide us!\"  Arinbiorn spake no word, but turned his horse and\nrode down to the ford, and all men followed him; and of the Bearings\nthere were an hundred warriors save one, and of the Wormings eighty and\nseven.\n\nSo rode they over the meadow and into the ford and over it, and Otter's\ncompany stood on the bank to meet them, and shouted to see them; but the\nothers made but little noise as they crossed the water.\n\nSo when they were on the western bank Arinbiorn came among them of Otter,\nand cried out: \"Where then is Otter, where is the War-duke, is he alive\nor dead?\"\n\nAnd the throng opened to him and Otter stood facing him; and Arinbiorn\nspake and said: \"Thou art alive and unhurt, War-duke, when many have been\nhurt and slain; and methinks thy company is little minished though the\nkindred of the Bearings lacketh a roof; and its elders and women and\nchildren are gone into captivity.  What is this?  Was it a light thing\nthat gangrel thieves should burn and waste in Mid-mark and depart unhurt,\nthat ye stand here with clean blades and cold bodies?\"\n\nSaid Otter: \"Thou grievest for the hurt of thine House, Arinbiorn; but\nthis at least is good, that though ye have lost the timber of your house\nye have not lost its flesh and blood; the shell is gone, but the kernel\nis saved: for thy folk are by this time in the wood with the Wolfing stay-\nat-homes, and among these are many who may fight on occasion, so they are\nsafe as for this time: the Romans may not come at them to hurt them.\"\n\nSaid Arinbiorn: \"Had ye time to learn all this, Otter, when ye fled so\nfast before the Romans, that the father tarried not for the son, nor the\nson for the father?\"\n\nHe spoke in a loud voice so that many heard him, and some deemed it evil;\nfor anger and dissension between friends seemed abroad; but some were so\neager for battle, that the word of Arinbiorn seemed good to them, and\nthey laughed for pride and anger.\n\nThen Otter answered meekly, for he was a wise man and a bold: \"We fled\nnot, Arinbiorn, but as the sword fleeth, when it springeth up from the\niron helm to fall on the woollen coat.  Are we not now of more avail to\nyou, O men of the Bearings, than our dead corpses would have been?\"\n\nArinbiorn answered not, but his face waxed red, as if he were struggling\nwith a weight hard to lift: then said Otter:\n\n\"But when will Thiodolf and the main battle be with us?\"\n\nArinbiorn answered calmly: \"Maybe in a little hour from now, or somewhat\nmore.\"\n\nSaid Otter: \"My rede is that we abide him here, and when we are all met\nand well ordered together, fall on the Romans at once: for then shall we\nbe more than they; whereas now we are far fewer, and moreover we shall\nhave to set on them in their ground of vantage.\"\n\nArinbiorn answered nothing; but an old man of the Bearings, one\nThorbiorn, came up and spake:\n\n\"Warriors, here are we talking and taking counsel, though this is no\nHallowed Thing to bid us what we shall do, and what we shall forbear; and\nto talk thus is less like warriors than old women wrangling over the why\nand wherefore of a broken crock.  Let the War-duke rule here, as is but\nmeet and right.  Yet if I might speak and not break the peace of the\nGoths, then would I say this, that it might be better for us to fall on\nthese Romans at once before they have cast up a dike about them, as Fox\ntelleth is their wont, and that even in an hour they may do much.\"\n\nAs he spake there was a murmur of assent about him, but Otter spake\nsharply, for he was grieved.\n\n\"Thorbiorn, thou art old, and shouldest not be void of prudence.  Now it\nhad been better for thee to have been in the wood to-day to order the\nwomen and the swains according to thine ancient wisdom than to egg on my\nyoung warriors to fare unwarily.  Here will I abide Thiodolf.\"\n\nThen Thorbiorn reddened and was wroth; but Arinbiorn spake:\n\n\"What is this to-do?  Let the War-duke rule as is but right: but I am now\nbecome a man of Thiodolf's company; and he bade me haste on before to\nhelp all I might.  Do thou as thou wilt, Otter: for Thiodolf shall be\nhere in an hour's space, and if much diking shall be done in an hour, yet\nlittle slaying, forsooth, shall be done, and that especially if the foe\nis all armed and slayeth women and children.  Yea if the Bearing women be\nall slain, yet shall not Tyr make us new ones out of the stones of the\nwaste to wed with the Galtings and the fish-eating Houses?--this is easy\nto be done forsooth.  Yea, easier than fighting the Romans and overcoming\nthem!\"\n\nAnd he was very wrath, and turned away; and again there was a murmur and\na hum about him.  But while these had been speaking aloud, Sweinbiorn had\nbeen talking softly to some of the younger men, and now he shook his\nnaked sword in the air and spake aloud and sang:\n\n   \"Ye tarry, Bears of Battle! ye linger, Sons of the Worm!\n   Ye crouch adown, O kindreds, from the gathering of the storm!\n   Ye say, it shall soon pass over and we shall fare afield\n   And reap the wheat with the war-sword and winnow in the shield.\n   But where shall be the corner wherein ye then shall abide,\n   And where shall be the woodland where the whelps of the bears shall\n   hide\n   When 'twixt the snowy mountains and the edges of the sea\n   These men have swept the wild-wood and the fields where men may be\n   Of every living sword-blade, and every quivering spear,\n   And in the southland cities the yoke of slaves ye bear?\n   Lo ye! whoever follows I fare to sow the seed\n   Of the days to be hereafter and the deed that comes of deed.\"\n\nTherewith he waved his sword over his head, and made as if he would spur\nonward.  But Arinbiorn thrust through the press and outwent him and cried\nout:\n\n\"None goeth before Arinbiorn the Old when the battle is pitched in the\nmeadows of the kindred.  Come, ye sons of the Bear, ye children of the\nWorm!  And come ye, whosoever hath a will to see stout men die!\"\n\nThen on he rode nor looked behind him, and the riders of the Bearings and\nthe Wormings drew themselves out of the throng, and followed him, and\nrode clattering over the meadow towards Wolfstead.  A few of the others\nrode with them, and yet but a few.  For they remembered the holy Folk-\nmote and the oath of the War-duke, and how they had chosen Otter to be\ntheir leader.  Howbeit, man looked askance at man, as if in shame to be\nleft behind.\n\nBut Otter bethought him in the flash of a moment, \"If these men ride\nalone, they shall die and do nothing; and if we ride with them it may be\nthat we shall overthrow the Romans, and if we be vanquished, it shall go\nhard but we shall slay many of them, so that it shall be the easier for\nThiodolf to deal with them.\"\n\nThen he spake hastily, and bade certain men abide at the ford for a\nguard; then he drew his sword and rode to the front of his folk, and\ncried out aloud to them:\n\n\"Now at last has come the time to die, and let them of the Markmen who\nlive hereafter lay us in howe.  Set on, Sons of Tyr, and give not your\nlives away, but let them be dearly earned of our foemen.\"\n\nThen all shouted loudly and gladly; nor were they otherwise than\nexceeding glad; for now had they forgotten all other joys of life save\nthe joy of fighting for the kindred and the days to be.\n\nSo Otter led them forth, and when he heard the whole company clattering\nand thundering on the earth behind him and felt their might enter into\nhim, his brow cleared, and the anxious lines in the face of the old man\nsmoothed themselves out, and as he rode along the soul so stirred within\nhim that he sang out aloud:\n\n   \"Time was when hot was the summer and I was young on the earth,\n   And I grudged me every moment that lacked its share of mirth.\n   I woke in the morn and was merry and all the world methought\n   For me and my heart's deliverance that hour was newly wrought.\n   I have passed through the halls of manhood, I have reached the doors\n   of eld,\n   And I have been glad and sorry, but ever have upheld\n   My heart against all trouble that none might call me sad,\n   But ne'er came such remembrance of how my heart was glad\n   In the afternoon of summer 'neath the still unwearied sun\n   Of the days when I was little and all deeds were hopes to be won,\n   As now at last it cometh when e'en in such-like tide,\n   For the freeing of my trouble o'er the fathers' field I ride.\"\n\nMany men perceived that he sang, and saw that he was merry, howbeit few\nheard his very words, and yet all were glad of him.\n\nFast they rode, being wishful to catch up with the Bearings and the\nWormings, and soon they came anigh them, and they, hearing the thunder of\nthe horse-hoofs, looked and saw that it was the company of Otter, and so\nslacked their speed till they were all joined together with joyous\nshouting and laughter.  So then they ordered the ranks anew and so set\nforward in great joy without haste or turmoil toward Wolfstead and the\nRomans.  For now the bitterness of their fury and the sourness of their\nabiding wrath were turned into the mere joy of battle; even as the clear\nred and sweet wine comes of the ugly ferment and rough trouble of the\nmust.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII--THIODOLF MEETETH THE ROMANS IN THE WOLFING MEADOW\n\n\nIt was scarce an hour after this that the footmen of Thiodolf came out of\nthe thicket road on to the meadow of the Bearings; there saw they men\ngathered on a rising ground, and they came up to them and saw how some of\nthem were looking with troubled faces towards the ford and what lay\nbeyond it, and some toward the wood and the coming of Thiodolf.  But\nthese were they whom Otter had bidden abide Thiodolf there, and he had\nsent two messengers to them for Thiodolf's behoof that he might have due\ntidings so soon as he came out of the thicket: the first told how Otter\nhad been compelled in a manner to fall on the Romans along with the\nriders of the Bearings and the Wormings, and the second who had but just\nthen come, told how the Markmen had been worsted by the Romans, and had\ngiven back from the Wolfing dwellings, and were making a stand against\nthe foemen in the meadow betwixt the ford and Wolfstead.\n\nNow when Thiodolf heard of these tidings he stayed not to ask long\nquestions, but led the whole host straightway down to the ford, lest the\nremnant of Otter's men should be driven down there, and the Romans should\nhold the western bank against him.\n\nAt the ford there was none to withstand them, nor indeed any man at all;\nfor the men whom Otter had set there, when they heard that the battle had\ngone against their kindred, had ridden their ways to join them.  So\nThiodolf crossed over the ford, he and his in good order all afoot, he\nlike to the others; but for him he was clad in the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk,\nbut was unhelmeted and bare no shield.  Throng-plough was naked in his\nhand as he came up all dripping on to the bank and stood in the meadow of\nthe Wolfings; his face was stern and set as he gazed straight onward to\nthe place of the fray, but he did not look as joyous as his wont was in\ngoing down to the battle.\n\nNow they had gone but a short way from the ford before the noise of the\nfight and the blowing of horns came down the wind to them, but it was a\nlittle way further before they saw the fray with their eyes; because the\nground fell away from the river somewhat at first, and then rose and fell\nagain before it went up in one slope toward the Wolfing dwellings.\n\nBut when they were come to the top of the next swelling of the ground,\nthey beheld from thence what they had to deal with; for there round about\na ground of vantage was the field black with the Roman host, and in the\nmidst of it was a tangle of struggling men and tossing spears, and\nglittering swords.\n\nSo when they beheld the battle of their kindred they gave a great shout\nand hastened onward the faster; and they were ordered into the\nwedge-array and Thiodolf led them, as meet it was.  And now even as they\nwho were on the outward edge of the array and could see what was toward\nwere looking on the battle with eager eyes, there came an answering shout\ndown the wind, which they knew for the voice of the Goths amid the\nfoemen, and then they saw how the ring of the Romans shook and parted,\nand their array fell back, and lo the company of the Markmen standing\nstoutly together, though sorely minished; and sure it was that they had\nnot fled or been scattered, but were ready to fall one over another in\none band, for there were no men straggling towards the ford, though many\nmasterless horses ran here and there about the meadow.  Now, therefore,\nnone doubted but that they would deliver their friends from the Romans,\nand overthrow the foemen.\n\nBut now befel a wonder, a strange thing to tell of.  The Romans soon\nperceived what was adoing, whereupon the half of them turned about to\nface the new comers, while the other half still withstood the company of\nOtter: the wedge-array of Thiodolf drew nearer and nearer till it was\nhard on the place where it should spread itself out to storm down on the\nfoe, and the Goths beset by the Romans made them ready to fall on from\ntheir side.  There was Thiodolf leading his host, and all men looking for\nthe token and sign to fall on; but even as he lifted up Throng-plough to\ngive that sign, a cloud came over his eyes and he saw nought of all that\nwas before him, and he staggered back as one who hath gotten a deadly\nstroke, and so fell swooning to the earth, though none had smitten him.\nThen stayed was the wedge-array even at the very point of onset, and the\nhearts of the Goths sank, for they deemed that their leader was slain,\nand those who were nearest to him raised him up and bore him hastily\naback out of the battle; and the Romans also had beheld him fall, and\nthey also deemed him dead or sore hurt, and shouted for joy and loitered\nnot, but stormed forth on the wedge-array like valiant men; for it must\nbe told that they, who erst out-numbered the company of Otter, were now\nmuch out-numbered, but they deemed it might well be that they could\ndismay the Goths since they had been stayed by the fall of their leader;\nand Otter's company were wearied with sore fighting against a great host.\nNevertheless these last, who had not seen the fall of Thiodolf (for the\nRomans were thick between him and them) fell on with such exceeding fury\nthat they drove the Romans who faced them back on those who had set on\nthe wedge-array, which also stood fast undismayed; for he who stood next\nto Thiodolf, a man big of body, and stout of heart, hight Thorolf, hove\nup a great axe and cried out aloud:\n\n\"Here is the next man to Thiodolf! here is one who will not fall till\nsome one thrusts him over, here is Thorolf of the Wolfings!  Stand fast\nand shield you, and smite, though Thiodolf be gone untimely to the Gods!\"\n\nSo none gave back a foot, and fierce was the fight about the wedge-array;\nand the men of Otter--but there was no Otter there, and many another man\nwas gone, and Arinbiorn the Old led them--these stormed on so fiercely\nthat they cleft their way through all and joined themselves to their\nkindred, and the battle was renewed in the Wolfing meadow.  But the\nRomans had this gain, that Thiodolf's men had let go their occasion for\nfalling on the Romans with their line spread out so that every man might\nuse his weapons; yet were the Goths strong both in valiancy and in\nnumbers, nor might the Romans break into their array, and as aforesaid\nthe Romans were the fewer, for it was less than half of their host that\nhad pursued the Goths when they had been thrust back from their fierce\nonset: nor did more than the half seem needed, so many of them had fallen\nalong with Otter the War-duke and Sweinbiorn of the Bearings, that they\nseemed to the Romans but a feeble band easy to overcome.\n\nSo fought they in the Wolfing meadow in the fifth hour after high-noon,\nand neither yielded to the other: but while these things were a-doing,\nmen laid Thiodolf adown aloof from the battle under a doddered oak half a\nfurlong from where the fight was a-doing, round whose bole clung flocks\nof wool from the sheep that drew around it in the hot summer-tide and\nrubbed themselves against it, and the ground was trodden bare of grass\nround the bole, and close to the trunk was worn into a kind of trench.\nThere then they laid Thiodolf, and they wondered that no blood came from\nhim, and that there was no sign of a shot-weapon in his body.\n\nBut as for him, when he fell, all memory of the battle and what had gone\nbefore it faded from his mind, and he passed into sweet and pleasant\ndreams wherein he was a lad again in the days before he had fought with\nthe three Hun-Kings in the hazelled field.  And in these dreams he was\ndoing after the manner of young lads, sporting in the meadows, backing\nunbroken colts, swimming in the river, going a-hunting with the elder\ncarles.  And especially he deemed that he was in the company of one old\nman who had taught him both wood-craft and the handling of weapons: and\nfair at first was his dream of his doings with this man; he was with him\nin the forge smithying a sword-blade, and hammering into its steel the\nthin golden wires; and fishing with an angle along with him by the eddies\nof Mirkwood-water; and sitting with him in an ingle of the Hall, the old\nman telling a tale of an ancient warrior of the Wolfings hight Thiodolf\nalso: then suddenly and without going there, they were in a little\nclearing of the woods resting after hunting, a roe-deer with an arrow in\nher lying at their feet, and the old man was talking, and telling\nThiodolf in what wise it was best to go about to get the wind of a hart;\nbut all the while there was going on the thunder of a great gale of wind\nthrough the woodland boughs, even as the drone of a bag-pipe cleaves to\nthe tune.  Presently Thiodolf arose and would go about his hunting again,\nand stooped to take up his spear, and even therewith the old man's speech\nstayed, and Thiodolf looked up, and lo, his face was white like stone,\nand he touched him, and he was hard as flint, and like the image of an\nancient god as to his face and hands, though the wind stirred his hair\nand his raiment, as they did before.  Therewith a great pang smote\nThiodolf in his dream, and he felt as if he also were stiffening into\nstone, and he strove and struggled, and lo, the wild-wood was gone, and a\nwhite light empty of all vision was before him, and as he moved his head\nthis became the Wolfing meadow, as he had known it so long, and thereat a\nsoft pleasure and joy took hold of him, till again he looked, and saw\nthere no longer the kine and sheep, and the herd-women tending them, but\nthe rush and turmoil of that fierce battle, the confused thundering noise\nof which was going up to the heavens; for indeed he was now fully awake\nagain.\n\nSo he stood up and looked about; and around him was a ring of the\nsorrowful faces of the warriors, who had deemed that he was hurt deadly,\nthough no hurt could they find upon him.  But the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk\nlay upon the ground beside him; for they had taken it off him to look for\nhis hurts.\n\nSo he looked into their faces and said: \"What aileth you, ye men?  I am\nalive and unhurt; what hath betided?\"\n\nAnd one said: \"Art thou verily alive, or a man come back from the dead?\nWe saw thee fall as thou wentest leading us against the foe as if thou\nhadst been smitten by a thunder-bolt, and we deemed thee dead or\ngrievously hurt.  Now the carles are fighting stoutly, and all is well\nsince thou livest yet.\"\n\nSo he said: \"Give me the point and edges that I know, that I may smite\nmyself therewith and not the foemen; for I have feared and blenched from\nthe battle.\"\n\nSaid an old warrior: \"If that be so, Thiodolf, wilt thou blench twice?  Is\nnot once enough?  Now let us go back to the hard handplay, and if thou\nwilt, smite thyself after the battle, when we have once more had a man's\nhelp of thee.\"\n\nTherewith he held out Throng-plough to him by the point, and Thiodolf\ntook hold of the hilts and handled it and said: \"Let us hasten, while the\nGods will have it so, and while they are still suffering me to strike a\nstroke for the kindred.\"\n\nAnd therewith he brandished Throng-plough, and went forth toward the\nbattle, and the heart grew hot within him, and the joy of waking life\ncame back to him, the joy which but erewhile he had given to a mere\ndream.\n\nBut the old man who had rebuked him stooped down and lifted the Hauberk\nfrom the ground, and cried out after him, \"O Thiodolf, and wilt thou go\nnaked into so strong a fight? and thou with this so goodly\nsword-rampart?\"\n\nThiodolf stayed a moment, and even therewith they looked, and lo! the\nRomans giving back before the Goths and the Goths following up the chase,\nbut slowly and steadily.  Then Thiodolf heeded nothing save the battle,\nbut ran forward hastily, and those warriors followed him, the old man\nlast of all holding the Hauberk in his hand, and muttering:\n\n   \"So fares hot blood to the glooming and the world beneath the grass;\n   And the fruit of the Wolfings' orchard in a flash from the world must\n   pass.\n   Men say that the tree shall blossom in the garden of the folk,\n   And the new twig thrust him forward from the place where the old one\n   broke,\n   And all be well as aforetime: but old and old I grow,\n   And I doubt me if such another the folk to come shall know.\"\n\nAnd he still hurried forward as fast as his old body might go, so that he\nmight wrap the safeguard of the Hauberk round Thiodolf's body.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV--THE GOTHS ARE OVERTHROWN BY THE ROMANS\n\n\nNow rose up a mighty shout when Thiodolf came back to the battle of the\nkindreds, for many thought he had been slain; and they gathered round\nabout him, and cried out to him joyously out of their hearts of\ngood-fellowship, and the old man who had rebuked Thiodolf, and who was\nJorund of the Wolfings, came up to him and reached out to him the\nHauberk, and he did it on scarce heeding; for all his heart and soul was\nturned toward the battle of the Romans and what they were a-doing; and he\nsaw that they were falling back in good order, as men out-numbered, but\nundismayed.  So he gathered all his men together and ordered them afresh;\nfor they were somewhat disarrayed with the fray and the chase: and now he\nno longer ordered them in the wedge array, but in a line here three deep,\nhere five deep, or more, for the foes were hard at hand, and outnumbered,\nand so far overcome, that he and all men deemed it a little matter to\ngive these their last overthrow, and then onward to Wolf-stead to storm\non what was left there and purge the house of the foemen.  Howbeit\nThiodolf bethought him that succour might come to the Romans from their\nmain-battle, as they needed not many men there, since there was nought to\nfear behind them: but the thought was dim within him, for once more since\nhe had gotten the Hauberk on him the earth was wavering and dream-like:\nhe looked about him, and nowise was he as in past days of battle when he\nsaw nought but the foe before him, and hoped for nothing save the\nvictory.  But now indeed the Wood-Sun seemed to him to be beside him, and\nnot against his will, as one besetting and hindering him, but as though\nhis own longing had drawn her thither and would not let her depart; and\nwhiles it seemed to him that her beauty was clearer to be seen than the\nbodies of the warriors round about him.  For the rest he seemed to be in\na dream indeed, and, as men do in dreams, to be for ever striving to be\ndoing something of more moment than anything which he did, but which he\nmust ever leave undone.  And as the dream gathered and thickened about\nhim the foe before him changed to his eyes, and seemed no longer the\nstern brown-skinned smooth-faced men under their crested iron helms with\ntheir iron-covered shields before them, but rather, big-headed men, small\nof stature, long-bearded, swart, crooked of body, exceeding foul of\naspect.  And he looked on and did nothing for a while, and his head\nwhirled as though he had been grievously smitten.\n\nThus tarried the kindreds awhile, and they were bewildered and their\nhearts fell because Thiodolf did not fly on the foemen like a falcon on\nthe quarry, as his wont was.  But as for the Romans, they had now stayed,\nand were facing their foes again, and that on a vantage-ground, since the\nfield sloped up toward the Wolfing dwelling; and they gathered heart when\nthey saw that the Goths tarried and forbore them.  But the sun was\nsinking, and the evening was hard at hand.\n\nSo at last Thiodolf led forward with Throng-plough held aloft in his\nright hand; but his left hand he held out by his side, as though he were\nleading someone along.  And as he went, he muttered: \"When will these\naccursed sons of the nether earth leave the way clear to us, that we may\nbe alone and take pleasure each in each amidst of the flowers and the\nsun?\"\n\nNow as the two hosts drew near to one another, again came the sound of\ntrumpets afar off, and men knew that this would be succour coming to the\nRomans from their main-battle, and the Romans thereon shouted for joy,\nand the host of the kindreds might no longer forbear, but rushed on\nfiercely against them; and for Thiodolf it was now come to this, that so\nentangled was he in his dream that he rather went with his men than led\nthem.  Yet had he Throng-plough in his right hand, and he muttered in his\nbeard as he went, \"Smite before! smite behind! and smite on the right\nhand! but never on the left!\"\n\nThus then they met, and as before, neither might the Goths sweep the\nRomans away, nor the Romans break the Goths into flight; yet were many of\nthe kindred anxious and troubled, since they knew that aid was coming to\nthe Romans, and they heard the trumpets sounding nearer and more joyous;\nand at last, as the men of the kindreds were growing a-wearied with\nfighting, they heard those horns as it were in their very ears, and the\nthunder of the tramp of footmen, and they knew that a fresh host of men\nwas upon them; then those they had been fighting with opened before them,\nfalling aside to the right and the left, and the fresh men passing\nbetween them, fell on the Goths like the waters of a river when a sluice-\ngate is opened.  They came on in very good order, never breaking their\nranks, but swift withal, smiting and pushing before them, and so brake\nthrough the array of the Goth-folk, and drave them this way and that way\ndown the slopes.\n\nYet still fought the warriors of the kindred most valiantly, making stand\nand facing the foe again and again in knots of a score or two score, or\nmaybe ten score; and though many a man was slain, yet scarce any one\nbefore he had slain or hurt a Roman; and some there were, and they the\noldest, who fought as if they and the few about them were all the host\nthat was left to the folk, and heeded not that others were driven back,\nor that the Romans gathered about them, cutting them off from all succour\nand aid, but went on smiting till they were felled with many strokes.\n\nHowbeit the array of the Goths was broken and many were slain, and\nperforce they must give back, and it seemed as if they would be driven\ninto the river and all be lost.\n\nBut for Thiodolf, this befell him: that at first, when those fresh men\nfell on, he seemed, as it were, to wake unto himself again, and he cried\naloud the cry of the Wolf, and thrust into the thickest of the fray, and\nslew many and was hurt of none, and for a moment of time there was an\nempty space round about him, such fear he cast even into the valiant\nhearts of the foemen.  But those who had time to see him as they stood by\nhim noted that he was as pale as a dead man, and his eyes set and\nstaring; and so of a sudden, while he stood thus threatening the ring of\ndoubtful foemen, the weakness took him again, Throng-plough tumbled from\nhis hand, and he fell to earth as one dead.\n\nThen of those who saw him some deemed that he had been striving against\nsome secret hurt till he could do no more; and some that there was a\ncurse abroad that had fallen upon him and upon all the kindreds of the\nMark; some thought him dead and some swooning.  But, dead or alive, the\nwarriors would not leave their War-duke among the foemen, so they lifted\nhim, and gathered about him a goodly band that held its own against all\ncomers, and fought through the turmoil stoutly and steadily; and others\ngathered to them, till they began to be something like a host again, and\nthe Romans might not break them into knots of desperate men any more.\n\nThus they fought their way, Arinbiorn of the Bearings leading them now,\nwith a mind to make a stand for life or death on some vantage-ground; and\nso, often turning upon the Romans, they came in array ever growing more\nsolid to the rising ground looking one way over the ford and the other to\nthe slopes where the battle had just been.  There they faced the foe as\nmen who may be slain, but will be driven no further; and what bowmen they\nhad got spread out from their flanks and shot on the Romans, who had with\nthem no light-armed, or slingers or bowmen, for they had left them at\nWolf-stead.  So the Romans stood a while, and gave breathing-space to the\nMarkmen, which indeed was the saving of them: for if they had fallen on\nhotly and held to it steadily, it is like that they would have passed\nover all the bodies of the Markmen: for these had lost their leader,\neither slain, as some thought, or, as others thought, banned from\nleadership by the Gods; and their host was heavy-hearted; and though it\nis like that they would have stood there till each had fallen over other,\nyet was their hope grown dim, and the whole folk brought to a perilous\nand fearful pass, for if these were slain or scattered there were no more\nbut they, and nought between fire and the sword and the people of the\nMark.\n\nBut once again the faint-heart folly of the Roman Captain saved his foes:\nfor whereas he once thought that the whole power of the Markmen lay in\nOtter and his company, and deemed them too little to meddle with, so now\nhe ran his head into the other hedge, and deemed that Thiodolf's company\nwas but a part of the succour that was at hand for the Goths, and that\nthey were over-big for him to meddle with.\n\nTrue it is also that now dark night was coming on, and the land was\nunknown to the Romans, who moreover trusted not wholly to the dastards of\nthe Goths who were their guides and scouts: furthermore the wood was at\nhand, and they knew not what it held; and with all this and above it all,\nit is to be said that over them also had fallen a dread of some doom\nanear; for those habitations amidst of the wild-woods were terrible to\nthem as they were dear to the Goths; and the Gods of their foemen seemed\nto be lying in wait to fall upon them, even if they should slay every man\nof the kindreds.\n\nSo now having driven back the Goths to that height over the ford, which\nindeed was no stronghold, no mountain, scarce a hill even, nought but a\ngentle swelling of the earth, they forebore them; and raising up the\nwhoop of victory drew slowly aback, picking up their own dead and\nwounded, and slaying the wounded Markmen.  They had with them also some\nfew captives, but not many; for the fighting had been to the death\nbetween man and man on the Wolfing Meadow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV--THE HOST OF THE MARKMEN COMETH INTO THE WILD-WOOD\n\n\nYet though the Romans were gone, the Goth-folk were very hard bested.\nThey had been overthrown, not sorely maybe if they had been in an alien\nland, and free to come and go as they would; yet sorely as things were,\nbecause the foeman was sitting in their own House, and they must needs\ndrag him out of it or perish: and to many the days seemed evil, and the\nGods fighting against them, and both the Wolfings and the other kindreds\nbethought them of the Hall-Sun and her wisdom and longed to hear of\ntidings concerning her.\n\nBut now the word ran through the host that Thiodolf was certainly not\nslain.  Slowly he had come to himself, and yet was not himself, for he\nsat among his men gloomy and silent, clean contrary to his wont; for\nhitherto he had been a merry man, and a joyous fellow.\n\nAmidst of the ridge whereon the Markmen now abode, there was a ring made\nof the chief warriors and captains and wise men who had not been slain or\ngrievously hurt in the fray, and amidst them all sat Thiodolf on the\nground, his chin sunken on his breast, looking more like a captive than\nthe leader of a host amidst of his men; and that the more as his scabbard\nwas empty; for when Throng-plough had fallen from his hand, it had been\ntrodden under foot, and lost in the turmoil.  There he sat, and the\nothers in that ring of men looked sadly upon him; such as Arinbiorn of\nthe Bearings, and Wolfkettle and Thorolf of his own House, and Hiarandi\nof the Elkings, and Geirbald the Shielding, the messenger of the woods,\nand Fox who had seen the Roman Garth, and many others.  It was night now,\nand men had lighted fires about the host, for they said that the Romans\nknew where to find them if they listed to seek; and about those fires\nwere men eating and drinking what they might come at, but amidmost of\nthat ring was the biggest fire, and men turned them towards it for\ncounsel and help, for elsewhere none said, \"What do we?\" for they were\nheavy-hearted and redeless, since the Gods had taken the victory out of\ntheir hands just when they seemed at point to win it.\n\nBut amidst all this there was a little stir outside that biggest ring,\nand men parted, and through them came a swain amongst the chiefs, and\nsaid, \"Who will lead me to the War-duke?\"\n\nThiodolf, who was close beside the lad, answered never a word; but\nArinbiorn said; \"This man here sitting is the War-duke: speak to him, for\nhe may hearken to thee: but first who art thou?\"\n\nSaid the lad; \"My name is Ali the son of Grey, and I come with a message\nfrom the Hall-Sun and the stay-at-homes who are in the Woodland.\"\n\nNow when he named the Hall-Sun Thiodolf started and looked up, and\nturning to his left-hand said, \"And what sayeth thy daughter?\"\n\nMen did not heed that he said _thy_ daughter, but deemed that he said\n_my_ daughter, since he was wont as her would-be foster-father to call\nher so.  But Ali spake:\n\n\"War-duke and ye chieftains, thus saith the Hall-Sun: 'I know that by\nthis time Otter hath been slain and many another, and ye have been\noverthrown and chased by the Romans, and that now there is little counsel\nin you except to abide the foe where ye are and there to die valiantly.\nBut now do my bidding and as I am bidden, and then whosoever dieth or\nliveth, the kindreds shall vanquish that they may live and grow greater.\nDo ye thus: the Romans think no otherwise but to find you here to-morrow\nor else departed across the water as broken men, and they will fall upon\nyou with their whole host, and then make a war-garth after their manner\nat Wolf-stead and carry fire and the sword and the chains of thralldom\ninto every House of the Mark.  Now therefore fetch a compass and come\ninto the wood on the north-west of the houses and make your way to the\nThing-stead of the Mid-mark.  For who knoweth but that to-morrow we may\nfall upon these thieves again?  Of this shall ye hear more when we may\nspeak together and take counsel face to face; for we stay-at-homes know\nsomewhat closely of the ways of these Romans.  Haste then! let not the\ngrass grow over your feet!\n\n\"'But to thee, Thiodolf, have I a word to say when we meet; for I wot\nthat as now thou canst not hearken to my word.'  Thus saith the\nHall-Sun.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou speak, War-duke?\" said Arinbiorn.  But Thiodolf shook his\nhead.  Then said Arinbiorn; \"Shall I speak for thee?\" and Thiodolf nodded\nyea.  Then said Arinbiorn: \"Ali son of Grey, art thou going back to her\nthat sent thee?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said the lad, \"but in your company, for ye will be coming\nstraightway and I know all the ways closely; and there is need for a\nguide through the dark night as ye will see presently.\"\n\nThen stood up Arinbiorn and said: \"Chiefs and captains, go ye speedily\nand array your men for departure: bid them leave all the fires burning\nand come their ways as silently as maybe; for now will we wend this same\nhour before moonrise into the Wild-wood and the Thing-stead of Mid-mark;\nthus saith the War-duke.\"\n\nBut when they were gone, and Arinbiorn and Thiodolf were left alone,\nThiodolf lifted up his head and spake slowly and painfully:\n\n\"Arinbiorn, I thank thee: and thou dost well to lead this folk: since as\nfor me that is somewhat that weighs me down, and I know not whether it be\nlife or death; therefore I may no longer be your captain, for twice now\nhave I blenched from the battle.  Yet command me, and I will obey, set a\nsword in my hand and I will smite, till the God snatches it out of my\nhand, as he did Throng-plough to-day.\"\n\n\"And that is well,\" said Arinbiorn, \"it may be that ye shall meet that\nGod to-morrow, and heave up sword against him, and either overcome him or\ngo to thy fathers a proud and valiant man.\"\n\nSo they spake, and Thiodolf stood up and seemed of better cheer.  But\npresently the whole host was afoot, and they went their ways warily with\nlittle noise, and wound little by little about the Wolfing meadow and\nabout the acres towards the wood at the back of the Houses; and they met\nnothing by the way except an out-guard of the Romans, whom they slew\nthere nigh silently, and bore away their bodies, twelve in number, lest\nthe Romans when they sent to change the guard, should find the slain and\nhave an inkling of the way the Goths were gone; but now they deemed that\nthe Romans might think their guard fled, or perchance that they had been\ncarried away by the Gods of the woodland folk.\n\nSo came they into the wood, and Arinbiorn and the chiefs were for\nstriking the All-men's road to the Thing-stead and so coming thither; but\nthe lad Ali when he heard it laughed and said:\n\n\"If ye would sleep to-night ye shall wend another way.  For the Hall-Sun\nhath had us at work cumbering it against the foe with great trees felled\nwith limbs, branches, and all.  And indeed ye shall find the Thing-stead\nfenced like a castle, and the in-gate hard to find; yet will I bring you\nthither.\"\n\nSo did he without delay, and presently they came anigh the Thing-stead;\nand the place was fenced cunningly, so that if men would enter they must\ngo by a narrow way that had a fence of tree-trunks on each side wending\ninward like the maze in a pleasance.  Thereby now wended the host all\nafoot, since it was a holy place and no beast must set foot therein, so\nthat the horses were left without it: so slowly and right quietly once\nmore they came into the garth of the Thing-stead; and lo, a many folk\nthere, of the Wolfings and the Bearings and other kindreds, who had\ngathered thereto; and albeit these were not warriors in their prime, yet\nwere there none save the young children and the weaker of the women but\nhad weapons of some kind; and they were well ordered, standing or sitting\nin ranks like folk awaiting battle.  There were booths of boughs and\nrushes set up for shelter of the feebler women and the old men and\nchildren along the edges of the fence, for the Hall-Sun had bidden them\nkeep the space clear round about the Doom-ring and the Hill-of-Speech as\nif for a mighty folk-mote, so that the warriors might have room to muster\nthere and order their array.  There were some cooking-fires lighted about\nthe aforesaid booths, but neither many nor great, and they were screened\nwith wattle from the side that lay toward the Romans; for the Hall-Sun\nwould not that they should hold up lanterns for their foemen to find them\nby.  Little noise there was in that stronghold, moreover, for the hearts\nof all who knew their right hands from their left were set on battle and\nthe destruction of the foe that would destroy the kindreds.\n\nAnigh the Speech-Hill, on its eastern side, had the bole of a slender\nbeech tree been set up, and at the top of it a cross-beam was nailed on,\nand therefrom hung the wondrous lamp, the Hall-Sun, glimmering from on\nhigh, and though its light was but a glimmer amongst the mighty wood, yet\nwas it also screened on three sides from the sight of the chance wanderer\nby wings of thin plank.  But beneath her namesake as beforetime in the\nHall sat the Hall-Sun, the maiden, on a heap of faggots, and she was\nwrapped in a dark blue cloak from under which gleamed the folds of the\nfair golden-broidered gown she was wont to wear at folk-motes, and her\nright hand rested on a naked sword that lay across her knees: beside her\nsat the old man Sorli, the Wise in War, and about her were slim lads and\nsturdy maidens and old carles of the thralls or freedmen ready to bear\nthe commands that came from her mouth; for she and Sorli were the\ncaptains of the stay-at-homes.\n\nNow came Thiodolf and Arinbiorn and other leaders into the ring of men\nbefore her, and she greeted them kindly and said:\n\n\"Hail, Sons of Tyr! now that I behold you again it seemeth to me as if\nall were already won: the time of waiting hath been weary, and we have\nborne the burden of fear every day from morn till even, and in the waking\nhour we presently remembered it.  But now ye are come, even if this Thing-\nstead were lighted by the flames of the Wolfing Roof instead of by these\nmoonbeams; even if we had to begin again and seek new dwellings, and\nanother water and other meadows, yet great should grow the kindreds of\nthe Men who have dwelt in the Mark, and nought should overshadow them:\nand though the beasts and the Romans were dwelling in their old places,\nyet should these kindreds make new clearings in the Wild-wood; and they\nwith their deeds should cause other waters to be famous, that as yet have\nknown no deeds of man; and they should compel the Earth to bear increase\nround about their dwelling-places for the welfare of the kindreds.  O\nSons of Tyr, friendly are your faces, and undismayed, and the Terror of\nthe Nations has not made you afraid any more than would the onrush of the\nbisons that feed adown the grass hills.  Happy is the eve, O children of\nthe Goths, yet shall to-morrow morn be happier.\"\n\nMany heard what she spake, and a murmur of joy ran through the ranks of\nmen: for they deemed her words to forecast victory.\n\nAnd now amidst her speaking, the moon, which had arisen on Mid-mark, when\nthe host first entered into the wood, had overtopped the tall trees that\nstood like a green wall round about the Thing-stead, and shone down on\nthat assembly, and flashed coldly back from the arms of the warriors.  And\nthe Hall-Sun cast off her dark blue cloak and stood up in her\ngolden-broidered raiment, which flashed back the grey light like as it\nhad been an icicle hanging from the roof of some hall in the midnight of\nYule, when the feast is high within, and without the world is silent with\nthe night of the ten-weeks' frost.\n\nThen she spake again: \"O War-duke, thy mouth is silent; speak to this\nwarrior of the Bearings that he bid the host what to do; for wise are ye\nboth, and dear are the minutes of this night and should not be wasted;\nsince they bring about the salvation of the Wolfings, and the vengeance\nof the Bearings, and the hope renewed of all the kindreds.\"\n\nThen Thiodolf abode a while with his head down cast; his bosom heaved,\nand he set his left hand to his swordless scabbard, and his right to his\nthroat, as though he were sore troubled with something he might not tell\nof: but at last he lifted up his head and spoke to Arinbiorn, but slowly\nand painfully, as he had spoken before:\n\n\"Chief of the Bearings, go up on to the Hill of Speech, and speak to the\nfolk out of thy wisdom, and let them know that to-morrow early before the\nsun-rising those that may, and are not bound by the Gods against it,\nshall do deeds according to their might, and win rest for themselves, and\nnew days of deeds for the kindreds.\"\n\nTherewith he ceased, and let his head fall again, and the Hall-Sun looked\nat him askance.  But Arinbiorn clomb the Speech-Hill and said:\n\n\"Men of the kindreds, it is now a few days since we first met the Romans\nand fought with them; and whiles we have had the better, and whiles the\nworse in our dealings, as oft in war befalleth: for they are men, and we\nno less than men.  But now look to it what ye will do; for we may no\nlonger endure these outlanders in our houses, and we must either die or\nget our own again: and that is not merely a few wares stored up for use,\nnor a few head of neat, nor certain timbers piled up into a dwelling, but\nthe life we have made in the land we have made.  I show you no choice,\nfor no choice there is.  Here are we bare of everything in the wild-wood:\nfor the most part our children are crying for us at home, our wives are\nlonging for us in our houses, and if we come not to them in kindness, the\nRomans shall come to them in grimness.  Down yonder in the plain,\nmoreover, is our wain-burg slowly drawing near to us, and with it is much\nlivelihood of ours, which is a little thing, for we may get more; but\nalso there are our banners of battle and the tokens of the kindred, which\nis a great thing.  And between all this and us there lieth but little;\nnought but a band of valiant men, and a few swords and spears, and a few\nwounds, and the hope of death amidst the praise of the people; and this\nye have to set out to wend across within two or three hours.  I will not\nask if ye will do so, for I wot that even so ye will; therefore when I\nhave done, shout not, nor clash sword on shield, for we are no great way\noff that house of ours wherein dwells the foe that would destroy us.  Let\neach man rest as he may, and sleep if he may with his war-gear on him and\nhis weapons by his side, and when he is next awakened by the captains and\nthe leaders of hundreds and scores, let him not think that it is night,\nbut let him betake himself to his place among his kindred and be ready to\ngo through the wood with as little noise as may be.  Now all is said that\nthe War-duke would have me say, and to-morrow shall those see him who are\nforemost in falling upon the foemen, for he longeth sorely for his seat\non the days of the Wolfing Hall.\"\n\nSo he spake, and even as he bade them, they made no sound save a joyous\nmurmur; and straightway the more part of them betook themselves to sleep\nas men who must busy themselves about a weighty matter; for they were\nwise in the ways of war.  So sank all the host to the ground save those\nwho were appointed as watchers of the night, and Arinbiorn and Thiodolf\nand the Hall-Sun; they three yet stood together; and Arinbiorn said:\n\n\"Now it seems to me not so much as if we had vanquished the foe and were\nsafe and at rest, but rather as if we had no foemen and never have had.\nDeep peace is on me, though hitherto I have been deemed a wrathful man,\nand it is to me as if the kindreds that I love had filled the whole\nearth, and left no room for foemen: even so it may really be one day.  To-\nnight it is well, yet to-morrow it shall be better.  What thine errand\nmay be, Thiodolf, I scarce know; for something hath changed in thee, and\nthou art become strange to us.  But as for mine errand, I will tell it\nthee; it is that I am seeking Otter of the Laxings, my friend and fellow,\nwhose wisdom my foolishness drave under the point and edge of the Romans,\nso that he is no longer here; I am seeking him, and to-morrow I think I\nshall find him, for he hath not had time to travel far, and we shall be\nblithe and merry together.  And now will I sleep; for I have bidden the\nwatchers awaken me if any need be.  Sleep thou also, Thiodolf! and wake\nup thine old self when the moon is low.\"  Therewith he laid himself down\nunder the lee of the pile of faggots, and was presently asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI--THIODOLF TALKETH WITH THE WOOD-SUN\n\n\nNow were Thiodolf and the Hall-Sun left alone together standing by the\nSpeech-Hill; and the moon was risen high in the heavens above the tree-\ntops of the wild-wood.  Thiodolf scarce stirred, and he still held his\nhead bent down as one lost in thought.\n\nThen said the Hall-Sun, speaking softly amidst the hush of the camp:\n\n\"I have said that the minutes of this night are dear, and they are\npassing swiftly; and it may be that thou wilt have much to say and to do\nbefore the host is astir with the dawning.  So come thou with me a little\nway, that thou mayst hear of new tidings, and think what were best to do\namidst them.\"\n\nAnd without more ado she took him by the hand and led him forth, and he\nwent as he was led, not saying a word.  They passed out of the camp into\nthe wood, none hindering, and went a long way where under the\nbeech-leaves there was but a glimmer of the moonlight, and presently\nThiodolf's feet went as it were of themselves; for they had hit a path\nthat he knew well and over-well.\n\nSo came they to that little wood-lawn where first in this tale Thiodolf\nmet the Wood-Sun; and the stone seat there was not empty now any more\nthan it was then; for thereon sat the Wood-Sun, clad once more in her\nglittering raiment.  Her head was sunken down, her face hidden by her\nhands; neither did she look up when she heard their feet on the grass,\nfor she knew who they were.\n\nThiodolf lingered not; for a moment it was to him as if all that past\ntime had never been, and its battles and hurry and hopes and fears but\nmere shows, and the unspoken words of a dream.  He went straight up to\nher and sat down by her side and put his arm about her shoulders, and\nstrove to take her hand to caress it; but she moved but little, and it\nwas as if she heeded him not.  And the Hall-Sun stood before them and\nlooked at them for a little while; and then she fell to speech; but at\nthe first sound of her voice, it seemed that the Wood-Sun trembled, but\nstill she hid her face.  Said the Hall-Sun:\n\n   \"Two griefs I see before me in mighty hearts grown great;\n   And to change both these into gladness out-goes the power of fate.\n   Yet I, a lonely maiden, have might to vanquish one\n   Till it melt as the mist of the morning before the summer sun.\n   O Wood-Sun, thou hast borne me, and I were fain indeed\n   To give thee back thy gladness; but thou com'st of the Godhead's seed,\n   And herein my might avails not; because I can but show\n   Unto these wedded sorrows the truth that the heart should know\n   Ere the will hath wielded the hand; and for thee, I can tell thee\n   nought\n   That thou hast not known this long while; thy will and thine hand have\n   wrought,\n   And the man that thou lovest shall live in despite of Gods and of men,\n   If yet thy will endureth.  But what shall it profit thee then\n   That after the fashion of Godhead thou hast gotten thee a thrall\n   To be thine and never another's, whatso in the world may befall?\n   Lo! yesterday this was a man, and to-morrow it might have been\n   The very joy of the people, though never again it were seen;\n   Yet a part of all they hoped for through all the lapse of years,\n   To make their laughter happy and dull the sting of tears;\n   To quicken all remembrance of deeds that never die,\n   And death that maketh eager to live as the days go by.\n   Yea, many a deed had he done as he lay in the dark of the mound;\n   As the seed-wheat plotteth of spring, laid under the face of the\n   ground\n   That the foot of the husbandman treadeth, that the wind of the winter\n   wears,\n   That the turbid cold flood hideth from the constant hope of the years.\n   This man that should leave in his death his life unto many an one\n   Wilt thou make him a God of the fearful who live lone under the sun?\n   And then shalt thou have what thou wouldedst when amidst of the\n   hazelled field\n   Thou kissed'st the mouth of the helper, and the hand of the people's\n   shield,\n   Shalt thou have the thing that thou wouldedst when thou broughtest me\n   to birth,\n   And I, the soul of the Wolfings, began to look on earth?\n   Wilt thou play the God, O mother, and make a man anew,\n   A joyless thing and a fearful?  Then I betwixt you two,\n   'Twixt your longing and your sorrow will cast the sundering word,\n   And tell out all the story of that rampart of the sword!\n   I shall bid my mighty father make choice of death in life,\n   Or life in death victorious and the crowned end of strife.\"\n\nEre she had ended, the Wood-Sun let her hands fall down, and showed her\nface, which for all its unpaled beauty looked wearied and anxious; and\nshe took Thiodolf's hand in hers, while she looked with eyes of love upon\nthe Hall-Sun, and Thiodolf laid his cheek to her cheek, and though he\nsmiled not, yet he seemed as one who is happy.  At last the Wood-Sun\nspoke and said:\n\n   \"Thou sayest sooth, O daughter: I am no God of might,\n   Yet I am of their race, and I think with their thoughts and see with\n   their sight,\n   And the threat of the doom did I know of, and yet spared not to lie:\n   For I thought that the fate foreboded might touch and pass us by,\n   As the sword that heweth the war-helm and cleaveth a cantle away,\n   And the cunning smith shall mend it and it goeth again to the fray;\n   If my hand might have held for a moment, yea, even against his will,\n   The life of my beloved!  But Weird is the master still:\n   And this man's love of my body and his love of the ancient kin\n   Were matters o'er mighty to deal with and the game withal to win.\n   Woe's me for the waning of all things, and my hope that needs must\n   fade\n   As the fruitless sun of summer on the waste where nought is made!\n   And now farewell, O daughter, thou mayst not see the kiss\n   Of the hapless and the death-doomed when I have told of this;\n   Yet once again shalt thou see him, though I no more again,\n   Fair with the joy that hopeth and dieth not in vain.\"\n\nThen came the Hall-Sun close to her, and knelt down by her, and laid her\nhead upon her knees and wept for love of her mother, who kissed her oft\nand caressed her; and Thiodolf's hand strayed, as it were, on to his\ndaughter's head, and he looked kindly on her, though scarce now as if he\nknew her.  Then she arose when she had kissed her mother once more, and\nwent her ways from that wood-lawn into the woods again, and so to the\nFolk-mote of her people.\n\nBut when those twain were all alone again, the Wood-Sun spoke: \"O\nThiodolf canst thou hear me and understand?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he said, \"when thou speakest of certain matters, as of our love\ntogether, and of our daughter that came of our love.\"\n\n\"Thiodolf,\" she said, \"How long shall our love last?\"\n\n\"As long as our life,\" he said.\n\n\"And if thou diest to-day, where then shall our love be?\" said the Wood-\nSun.\n\nHe said, \"I must now say, I wot not; though time was I had said, It shall\nabide with the soul of the Wolfing Kindred.\"\n\nShe said: \"And when that soul dieth, and the kindred is no more?\"\n\n\"Time agone,\" quoth he, \"I had said, it shall abide with the Kindreds of\nthe Earth; but now again I say, I wot not.\"\n\n\"Will the Earth hide it,\" said she, \"when thou diest and art borne to\nmound?\"\n\n\"Even so didst thou say when we spake together that other night,\" said\nhe; \"and now I may say nought against thy word.\"\n\n\"Art thou happy, O Folk-Wolf?\" she said.\n\n\"Why dost thou ask me?\" said he; \"I know not; we were sundered and I\nlonged for thee; thou art here; it is enough.\"\n\n\"And the people of thy Kindred?\" she said, \"dost thou not long for them?\"\n\nHe said; \"Didst thou not say that I was not of them?  Yet were they my\nfriends, and needed me, and I loved them: but by this evening they will\nneed me no more, or but little; for they will be victorious over their\nfoes: so hath the Hall-Sun foretold.  What then! shall I take all from\nthee to give little to them?\"\n\n\"Thou art wise,\" she said; \"Wilt thou go to battle to-day?\"\n\n\"So it seemeth,\" said he.\n\nShe said: \"And wilt thou bear the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk? for if thou\ndost, thou wilt live, and if thou dost not, thou wilt die.\"\n\n\"I will bear it,\" said he, \"that I may live to love thee.\"\n\n\"Thinkest thou that any evil goes with it?\" said she.\n\nThere came into his face a flash of his ancient boldness as he answered:\n\"So it seemed to me yesterday, when I fought clad in it the first time;\nand I fell unsmitten on the meadow, and was shamed, and would have slain\nmyself but for thee.  And yet it is not so that any evil goes with it;\nfor thou thyself didst say that past night that there was no evil weird\nin it.\"\n\nShe said: \"How then if I lied that night?\"\n\nSaid he; \"It is the wont of the Gods to lie, and be unashamed, and men-\nfolk must bear with it.\"\n\n\"Ah! how wise thou art!\" she said; and was silent for a while, and drew\naway from him a little, and clasped her hands together and wrung them for\ngrief and anger.  Then she grew calm again, and said:\n\n\"Wouldest thou die at my bidding?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said he, \"not because thou art of the Gods, but because thou hast\nbecome a woman to me, and I love thee.\"\n\nThen was she silent some while, and at last she said, \"Thiodolf, wilt\nthou do off the Hauberk if I bid thee?\"\n\n\"Yea, yea,\" said he, \"and let us depart from the Wolfings, and their\nstrife, for they need us not.\"\n\nShe was silent once more for a longer while still, and at last she said\nin a cold voice; \"Thiodolf, I bid thee arise, and put off the Hauberk\nfrom thee.\"\n\nHe looked at her wondering, not at her words, but at the voice wherewith\nshe spake them; but he arose from the stone nevertheless, and stood stark\nin the moonlight; he set his hand to the collar of the war-coat, and\nundid its clasps, which were of gold and blue stones, and presently he\ndid the coat from off him and let it slide to the ground where it lay in\na little grey heap that looked but a handful.  Then he sat down on the\nstone again, and took her hand and kissed her and caressed her fondly,\nand she him again, and they spake no word for a while: but at the last he\nspake in measure and rhyme in a low voice, but so sweet and clear that it\nmight have been heard far in the hush of the last hour of the night:\n\n   \"Dear now are this dawn-dusk's moments as is the last of the light\n   When the foemen's ranks are wavering, and the victory feareth night;\n   And of all the time I have loved thee of these am I most fain,\n   When I know not what shall betide me, nor what shall be my gain.\n   But dear as they are, they are waning, and at last the time is come\n   When no more shall I behold thee till I wend to Odin's Home.\n   Now is the time so little that once hath been so long\n   That I fain would ask thee pardon wherein I have done thee wrong,\n   That thy longing might be softer, and thy love more sweet to have.\n   But in nothing have I wronged thee, there is nought that I may crave.\n   Strange too! as the minutes fail me, so do my speech-words fail,\n   Yet strong is the joy within me for this hour that crowns the tale.\"\n\nTherewith he clipped her and caressed her, and she spake nothing for a\nwhile; and he said; \"Thy face is fair and bright; art thou not joyous of\nthese minutes?\"\n\nShe said: \"Thy words are sweet; but they pierce my heart like a sharp\nknife; for they tell me of thy death and the ending of our love.\"\n\nSaid he; \"I tell thee nothing, beloved, that thou hast not known: is it\nnot for this that we have met here once more?\"\n\nShe answered after a while; \"Yea, yea; yet mightest thou have lived.\"\n\nHe laughed, but not scornfully or bitterly and said:\n\n\"So thought I in time past: but hearken, beloved; If I fall to-day, shall\nthere not yet be a minute after the stroke hath fallen on me, wherein I\nshall know that the day is won and see the foemen fleeing, and wherein I\nshall once again deem I shall never die, whatever may betide afterwards,\nand though the sword lieth deep in my breast?  And shall I not see then\nand know that our love hath no end?\"\n\nBitter grief was in her face as she heard him.  But she spake and said:\n\"Lo here the Hauberk which thou hast done off thee, that thy breast might\nbe the nearer to mine!  Wilt thou not wear it in the fight for my sake?\"\n\nHe knit his brows somewhat, and said:\n\n\"Nay, it may not be: true it is that thou saidest that no evil weird went\nwith it, but hearken!  Yesterday I bore it in the fight, and ere I\nmingled with the foe, before I might give the token of onset, a cloud\ncame before my eyes and thick darkness wrapped me around, and I fell to\nthe earth unsmitten; and so was I borne out of the fight, and evil dreams\nbeset me of evil things, and the dwarfs that hate mankind.  Then I came\nto myself, and the Hauberk was off me, and I rose up and beheld the\nbattle, that the kindreds were pressing on the foe, and I thought not\nthen of any past time, but of the minutes that were passing; and I ran\ninto the fight straightway: but one followed me with that Hauberk, and I\ndid it on, thinking of nought but the battle.  Fierce then was the fray,\nyet I faltered in it; till the fresh men of the Romans came in upon us\nand broke up our array.  Then my heart almost broke within me, and I\nfaltered no more, but rushed on as of old, and smote great strokes all\nround about: no hurt I got, but once more came that ugly mist over my\neyes, and again I fell unsmitten, and they bore me out of battle: then\nthe men of our folk gave back and were overcome; and when I awoke from my\nevil dreams, we had gotten away from the fight and the Wolfing dwellings,\nand were on the mounds above the ford cowering down like beaten men.\nThere then I sat shamed among the men who had chosen me for their best\nman at the Holy Thing, and lo I was their worst!  Then befell that which\nnever till then had befallen me, that life seemed empty and worthless and\nI longed to die and be done with it, and but for the thought of thy love\nI had slain myself then and there.\n\n\"Thereafter I went with the host to the assembly of the stay-at-homes and\nfleers, and sat before the Hall-Sun our daughter, and said the words\nwhich were put into my mouth.  But now must I tell thee a hard and evil\nthing; that I loved them not, and was not of them, and outside myself\nthere was nothing: within me was the world and nought without me.  Nay,\nas for thee, I was not sundered from thee, but thou wert a part of me;\nwhereas for the others, yea, even for our daughter, thine and mine, they\nwere but images and shows of men, and I longed to depart from them, and\nto see thy body and to feel thine heart beating.  And by then so evil was\nI grown that my very shame had fallen from me, and my will to die: nay, I\nlonged to live, thou and I, and death seemed hateful to me, and the deeds\nbefore death vain and foolish.\n\n\"Where then was my glory and my happy life, and the hope of the days\nfresh born every day, though never dying?  Where then was life, and\nThiodolf that once had lived?\n\n\"But now all is changed once more; I loved thee never so well as now, and\ngreat is my grief that we must sunder, and the pain of farewell wrings my\nheart.  Yet since I am once more Thiodolf the Mighty, in my heart there\nis room for joy also.  Look at me, O Wood-Sun, look at me, O beloved!\ntell me, am I not fair with the fairness of the warrior and the helper of\nthe folk?  Is not my voice kind, do not my lips smile, and mine eyes\nshine?  See how steady is mine hand, the friend of the folk!  For mine\neyes are cleared again, and I can see the kindreds as they are, and their\ndesire of life and scorn of death, and this is what they have made me\nmyself.  Now therefore shall they and I together earn the merry days to\ncome, the winter hunting and the spring sowing, the summer haysel, the\ningathering of harvest, the happy rest of midwinter, and Yuletide with\nthe memory of the Fathers, wedded to the hope of the days to be.  Well\nmay they bid me help them who have holpen me!  Well may they bid me die\nwho have made me live!\n\n\"For whereas thou sayest that I am not of their blood, nor of their\nadoption, once more I heed it not.  For I have lived with them, and eaten\nand drunken with them, and toiled with them, and led them in battle and\nthe place of wounds and slaughter; they are mine and I am theirs; and\nthrough them am I of the whole earth, and all the kindreds of it; yea,\neven of the foemen, whom this day the edges in mine hand shall smite.\n\n\"Therefore I will bear the Hauberk no more in battle; and belike my body\nbut once more: so shall I have lived and death shall not have undone me.\n\n\"Lo thou, is not this the Thiodolf whom thou hast loved? no changeling of\nthe Gods, but the man in whom men have trusted, the friend of Earth, the\ngiver of life, the vanquisher of death?\"\n\nAnd he cast himself upon her, and strained her to his bosom and kissed\nher, and caressed her, and awoke the bitter-sweet joy within her, as he\ncried out:\n\n\"O remember this, and this, when at last I am gone from thee!\"\n\nBut when they sundered her face was bright, but the tears were on it, and\nshe said: \"O Thiodolf, thou wert fain hadst thou done a wrong to me so\nthat I might forgive thee; now wilt thou forgive me the wrong I have done\nthee?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he said, \"Even so would I do, were we both to live, and how much\nmore if this be the dawn of our sundering day!  What hast thou done?\"\n\nShe said: \"I lied to thee concerning the Hauberk when I said that no evil\nweird went with it: and this I did for the saving of thy life.\"\n\nHe laid his hand fondly on her head, and spake smiling: \"Such is the wont\nof the God-kin, because they know not the hearts of men.  Tell me all the\ntruth of it now at last.\"\n\nShe said:\n\n   \"Hear then the tale of the Hauberk and the truth there is to tell:\n   There was a maid of the God-kin, and she loved a man right well,\n   Who unto the battle was wending; and she of her wisdom knew\n   That thence to the folk-hall threshold should come back but a very\n   few;\n   And she feared for her love, for she doubted that of these he should\n   not be;\n   So she wended the wilds lamenting, as I have lamented for thee;\n   And many wise she pondered, how to bring her will to pass\n   (E'en as I for thee have pondered), as her feet led over the grass,\n   Till she lifted her eyes in the wild-wood, and lo! she stood before\n   The Hall of the Hollow-places; and the Dwarf-lord stood in the door\n   And held in his hand the Hauberk, whereon the hammer's blow\n   The last of all had been smitten, and the sword should be hammer now.\n   Then the Dwarf beheld her fairness, and the wild-wood many-leaved\n   Before his eyes was reeling at the hope his heart conceived;\n   So sorely he longed for her body; and he laughed before her and cried,\n   'O Lady of the Disir, thou farest wandering wide\n   Lamenting thy beloved and the folk-mote of the spear,\n   But if amidst of the battle this child of the hammer he bear\n   He shall laugh at the foemen's edges and come back to thy lily breast\n   And of all the days of his life-time shall his coming years be best.'\n   Then she bowed adown her godhead and sore for the Hauberk she prayed;\n   But his greedy eyes devoured her as he stood in the door and said;\n   'Come lie in mine arms!  Come hither, and we twain the night to wake!\n   And then as a gift of the morning the Hauberk shall ye take.'\n   So she humbled herself before him, and entered into the cave,\n   The dusky, the deep-gleaming, the gem-strewn golden grave.\n   But he saw not her girdle loosened, or her bosom gleam on his love,\n   For she set the sleep-thorn in him, that he saw, but might not move,\n   Though the bitter salt tears burned him for the anguish of his greed;\n   And she took the hammer's offspring, her unearned morning meed,\n   And went her ways from the rock-hall and was glad for her warrior's\n   sake.\n   But behind her dull speech followed, and the voice of the hollow\n   spake:\n   'Thou hast left me bound in anguish, and hast gained thine heart's\n   desire;\n   Now I would that the dewy night-grass might be to thy feet as the\n   fire,\n   And shrivel thy raiment about thee, and leave thee bare to the flame,\n   And no way but a fiery furnace for the road whereby ye came!\n   But since the folk of God-home we may not slay nor smite,\n   And that fool of the folk that thou lovest, thou hast saved in my\n   despite,\n   Take with thee, thief of God-home, this other word I say:\n   Since the safeguard wrought in the ring-mail I may not do away\n   I lay this curse upon it, that whoso weareth the same,\n   Shall save his life in the battle, and have the battle's shame;\n   He shall live through wrack and ruin, and ever have the worse,\n   And drag adown his kindred, and bear the people's curse.'\n\n   \"Lo, this the tale of the Hauberk, and I knew it for the truth:\n   And little I thought of the kindreds; of their day I had no ruth;\n   For I said, They are doomed to departure; in a little while must they\n   wane,\n   And nought it helpeth or hindreth if I hold my hand or refrain.\n   Yea, thou wert become the kindred, both thine and mine; and thy birth\n   To me was the roofing of heaven, and the building up of earth.\n   I have loved, and I must sorrow; thou hast lived, and thou must die;\n   Ah, wherefore were there others in the world than thou and I?\"\n\nHe turned round to her and clasped her strongly in his arms again, and\nkissed her many times and said:\n\n   \"Lo, here art thou forgiven; and here I say farewell!\n   Here the token of my wonder which my words may never tell;\n   The wonder past all thinking, that my love and thine should blend;\n   That thus our lives should mingle, and sunder in the end!\n   Lo, this, for the last remembrance of the mighty man I was,\n   Of thy love and thy forbearing, and all that came to pass!\n   Night wanes, and heaven dights her for the kiss of sun and earth;\n   Look up, look last upon me on this morn of the kindreds' mirth!\"\n\nTherewith he arose and lingered no minute longer, but departed, going as\nstraight towards the Thing-stead and the Folk-mote of his kindred as the\nswallow goes to her nest in the hall-porch.  He looked not once behind\nhim, though a bitter wailing rang through the woods and filled his heart\nwith the bitterness of her woe and the anguish of the hour of sundering.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII--THEY WEND TO THE MORNING BATTLE\n\n\nNow when Thiodolf came back to the camp the signs of dawn were plain in\nthe sky, the moon was low and sinking behind the trees, and he saw at\nonce that the men were stirring and getting ready for departure.  He\nlooked gladly and blithely at the men he fell in with, and they at him,\nand scarce could they refrain a shout when they beheld his face and the\nbrightness of it.  He went straight up to where the Hall-Sun was yet\nsitting under her namesake, with Arinbiorn standing before her amidst of\na ring of leaders of hundreds and scores: but old Sorli sat by her side\nclad in all his war-gear.\n\nWhen Thiodolf first came into that ring of men they looked doubtfully at\nhim, as if they dreaded somewhat, but when they had well beheld him their\nfaces cleared, and they became joyous.\n\nHe went straight up to Arinbiorn and kissed the old warrior, and said to\nhim, \"I give thee good morrow, O leader of the Bearings!  Here now is\ncome the War-duke! and meseems that we should get to work as speedily as\nmay be, for lo the dawning!\"\n\n\"Hail to thine hand, War-duke!\" said Arinbiorn joyously; \"there is no\nmore to do but to take thy word concerning the order wherein we shall\nwend; for all men are armed and ready.\"\n\nSaid Thiodolf; \"Lo ye, I lack war-gear and weapons!  Is there a good\nsword hereby, a helm, a byrny and a shield?  For hard will be the battle,\nand we must fence ourselves all we may.\"\n\n\"Hard by,\" said Arinbiorn, \"is the war-gear of Ivar of our House, who is\ndead in the night of his hurts gotten in yesterday's battle: thou and he\nare alike in stature, and with a good will doth he give them to thee, and\nthey are goodly things, for he comes of smithying blood.  Yet is it a\npity of Throng-plough that he lieth on the field of the slain.\"\n\nBut Thiodolf smiled and said: \"Nay, Ivar's blade shall serve my turn to-\nday; and thereafter shall it be seen to, for then will be time for many\nthings.\"\n\nSo they went to fetch him the weapons; but he said to Arinbiorn, \"Hast\nthou numbered the host?  What are the gleanings of the Roman sword?\"\n\nSaid Arinbiorn: \"Here have we more than three thousand three hundred\nwarriors of the host fit for battle: and besides this here are gathered\neighteen hundred of the Wolfings and the Bearings, and of the other\nHouses, mostly from over the water, and of these nigh upon seven hundred\nmay bear sword or shoot shaft; neither shall ye hinder them from so doing\nif the battle be joined.\"\n\nThen said Thiodolf: \"We shall order us into three battles; the Wolfings\nand the Bearings to lead the first, for this is our business; but others\nof the smaller Houses this side the water to be with us; and the Elkings\nand Galtings and the other Houses of the Mid-mark on the further side of\nthe water to be in the second, and with them the more part of the Nether-\nmark; but the men of Up-mark to be in the third, and the stay-at-homes to\nfollow on with them: and this third battle to let the wood cover them\ntill they be needed, which may not be till the day of fight draws to an\nend, when all shall be needed: for no Roman man must be left alive or\nuntaken by this even, or else must we all go to the Gods together.\nHearken, Arinbiorn.  I am not called fore-sighted, and yet meseems I see\nsomewhat how this day shall go; and it is not to be hidden that I shall\nnot see another battle until the last of all battles is at hand.  But be\nof good cheer, for I shall not die till the end of the fight, and once\nmore I shall be a man's help unto you.  Now the first of the Romans we\nmeet shall not be able to stand before us, for they shall be unready, and\nwhen their men are gotten ready and are fighting with us grimly, ye of\nthe second battle shall hear the war-token, and shall fall on, and they\nshall be dismayed when they see so many fresh men come into the fight;\nyet shall they stand stoutly; for they are valiant men, and shall not all\nbe taken unawares.  Then, if they withstand us long enough, shall the\nthird battle come forth from the wood, and fall on either flank of them,\nand the day shall be won.  But I think not that they shall withstand us\nso long, but that the men of Up-mark and the stay-at-homes shall have the\nchasing of them.  Now get me my war-gear, and let the first battle get\nthem to the outgate of the garth.\"\n\nSo they brought him his arms; and meanwhile the Hall-Sun spake to one of\nthe Captains, and he turned and went away a little space, and then came\nback, having with him three strong warriors of the Wolfings, and he\nbrought them before the Hall-Sun, who said to them:\n\n\"Ye three, Steinulf, Athalulf, and Grani the Grey, I have sent for you\nbecause ye are men both mighty in battle and deft wood-wrights and house-\nsmiths; ye shall follow Thiodolf closely, when he winneth into the Roman\ngarth, yet shall ye fight wisely, so that ye be not slain, or at least\nnot all; ye shall enter the Hall with Thiodolf, and when ye are therein,\nif need be, ye shall run down the Hall at your swiftest, and mount up\ninto the loft betwixt the Middle-hearth and the Women's-Chamber, and\nthere shall ye find good store of water in vats and tubs, and this ye\nshall use for quenching the fire of the Hall if the foemen fire it, as is\nnot unlike to be.\"\n\nThen Grani spoke for the others and said he would pay all heed to her\nwords, and they departed to join their company.\n\nNow was Thiodolf armed; and Arinbiorn, turning about before he went to\nhis place, beheld him and knit his brow, and said: \"What is this,\nThiodolf?  Didst thou not swear to the Gods not to bear helm or shield in\nthe battles of this strife? yet hast thou Ivar's helm on thine head and\nhis shield ready beside thee: wilt thou forswear thyself? so doing shalt\nthou bring woe upon the House.\"\n\n\"Arinbiorn,\" said Thiodolf, \"where didst thou hear tell of me that I had\nmade myself the thrall of the Gods?  The oath that I sware was sworn when\nmine heart was not whole towards our people; and now will I break it that\nI may keep what of good intent there was in it, and cast away the rest.\nLong is the story; but if we journey together to-night I will tell it\nthee.  Likewise I will tell it to the Gods if they look sourly upon me\nwhen I see them, and all shall be well.\"\n\nHe smiled as he spoke, and Arinbiorn smiled on him in turn and went his\nways to array the host.  But when he was gone Thiodolf was alone in that\nplace with the Hall-Sun, and he turned to her, and kissed her, and\ncaressed her fondly, and spake and said:\n\n   \"So fare we, O my daughter, to the sundering of the ways;\n   Short is my journey henceforth to the door that ends my days,\n   And long the road that lieth as yet before thy feet.\n   How fain were I that thy journey from day to day were sweet\n   With peace to thee and pleasure; that a noble warrior's hand\n   In its early days might lead thee adown the flowery land,\n   And thy children in its noon-tide cling round about thy gown,\n   And the wise that thy womb has carried when the sun is going down,\n   Be thy happy fellow-farers to tell the tale of Earth,\n   But I wot that for no such sweetness did we bring thee unto birth,\n   But to be the soul of the Wolfings till the other days should come,\n   And the fruit of the kindreds' harvest with thee is garnered home.\n   Yet if for no blithe faring thy life-day is ordained,\n   Yet peace that long endureth maybe thy soul hath gained;\n   And thy sorrow of this even thy latest grief shall be,\n   The grief wherewith thou singest the death-song over me.\"\n\nShe looked up at him and smiled, though the tears were on her face; then\nshe said:\n\n   \"Though to-day the grief beginneth yet the bitterness is done.\n   Though my body wendeth barren 'neath the beams of the quickening sun,\n   Yet remembrance still abideth, and long after the days of my life\n   Shall I live in the tale of the morning, when they tell of the ending\n   of strife;\n   And the deeds of this little hand, and the thought conceived in my\n   heart,\n   And never again henceforward from the folk shall I fare apart.\n   And if of the Earth, my father, thou hast tidings in thy place\n   Thou shalt hear how they call me the Ransom and the Mother of happy\n   days.\"\n\nThen she wept outright for a brief space, and thereafter she said:\n\n   \"Keep this in thine heart, O father, that I shall remember all\n   Since thou liftedst the she-wolf's nursling in the oak-tree's leafy\n   hall.\n   Yea, every time I remember when hand in hand we went\n   Amidst the shafts of the beech-trees, and down to the youngling bent\n   The Folk-wolf in his glory when the eve of fight drew nigh;\n   And every time I remember when we wandered joyfully\n   Adown the sunny meadow and lived a while of life\n   'Midst the herbs and the beasts and the waters so free from fear and\n   strife,\n   That thy years and thy might and thy wisdom, I had no part therein;\n   But thou wert as the twin-born brother of the maiden slim and thin,\n   The maiden shy in the feast-hall and blithe in wood and field.\n   Thus have we fared, my father; and e'en now when thou bearest shield,\n   On the last of thy days of mid-earth, twixt us 'tis even so\n   That the heart of my like-aged brother is the heart of thee that I\n   know.\"\n\nThen the bitterness of tears stayed her speech, and he spake no word\nmore, but took her in his arms a while and soothed her and fondled her,\nand then they parted, and he went with great strides towards the outgoing\nof the Thing-stead.\n\nThere he found the warriors of his House and of the Bearings and the\nlesser Houses of Mid-mark, all duly ordered for wending through the wood.\nThe dawn was coming on apace, but the wood was yet dark.  But whereas the\nWolfings led, and each man of them knew the wood like his own hand, there\nwas no straying or disarray, and in less than a half-hour's space\nThiodolf and the first battle were come to the wood behind the\nhazel-trees at the back of the hall, and before them was the dawning\nround about the Roof of the Kindred; the eastern heavens were\nbrightening, and they could see all things clear without the wood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII--OF THE STORM OF DAWNING\n\n\nThen Thiodolf bade Fox and two others steal forward, and see what of\nfoemen was before them; so they fell to creeping on towards the open: but\nscarcely had they started, before all men could hear the tramp of men\ndrawing nigh; then Thiodolf himself took with him a score of his House\nand went quietly toward the wood-edge till they were barely within the\nshadow of the beech-wood; and he looked forth and saw men coming straight\ntowards their lurking-place.  And those he saw were a good many, and they\nwere mostly of the dastards of the Goths; but with them was a Captain of\nan Hundred of the Romans, and some others of his kindred; and Thiodolf\ndeemed that the Goths had been bidden to gather up some of the\nnight-watchers and enter the wood and fall on the stay-at-homes.  So he\nbade his men get them aback, and he himself abode still at the very\nwood's edge listening intently with his sword bare in his hand.  And he\nnoted that those men of the foe stayed in the daylight outside the wood,\nbut a few yards from it, and, by command as it seemed, fell silent and\nspake no word; and the morn was very still, and when the sound of their\ntramp over the grass had ceased, Thiodolf could hear the tramp of more\nmen behind them.  And then he had another thought, to wit that the Romans\nhad sent scouts to see if the Goths yet abided on the vantage-ground by\nthe ford, and that when they had found them gone, they were minded to\nfall on them unawares in the refuge of the Thing-stead and were about to\ndo so by the counsel and leading of the dastard Goths; and that this was\none body of the host led by those dastards, who knew somewhat of the\nwoods.  So he drew aback speedily, and catching hold of Fox by the\nshoulder (for he had taken him alone with him) he bade him creep along\nthrough the wood toward the Thing-stead, and bring back speedy word\nwhether there were any more foemen near the wood thereaway; and he\nhimself came to his men, and ordered them for onset, drawing them up in a\nshallow half moon, with the bowmen at the horns thereof, with the word to\nloose at the Romans as soon as they heard the war-horn blow: and all this\nwas done speedily and with little noise, for they were well nigh so\narrayed already.\n\nThus then they waited, and there was more than a glimmer of light even\nunder the beechen leaves, and the eastern sky was yellowing to sunrise.\nThe other warriors were like hounds in the leash eager to be slipped; but\nThiodolf stood calm and high-hearted turning over the memory of past\ndays, and the time he thought of seemed long to him, but happy.\n\nScarce had a score of minutes passed, and the Romans before them, who\nwere now gathered thick behind those dastards of the Goths, had not\nmoved, when back comes Fox and tells how he has come upon a great company\nof the Romans led by their thralls of the Goths who were just entering\nthe wood, away there towards the Thing-stead.\n\n\"But, War-duke,\" says he, \"I came also across our own folk of the second\nbattle duly ordered in the wood ready to meet them; and they shall be\nwell dealt with, and the sun shall rise for us and not for them.\"\n\nThen turns Thiodolf round to those nighest to him and says, but still\nsoftly:\n\n   \"Hear ye a word, O people, of the wisdom of the foe!\n   Before us thick they gather, and unto the death they go.\n   They fare as lads with their cur-dogs who have stopped a fox's earth,\n   And standing round the spinny, now chuckle in their mirth,\n   Till one puts by the leafage and trembling stands astare\n   At the sight of the Wood wolf's father arising in his lair--\n   They have come for our wives and our children, and our sword-edge\n   shall they meet;\n   And which of them is happy save he of the swiftest feet?\"\n\nSpeedily then went that word along the ranks of the Kindred, and men were\nmerry with the restless joy of battle: but scarce had two minutes passed\nere suddenly the stillness of the dawn was broken by clamour and uproar;\nby shouts and shrieks, and the clashing of weapons from the wood on their\nleft hand; and over all arose the roar of the Markmen's horn, for the\nbattle was joined with the second company of the Kindreds.  But a rumour\nand murmur went from the foemen before Thiodolf's men; and then sprang\nforth the loud sharp word of the captains commanding and rebuking, as if\nthe men were doubtful which way they should take.\n\nAmidst all which Thiodolf brandished his sword, and cried out in a great\nvoice:\n\n   \"Now, now, ye War-sons!\n   Now the Wolf waketh!\n   Lo how the Wood-beast\n   Wendeth in onset.\n   E'en as his feet fare\n   Fall on and follow!\"\n\nAnd he led forth joyously, and terrible rang the long refrained gathered\nshout of his battle as his folk rushed on together devouring the little\nspace between their ambush and the hazel-beset greensward.\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye the half-moon had lapped around the\nRoman-Goths and those that were with them; and the dastards made no stand\nbut turned about at once, crying out that the Gods of the Kindreds were\ncome to aid and none could withstand them.  But these fleers thrust\nagainst the band of Romans who were next to them, and bore them aback,\nand great was the turmoil; and when Thiodolf's storm fell full upon them,\nas it failed not to do, so close were they driven together that scarce\ncould any man raise his hand for a stroke.  For behind them stood a great\ncompany of those valiant spearmen of the Romans, who would not give way\nif anywise they might hold it out: and their ranks were closely serried,\nshield nigh touching shield, and their faces turned toward the foe; and\nso arrayed, though they might die, they scarce knew how to flee.  As they\nmight these thrust and hewed at the fleers, and gave fierce words but few\nto the Roman-Goths, driving them back against their foemen: but the\nfleers had lost the cunning of their right hands, and they had cast away\ntheir shields and could not defend their very bodies against the wrath of\nthe kindreds; and when they strove to flee to the right hand or to the\nleft, they were met by the horns of the half-moon, and the arrows began\nto rain in upon them, and from so close were they shot at that no shaft\nfailed to smite home.\n\nThere then were the dastards slain; and their bodies served for a rampart\nagainst the onrush of the Markmen to those Romans who had stood fast.  To\nthem were gathering more and more every minute, and they faced the Goths\nsteadily with their hard brown visages and gleaming eyes above their iron-\nplated shields; not casting their spears, but standing closely together,\nsilent, but fierce.  The light was spread now over all the earth; the\neastern heavens were grown golden-red, flecked here and there with little\ncrimson clouds: this battle was fallen near silent, but to the North was\ngreat uproar of shouts and cries, and the roaring of the war-horns, and\nthe shrill blasts of the brazen trumpets.\n\nNow Thiodolf, as his wont was when he saw that all was going well, had\nrefrained himself of hand-strokes, but was here and there and everywhere\ngiving heart to his folk, and keeping them in due order, and close array,\nlest the Romans should yet come among them.  But he watched the ranks of\nthe foe, and saw how presently they began to spread out beyond his, and\nmight, if it were not looked to, take them in flank; and he was about to\norder his men anew to meet them, when he looked on his left hand and saw\nhow Roman men were pouring thick from the wood out of all array, followed\nby a close throng of the kindreds: for on this side the Romans were\noutnumbered and had stumbled unawares into the ambush of the Markmen, who\nhad fallen on them straightway and disarrayed them from the first.  This\nflight of their folk the Romans saw also, and held their men together,\nrefraining from the onset, as men who deem that they will have enough to\ndo to stand fast.\n\nBut the second battle of the Markmen, (who were of the Nether-mark,\nmingled with the Mid-mark) fought wisely, for they swept those fleers\nfrom before them, slaying many and driving the rest scattering, yet held\nthe chase for no long way, but wheeling about came sidelong on toward the\nbattle of the Romans and Thiodolf.  And when Thiodolf saw that, he set up\nthe whoop of victory, he and his, and fell fiercely on the Romans,\ncasting everything that would fly, as they rushed on to the handplay; so\nthat there was many a Roman slain with the Roman spears that those who\nhad fallen had left among their foemen.\n\nNow the Roman captains perceived that it availed not to tarry till the\nmen of the Mid and Nether-marks fell upon their flank; so they gave\ncommand, and their ranks gave back little by little, facing their foes,\nand striving to draw themselves within the dike and garth, which, after\ntheir custom, they had already cast up about the Wolfing Roof, their\nstronghold.\n\nNow as fierce as was the onset of the Markmen, the main body of the\nRomans could not be hindered from doing this much before the men of the\nsecond battle were upon them; but Thiodolf and Arinbiorn with some of the\nmightiest brake their array in two places and entered in amongst them.\nAnd wrath so seized upon the soul of Arinbiorn for the slaying of Otter,\nand his own fault towards him, that he cast away his shield, and heeding\nno strokes, first brake his sword in the press, and then, getting hold of\na great axe, smote at all before him as though none smote at him in turn;\nyea, as though he were smiting down tree-boles for a match against some\nother mighty man; and all the while amidst the hurry, strokes of swords\nand spears rained on him, some falling flatwise and some glancing\nsideways, but some true and square, so that his helm was smitten off and\nhis hauberk rent adown, and point and edge reached his living flesh; and\nhe had thrust himself so far amidst the foe that none could follow to\nshield him, so that at last he fell shattered and rent at the foot of the\nnew clayey wall cast up by the Romans, even as Thiodolf and a band with\nhim came cleaving the press, and the Romans closed the barriers against\nfriend and foe, and cast great beams adown, and masses of iron and lead\nand copper taken from the smithying-booths of the Wolfings, to stay them\nif it were but a little.\n\nThen Thiodolf bestrode the fallen warrior, and men of his House were\nclose behind him, for wisely had he fought, cleaving the press like a\nwedge, helping his friends that they might help him, so that they all\nwent forward together.  But when he saw Arinbiorn fall he cried out:\n\n\"Woe's me, Arinbiorn! that thou wouldest not wait for me; for the day is\nyoung yet, and over-young!\"\n\nThere then they cleared the space outside the gate, and lifted up the\nBearing Warrior, and bare him back from the rampart.  For so fierce had\nbeen the fight and so eager the storm of those that had followed after\nhim that they must needs order their battle afresh, since Thiodolf's\nwedge which he had driven into the Roman host was but of a few and the\nfoe had been many and the rampart and the shot-weapons were close anigh.\nWise therefore it seemed to abide them of the second battle and join with\nthem to swarm over the new-built slippery wall in the teeth of the Roman\nshot.\n\nIn this, the first onset of the Morning Battle, some of the Markmen had\nfallen, but not many, since but a few had entered outright into the Roman\nranks; and when they first rushed on from the wood but three of them were\nslain, and the slaughter was all of the dastards and the Romans; and\nafterwards not a few of the Romans were slain, what by Arinbiorn, what by\nthe others; for they were fighting fleeing, and before their eyes was the\nimage of the garth-gate which was behind them; and they stumbled against\neach other as they were driven sideways against the onrush of the Goths,\nnor were they now standing fair and square to them, and they were hurried\nand confused with the dread of the onset of them of the two Marks.\n\nAs yet Thiodolf had gotten no great hurt, so that when he heard that\nArinbiorn's soul had passed away he smiled and said:\n\n\"Yea, yea, Arinbiorn might have abided the end, for ere then shall the\nbattle be hard.\"\n\nSo now the Wolfings and the Bearings met joyously the kindreds of the\nNether Mark and the others of the second battle, and they sang the song\nof victory arrayed in good order hard by the Roman rampart, while\nbowstrings twanged and arrows whistled, and sling-stones hummed from this\nside and from that.\n\nAnd of their song of victory thus much the tale telleth:\n\n      \"Now hearken and hear\n      Of the day-dawn of fear,\n      And how up rose the sun\n      On the battle begun.\n      All night lay a-hiding,\n      Our anger abiding,\n      Dark down in the wood\n      The sharp seekers of blood;\n   But ere red grew the heaven we bore them all bare,\n   For against us undriven the foemen must fare;\n   They sought and they found us, and sorrowed to find,\n   For the tree-boles around us the story shall mind,\n   How fast from the glooming they fled to the light,\n   Yeasaying the dooming of Tyr of the fight.\n\n      \"Hearken yet and again\n      How the night gan to wane,\n      And the twilight stole on\n      Till the world was well won!\n      E'en in such wise was wending\n      A great host for our ending;\n      On our life-days e'en so\n      Stole the host of the foe;\n   Till the heavens grew lighter, and light grew the world,\n   And the storm of the fighter upon them was hurled,\n   Then some fled the stroke, and some died and some stood,\n   Till the worst of the storm broke right out from the wood,\n   And the war-shafts were singing the carol of fear,\n   The tale of the bringing the sharp swords anear.\n\n      \"Come gather we now,\n      For the day doth grow.\n      Come, gather, ye bold,\n      Lest the day wax old;\n      Lest not till to-morrow\n      We slake our sorrow,\n      And heap the ground\n      With many a mound.\n   Come, war-children, gather, and clear we the land!\n   In the tide of War-father the deed is to hand.\n   Clad in gear that we gilded they shrink from our sword;\n   In the House that we builded they sit at the board;\n   Come, war-children, gather, come swarm o'er the wall\n   For the feast of War-father to sweep out the Hall!\"\n\nNow amidst of their singing the sun rose upon the earth, and gleamed in\nthe arms of men, and lit the faces of the singing warriors as they stood\nturned toward the east.\n\nIn this first onset of battle but twenty and three Markmen were slain in\nall, besides Arinbiorn; for, as aforesaid, they had the foe at a\ndisadvantage.  And this onset is called in the tale the Storm of Dawning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI--OF THIODOLF'S STORM\n\n\nThe Goths tarried not over their victory; they shot with all the bowmen\nthat they had against the Romans on the wall, and therewith arrayed\nthemselves to fall on once more.  And Thiodolf, now that the foe were\ncovered by a wall, though it was but a little one, sent a message to the\nmen of the third battle, them of Up-mark to wit, to come forward in good\narray and help to make a ring around the Wolfing Stead, wherein they\nshould now take the Romans as a beast is taken in a trap.  Meanwhile,\nuntil they came, he sent other men to the wood to bring tree-boles to\nbatter the gate, and to make bridges whereby to swarm over the wall,\nwhich was but breast-high on the Roman side, though they had worked at it\nceaselessly since yesterday morning.\n\nIn a long half-hour, therefore, the horns of the men of Up-mark sounded,\nand they came forth from the wood a very great company, for with them\nalso were the men of the stay-at-homes and the homeless, such of them as\nwere fit to bear arms.  Amongst these went the Hall-Sun surrounded by a\nband of the warriors of Up-mark; and before her was borne her namesake\nthe Lamp as a sign of assured victory.  But these stay-at-homes with the\nHall-Sun were stayed by the command of Thiodolf on the crown of the slope\nabove the dwellings, and stood round about the Speech-Hill, on the\ntopmost of which stood the Hall-Sun, and the wondrous Lamp, and the men\nwho warded her and it.\n\nWhen the Romans saw the new host come forth from the wood, they might\nwell think that they would have work enough to do that day; but when they\nsaw the Hall-Sun take her stand on the Speech-Hill with the men-at-arms\nabout her, and the Lamp before her, then dread of the Gods fell upon\nthem, and they knew that the doom had gone forth against them.\nNevertheless they were not men to faint and die because the Gods were\nbecome their foes, but they were resolved rather to fight it out to the\nend against whatsoever might come against them, as was well seen\nafterwards.\n\nNow they had made four gates to their garth according to their custom,\nand at each gate within was there a company of their mightiest men, and\neach was beset by the best of the Markmen.  Thiodolf and his men beset\nthe western gate where they had made that fierce onset.  And the northern\ngate was beset by the Elkings and some of the kindreds of the\nNether-mark; and the eastern gate by the rest of the men of Nether-mark;\nand the southern gate by the kindreds of Up-mark.\n\nAll this the Romans noted, and they saw how that the Markmen were now\nvery many, and they knew that they were men no less valiant than\nthemselves, and they perceived that Thiodolf was a wise Captain; and in\nless than two hours' space from the Storm of Dawning they saw those men\ncoming from the wood with plenteous store of tree-trunks to bridge their\nditch and rampart; and they considered how the day was yet very young, so\nthat they might look for no shelter from the night-tide; and as for any\naid from their own folk at the war-garth aforesaid, they hoped not for\nit, nor had they sent any messenger to the Captain of the garth; nor did\nthey know as yet of his overthrow on the Ridge.\n\nNow therefore there seemed to be but two choices before them; either to\nabide within the rampart they had cast up, or to break out like valiant\nmen, and either die in the storm, or cleave a way through, whereby they\nmight come to their kindred and their stronghold south-east of the Mark.\n\nThis last way then they chose; or, to say the truth, it was their chief\ncaptain who chose it for them, though they were nothing loth thereto: for\nthis man was a mocker, yet hot-headed, unstable, and nought wise in war,\nand heretofore had his greed minished his courage; yet now, being driven\ninto a corner, he had courage enough and to spare, but utterly lacked\npatience; for it had been better for the Romans to have abided one or two\nonsets from the Goths, whereby they who should make the onslaught would\nat the least have lost more men than they on whom they should fall,\nbefore they within stormed forth on them; but their pride took away from\nthe Romans their last chance.  But their captain, now that he perceived,\nas he thought, that the game was lost and his life come to its last hour\nwherein he would have to leave his treasure and pleasure behind him, grew\ndesperate and therewith most fierce and cruel.  So all the captives whom\nthey had taken (they were but two score and two, for the wounded men they\nhad slain) he caused to be bound on the chairs of the high-seat clad in\ntheir war-gear with their swords or spears made fast to their right\nhands, and their shields to their left hands; and he said that the Goths\nshould now hold a Thing wherein they should at last take counsel wisely,\nand abstain from folly.  For he caused store of faggots and small wood\nsmeared with grease and oil to be cast into the hall that it might be\nfired, so that it and the captives should burn up altogether; \"So,\" said\nhe, \"shall we have a fair torch for our funeral fire;\" for it was the\ncustom of the Romans to burn their dead.\n\nThus, then, he did; and then he caused men to do away the barriers and\nopen all the four gates of the new-made garth, after he had manned the\nwall with the slingers and bowmen, and slain the horses, so that the\nwoodland folk should have no gain of them.  Then he arrayed his men at\nthe gates and about them duly and wisely, and bade those valiant footmen\nfall on the Goths who were getting ready to fall on them, and to do their\nbest.  But he himself armed at all points took his stand at the Man's-\ndoor of the Hall, and swore by all the Gods of his kindred that he would\nnot move a foot's length from thence either for fire or for steel.\n\nSo fiercely on that fair morning burned the hatred of men about the\ndwellings of the children of the Wolf of the Goths, wherein the children\nof the Wolf of Rome were shut up as in a penfold of slaughter.\n\nMeanwhile the Hall-Sun standing on the Hill of Speech beheld it all,\nlooking down into the garth of war; for the new wall was no hindrance to\nher sight, because the Speech-Hill was high and but a little way from the\nGreat Roof; and indeed she was within shot of the Roman bowmen, though\nthey were not very deft in shooting.\n\nSo now she lifted up her voice and sang so that many heard her; for at\nthis moment of time there was a lull in the clamour of battle both within\nthe garth and without; even as it happens when the thunder-storm is just\nabout to break on the world, that the wind drops dead, and the voice of\nthe leaves is hushed before the first great and near flash of lightening\nglares over the fields.\n\nSo she sang:\n\n   \"Now the latest hour cometh and the ending of the strife;\n   And to-morrow and to-morrow shall we take the hand of life,\n   And wend adown the meadows, and skirt the darkling wood,\n   And reap the waving acres, and gather in the good.\n   I see a wall before me built up of steel and fire,\n   And hurts and heart-sick striving, and the war-wright's fierce desire;\n   But there-amidst a door is, and windows are therein;\n   And the fair sun-litten meadows and the Houses of the kin\n   Smile on me through the terror my trembling life to stay,\n   That at my mouth now flutters, as fain to flee away.\n   Lo e'en as the little hammer and the blow-pipe of the wright\n   About the flickering fire deals with the silver white,\n   And the cup and its beauty groweth that shall be for the people's\n   feast,\n   And all men are glad to see it from the greatest to the least;\n   E'en so is the tale now fashioned, that many a time and oft\n   Shall be told on the acre's edges, when the summer eve is soft;\n   Shall be hearkened round the hall-blaze when the mid-winter night\n   The kindreds' mirth besetteth, and quickeneth man's delight,\n   And we that have lived in the story shall be born again and again\n   As men feast on the bread of our earning, and praise the grief-born\n   grain.\"\n\nAs she made an end of singing, those about her understood her words, that\nshe was foretelling victory, and the peace of the Mark, and for joy they\nraised a shrill cry; and the warriors who were nighest to her took it up,\nand it spread through the whole host round about the garth, and went up\ninto the breath of the summer morning and went down the wind along the\nmeadow of the Wolfings, so that they of the wain-burg, who were now\ndrawing somewhat near to Wolf-stead heard it and were glad.\n\nBut the Romans when they heard it knew that the heart of the battle was\nreached, and they cast back that shout wrathfully and fiercely, and made\ntoward the foe.\n\nTherewithal those mighty men fell on each other in the narrow passes of\nthe garth; for fear was dead and buried in that Battle of the Morning.\n\nOn the North gate Hiarandi of the Elkings was the point of the Markmen's\nwedge, and first clave the Roman press.  In the Eastern gate it was\nValtyr, Otter's brother's son, a young man and most mighty.  In the South\ngate it was Geirbald of the Shieldings, the Messenger.\n\nIn the west gate Thiodolf the War-duke gave one mighty cry like the roar\nof an angry lion, and cleared a space before him for the wielding of\nIvar's blade; for at that moment he had looked up to the Roof of the\nKindred and had beheld a little stream of smoke curling blue out of a\nwindow thereof, and he knew what had betided, and how short was the time\nbefore them.  But his wrathful cry was taken up by some who had beheld\nthat same sight, and by others who saw nought but the Roman press, and\nterribly it rang over the swaying struggling crowd.\n\nThen fell the first rank of the Romans before those stark men and mighty\nwarriors; and they fell even where they stood, for on neither side could\nany give back but for a little space, so close the press was, and the men\nso eager to smite.  Neither did any crave peace if he were hurt or\ndisarmed; for to the Goths it was but a little thing to fall in hot blood\nin that hour of love of the kindred, and longing for the days to be.  And\nfor the Romans, they had had no mercy, and now looked for none: and they\nremembered their dealings with the Goths, and saw before them, as it\nwere, once more, yea, as in a picture, their slayings and quellings, and\nlashings, and cold mockings which they had dealt out to the conquered\nfoemen without mercy, and now they longed sore for the quiet of the dark,\nwhen their hard lives should be over, and all these deeds forgotten, and\nthey and their bitter foes should be at rest for ever.\n\nMost valiantly they fought; but the fury of their despair could not deal\nwith the fearless hope of the Goths, and as rank after rank of them took\nthe place of those who were hewn down by Thiodolf and the Kindred, they\nfell in their turn, and slowly the Goths cleared a space within the\ngates, and then began to spread along the wall within, and grew thicker\nand thicker.  Nor did they fight only at the gates; but made them bridges\nof those tree-trunks, and fell to swarming over the rampart, till they\nhad cleared it of the bowmen and slingers, and then they leaped down and\nfell upon the flanks of the Romans; and the host of the dead grew, and\nthe host of the living lessened.\n\nMoreover the stay-at-homes round about the Speech-Hill, and that band of\nthe warriors of Up-mark who were with them, beheld the Great Roof and saw\nthe smoke come gushing out of the windows, and at last saw the red flames\ncreep out amidst it and waver round the window jambs like little banners\nof scarlet cloth.  Then they could no longer refrain themselves, but ran\ndown from the Speech-Hill and the slope about it with great and fierce\ncries, and clomb the wall where it was unmanned, helping each other with\nhand and back, both stark warriors, and old men and lads and women: and\nthus they gat them into the garth and fell upon the lessening band of the\nRomans, who now began to give way hither and thither about the garth, as\nthey best might.\n\nThus it befell at the West-gate, but at the other gates it was no worser,\nfor there was no diversity of valour between the Houses; nay, whereas the\nmore part and the best part of the Romans faced the onset of Thiodolf,\nwhich seemed to them the main onset, they were somewhat easier to deal\nwith elsewhere than at the West gate; and at the East gate was the place\nfirst won, so that Valtyr and his folk were the first to clear a space\nwithin the gate, and to tell the tale shortly (for can this that and the\nother sword-stroke be told of in such a medley?) they drew the death-ring\naround the Romans that were before them, and slew them all to the last\nman, and then fell fiercely on the rearward of them of the North gate,\nwho still stood before Hiarandi's onset.  There again was no long tale to\ntell of, for Hiarandi was just winning the gate, and the wall was cleared\nof the Roman shot-fighters, and the Markmen were standing on the top\nthereof, and casting down on the Romans spears and baulks of wood and\nwhatsoever would fly.  There again were the Romans all slain or put out\nof the fight, and the two bands of the kindred joined together, and with\nwhat voices the battle-rage had left them cried out for joy and fared on\ntogether to help to bind the sheaves of war which Thiodolf's sickle had\nreaped.  And now it was mere slaying, and the Romans, though they still\nfought in knots of less than a score, yet fought on and hewed and thrust\nwithout more thought or will than the stone has when it leaps adown the\nhill-side after it has first been set agoing.\n\nBut now the garth was fairly won and Thiodolf saw that there was no hope\nfor the Romans drawing together again; so while the kindreds were busied\nin hewing down those knots of desperate men, he gathered to him some of\nthe wisest of his warriors, amongst whom were Steinulf and Grani the\nGrey, the deft wood-wrights (but Athalulf had been grievously hurt by a\nspear and was out of the battle), and drave a way through the confused\nturmoil which still boiled in the garth there, and made straight for the\nMan's-door of the Hall.  Soon he was close thereto, having hewn away all\nfleers that hindered him, and the doorway was before him.  But on the\nthreshold, the fire and flames of the kindled hall behind him, stood the\nRoman Captain clad in gold-adorned armour and surcoat of sea-born purple;\nthe man was cool and calm and proud, and a mocking smile was on his face:\nand he bore his bright blade unbloodied in his hand.\n\nThiodolf stayed a moment of time, and their eyes met; it had gone hard\nwith the War-duke, and those eyes glittered in his pale face, and his\nteeth were close set together; though he had fought wisely, and for life,\nas he who is most valiant ever will do, till he is driven to bay like the\nlone wood-wolf by the hounds, yet had he been sore mishandled.  His helm\nand shield were gone, his hauberk rent; for it was no dwarf-wrought coat,\nbut the work of Ivar's hand: the blood was running down from his left\narm, and he was hurt in many places: he had broken Ivar's sword in the\nmedley, and now bore in his hand a strong Roman short-sword, and his feet\nstood bloody on the worn earth anigh the Man's-door.\n\nHe looked into the scornful eyes of the Roman lord for a little minute\nand then laughed aloud, and therewithal, leaping on him with one spring,\nturned sideways, and dealt him a great buffet on his ear with his unarmed\nleft hand, just as the Roman thrust at him with his sword, so that the\nCaptain staggered forward on to the next man following, which was\nWolfkettle the eager warrior, who thrust him through with his sword and\nshoved him aside as they all strode into the hall together.  Howbeit no\nsword fell from the Roman Captain as he fell, for Thiodolf's side bore it\ninto the Hall of the Wolfings.\n\nMost wrathful were those men, and went hastily, for their Roof was full\nof smoke, and the flames flickered about the pillars and the wall here\nand there, and crept up to the windows aloft; yet was it not wholly or\nfiercely burning; for the Roman fire-raisers had been hurried and hasty\nin their work.  Straightway then Steinulf and Grani led the others off at\na run towards the loft and the water; but Thiodolf, who went slowly and\npainfully, looked and beheld on the dais those men bound for the burning,\nand he went quietly, and as a man who has been sick, and is weak, up on\nto the dais, and said:\n\n\"Be of good cheer, O brothers, for the kindreds have vanquished the\nfoemen, and the end of strife is come.\"\n\nHis voice sounded strange and sweet to them amidst the turmoil of the\nfight without; he laid down his sword on the table, and drew a little\nsharp knife from his girdle and cut their bonds one by one and loosed\nthem with his blood-stained hands; and each one as he loosed him he\nkissed and said to him, \"Brother, go help those who are quenching the\nfire; this is the bidding of the War-duke.\"\n\nBut as he loosed one after other he was longer and longer about it, and\nhis words were slower.  At last he came to the man who was bound in his\nown high-seat close under the place of the wondrous Lamp, the Hall-Sun,\nand he was the only one left bound; that man was of the Wormings and was\nnamed Elfric; he loosed him and was long about it; and when he was done\nhe smiled on him and kissed him, and said to him:\n\n\"Arise, brother! go help the quenchers of the fire, and leave to me this\nmy chair, for I am weary: and if thou wilt, thou mayst bring me of that\nwater to drink, for this morning men have forgotten the mead of the\nreapers!\"\n\nThen Elfric arose, and Thiodolf sat in his chair, and leaned back his\nhead; but Elfric looked at him for a moment as one scared, and then ran\nhis ways down the hall, which now was growing noisy with the hurry and\nbustle of the quenchers of the fire, to whom had divers others joined\nthemselves.\n\nThere then from a bucket which was still for a moment he filled a wooden\nbowl, which he caught up from the base of one of the hall-pillars, and\nhastened up the Hall again; and there was no man nigh the dais, and\nThiodolf yet sat in his chair, and the hall was dim with the rolling\nsmoke, and Elfric saw not well what the War-duke was doing.  So he\nhastened on, and when he was close to Thiodolf he trod in something wet,\nand his heart sank for he knew that it was blood; his foot slipped\ntherewith and as he put out his hand to save himself the more part of the\nwater was spilled, and mingled with the blood.  But he went up to\nThiodolf and said to him, \"Drink, War-duke! here hath come a mouthful of\nwater.\"\n\nBut Thiodolf moved not for his word, and Elfric touched him, and he moved\nnone the more.\n\nThen Elfric's heart failed him and he laid his hand on the War-duke's\nhand, and looked closely into his face; and the hand was cold and the\nface ashen-pale; and Elfric laid his hand on his side, and he felt the\nshort-sword of the Roman leader thrust deep therein, besides his many\nother hurts.\n\nSo Elfric knew that he was dead, and he cast the bowl to the earth, and\nlifted up his hands and wailed out aloud, like a woman who hath come\nsuddenly on her dead child, and cried out in a great voice:\n\n\"Hither, hither, O men in this hall, for the War-duke of the Markmen is\ndead!  O ye people, Hearken!  Thiodolf the Mighty, the Wolfing is dead!\"\n\nAnd he was a young man, and weak with the binding and the waiting for\ndeath, and he bowed himself adown and crouched on the ground and wept\naloud.\n\nBut even as he cried that cry, the sunlight outside the Man's-door was\ndarkened, and the Hall-Sun came over the threshold in her ancient gold-\nembroidered raiment, holding in her hand her namesake the wondrous Lamp;\nand the spears and the war-gear of warriors gleamed behind her; but the\nmen tarried on the threshold till she turned about and beckoned to them,\nand then they poured in through the Man's-door, their war-gear rent and\nthey all befouled and disarrayed with the battle, but with proud and\nhappy faces: as they entered she waved her hand to them to bid them go\njoin the quenchers of the fire; so they went their ways.\n\nBut she went with unfaltering steps up to the dais, and the place where\nthe chain of the Lamp hung down from amidst the smoke-cloud wavering a\nlittle in the gusts of the hall.  Straightway she made the Lamp fast to\nits chain, and dealt with its pulleys with a deft hand often practised\ntherein, and then let it run up toward the smoke-hidden Roof till it\ngleamed in its due place once more, a token of the salvation of the\nWolfings and the welfare of all the kindreds.\n\nThen she turned toward Thiodolf with a calm and solemn face, though it\nwas very pale and looked as if she would not smile again.  Elfric had\nrisen up and was standing by the board speechless and the passion of sobs\nstill struggling in his bosom.  She put him aside gently, and went up to\nThiodolf and stood above him, and looked down on his face a while: then\nshe put forth her hand and closed his eyes, and stooped down and kissed\nhis face.  Then she stood up again and faced the Hall and looked and saw\nthat many were streaming in, and that though the smoke was still eddying\noverhead, the fire was well nigh quenched within; and without the sound\nof battle had sunk and died away.  For indeed the Markmen had ended their\nday's work before noon-tide that day, and the more part of the Romans\nwere slain, and to the rest they had given peace till the Folk-mote\nshould give Doom concerning them; for pity of these valiant men was\ngrowing in the hearts of the valiant men who had vanquished them, now\nthat they feared them no more.\n\nAnd this second part of the Morning Battle is called Thiodolf's Storm.\n\nSo now when the Hall-Sun looked and beheld that the battle was done and\nthe fire quenched, and when she saw how every man that came into the Hall\nlooked up and beheld the wondrous Lamp and his face quickened into joy at\nthe sight of it; and how most looked up at the high-seat and Thiodolf\nlying leaned back therein, her heart nigh broke between the thought of\nher grief and of the grief of the Folk that their mighty friend was dead,\nand the thought of the joy of the days to be and all the glory that his\nlatter days had won.  But she gathered heart, and casting back the dark\ntresses of her hair, she lifted up her voice and cried out till its clear\nshrillness sounded throughout all the Roof:\n\n\"O men in this Hall the War-duke is dead!  O people hearken! for Thiodolf\nthe Mighty hath changed his life: Come hither, O men, Come hither, for\nthis is true, that Thiodolf is dead!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX--THIODOLF IS BORNE OUT OF THE HALL AND OTTER IS LAID BESIDE\nHIM\n\n\nSo when they heard her voice they came thither flockmeal, and a great\nthrong mingled of many kindreds was in the Hall, but with one consent\nthey made way for the Children of the Wolf to stand nearest to the dais.\nSo there they stood, the warriors mingled with the women, the swains with\nthe old men, the freemen with the thralls: for now the stay-at-homes of\nthe House were all gotten into the garth, and the more part of them had\nflowed into the feast-hall when they knew that the fire was slackening.\n\nAll these now had heard the clear voice of the Hall-Sun, or others had\ntold them what had befallen; and the wave of grief had swept coldly over\nthem amidst their joy of the recoverance of their dwelling-place; yet\nthey would not wail nor cry aloud, even to ease their sorrow, till they\nhad heard the words of the Hall-Sun, as she stood facing them beside\ntheir dead War-duke.\n\nThen she spake: \"O Sorli the Old, come up hither! thou hast been my\nfellow in arms this long while.\"\n\nSo the old man came forth, and went slowly in his clashing war-gear up on\nto the dais.  But his attire gleamed and glittered, since over-old was he\nto thrust deep into the press that day, howbeit he was wise in war.  So\nhe stood beside her on the dais holding his head high, and proud he\nlooked, for all his thin white locks and sunken eyes.\n\nBut again said the Hall-Sun: \"Canst thou hear me, Wolfkettle, when I bid\nthee stand beside me, or art thou, too, gone on the road to Valhall?\"\n\nForth then strode that mighty warrior and went toward the dais: nought\nfair was his array to look on; for point and edge had rent it and stained\nit red, and the flaring of the hall-flames had blackened it; his face was\nstreaked with black withal, and his hands were as the hands of a smith\namong the thralls who hath wrought unwashen in the haste and hurry when\nmen look to see the war-arrow abroad.  But he went up on to the dais and\nheld up his head proudly, and looked forth on to the hall-crowd with eyes\nthat gleamed fiercely from his stained and blackened face.\n\nAgain the Hall-Sun said: \"Art thou also alive, O Egil the messenger?\nSwift are thy feet, but not to flee from the foe: Come up and stand with\nus!\"\n\nTherewith Egil clave the throng; he was not so roughly dealt with as was\nWolfkettle, for he was a bowman, and had this while past shot down on the\nRomans from aloof; and he yet held his bended bow in his hand.  He also\ncame up on to the dais and stood beside Wolfkettle glancing down on the\nhall-crowd, looking eagerly from side to side.\n\nYet again the Hall-Sun spake: \"No aliens now are dwelling in the Mark;\ncome hither, ye men of the kindreds!  Come thou, our brother Hiarandi of\nthe Elkings, for thy sisters, our wives, are fain of thee.  Come thou,\nValtyr of the Laxings, brother's son of Otter; do thou for the War-duke\nwhat thy father's brother had done, had he not been faring afar.  Come\nthou, Geirbald of the Shieldings the messenger!  Now know we the deeds of\nothers and thy deeds.  Come, stand beside us for a little!\"\n\nForth then they came in their rent and battered war-gear: and the tall\nHiarandi bore but the broken truncheon of his sword; and Valtyr a\nwoodman's axe notched and dull with work; and Geirbald a Roman\ncast-spear, for his own weapons had been broken in the medley; and he\ncame the last of the three, going as a belated reaper from the acres.\nThere they stood by the others and gazed adown the hall-throng.\n\nBut the Hall-Sun spake again: \"Agni of the Daylings, I see thee now.  How\ncamest thou into the hard handplay, old man?  Come hither and stand with\nus, for we love thee.  Angantyr of the Bearings, fair was thy riding on\nthe day of the Battle on the Ridge!  Come thou, be with us.  Shall the\nBeamings whose daughters we marry fail the House of the Wolf to-day?\nGeirodd, thou hast no longer a weapon, but the fight is over, and this\nhour thou needest it not.  Come to us, brother!  Gunbald of the Vallings,\nthe Falcon on thy shield is dim with the dint of point and edge, but it\nhath done its work to ward thy valiant heart: Come hither, friend!  Come\nall ye and stand with us!\"\n\nAs she named them so they came, and they went up on to the dais and stood\naltogether; and a terrible band of warriors they looked had the fight\nbeen to begin over again, and they to meet death once more.  And again\nspake the Hall-Sun:\n\n\"Steinulf and Grani, deft are your hands!  Take ye the stalks of the war\nblossoms, the spears of the kindreds, and knit them together to make a\nbier for our War-duke, for he is weary and may not go afoot.  Thou Ali,\nson of Grey; thou hast gone errands for me before; go forth now from the\ngarth, and wend thy ways toward the water, and tell me when thou comest\nback what thou hast seen of the coming of the wain-burg.  For by this\ntime it should be drawing anigh.\"\n\nSo Ali went forth, and there was silence of words for a while in the\nHall; but there arose the sound of the wood-wrights busy with the wimble\nand the hammer about the bier.  No long space had gone by when Ali came\nback into the hall panting with his swift running; and he cried out:\n\n\"O Hall-Sun, they are coming; the last wain hath crossed the ford, and\nthe first is hard at hand: bright are their banners in the sun.\"\n\nThen said the Hall-Sun: \"O warriors, it is fitting that we go to meet our\nbanners returning from the field, and that we do the Gods to wit what\ndeeds we have done; fitting is it also that Thiodolf our War-duke wend\nwith us.  Now get ye into your ordered bands, and go we forth from the\nfire-scorched hall, and out into the sunlight, that the very earth and\nthe heavens may look upon the face of our War-duke, and bear witness that\nhe hath played his part as a man.\"\n\nThen without more words the folk began to stream out of the Hall, and\nwithin the garth which the Romans had made they arrayed their companies.\nBut when they were all gone from the Hall save they who were on the dais,\nthe Hall-Sun took the waxen torch which she had litten and quenched at\nthe departure of the host to battle, and now she once more kindled it at\nthe flame of the wondrous Lamp, the Hall-Sun.  But the wood-wrights\nbrought the bier which they had made of the spear-shafts of the kindred,\nand they laid thereon a purple cloak gold-embroidered of the treasure of\nthe Wolfings, and thereon was Thiodolf laid.\n\nThen those men took him up; to wit, Sorli the Old, and Wolfkettle and\nEgil, all these were of the Wolfing House; Hiarandi of the Elkings also,\nand Valtyr of the Laxings, Geirbald of the Shieldings, Agni of the\nDaylings, Angantyr of the Bearings, Geirodd of the Beamings, Gunbald of\nthe Vallings: all these, with the two valiant wood-wrights, Steinulf and\nGrani, laid hand to the bier.\n\nSo they bore it down from the dais, and out at the Man's-door into the\nsunlight, and the Hall-Sun followed close after it, holding in her hand\nthe Candle of Returning.  It was an hour after high-noon of a bright\nmidsummer day when she came out into the garth; and the smoke from the\nfire-scorched hall yet hung about the trees of the wood-edge.  She looked\nneither down towards her feet nor on the right side or the left, but\nstraight before her.  The ordered companies of the kindreds hid the sight\nof many fearful things from her eyes; though indeed the thralls and women\nhad mostly gleaned the dead from the living both of friend and foe, and\nwere tending the hurt of either host.  Through an opening in the ranks\nmoreover could they by the bier behold the scanty band of Roman captives,\nsome standing up, looking dully around them, some sitting or lying on the\ngrass talking quietly together, and it seemed by their faces that for\nthem the bitterness of death was passed.\n\nForth then fared the host by the West gate, where Thiodolf had done so\nvaliantly that day, and out on to the green amidst the booths and lesser\ndwellings.  Sore then was the heart of the Hall-Sun, as she looked forth\nover dwelling, and acre, and meadow, and the blue line of the woods\nbeyond the water, and bethought her of all the familiar things that were\nwithin the compass of her eyesight, and remembered the many days of her\nfather's loving-kindness, and the fair words wherewith he had solaced her\nlife-days.  But of the sorrow that wrung her heart nothing showed in her\nface, nor was she paler now than her wont was.  For high was her courage,\nand she would in no wise mar that fair day and victory of the kindreds\nwith grief for what was gone, whereas so much of what once was, yet\nabided and should abide for ever.\n\nThen fared they down through the acres, where what was yet left of the\nwheat was yellowing toward harvest, and the rye hung grey and heavy; for\nbright and hot had the weather been all through these tidings.  Howbeit\nmuch of the corn was spoiled by the trampling of the Roman bands.\n\nSo came they into the fair open meadow and saw before them the wains\ncoming to meet them with their folk; to wit a throng of stout carles of\nthe thrall-folk led by the war-wise and ripe men of the Steerings.  Bright\nwas the gleaming of the banner-wains, though for the lack of wind the\nbanners hung down about their staves; the sound of the lowing of the\nbulls and the oxen, the neighing of horses and bleating of the flocks\ncame up to the ears of the host as they wended over the meadow.\n\nThey made stay at last on the rising ground, all trampled and in parts\nbloody, where yesterday Thiodolf had come on the fight between the\nremnant of Otter's men and the Romans: there they opened their ranks, and\nmade a ring round about a space, amidmost of which was a little mound\nwhereon was set the bier of Thiodolf.  The wains and their warders came\nup with them and drew a garth of the wains round about the ring of men\nwith the banners of the kindreds in their due places.\n\nThere was the Wolf and the Elk, the Falcon, the Swan, the Boar, the Bear,\nand the Green-tree: the Willow-bush, the Gedd, the Water-bank and the\nWood-Ousel, the Steer, the Mallard and the Roe-deer: all these were of\nthe Mid-mark.  But of the Upper-mark were the Horse and the Spear, and\nthe Shield, and the Daybreak, and the Dale, and the Mountain, and the\nBrook, and the Weasel, and the Cloud, and the Hart.\n\nOf the Nether-mark were the Salmon, and the Lynx, and the Ling worm, the\nSeal, the Stone, and the Sea-mew; the Buck-goat, the Apple-tree, the\nBull, the Adder, and the Crane.\n\nThere they stood in the hot sunshine three hours after noon; and a little\nwind came out of the west and raised the pictured cloths upon the banner-\nstaves, so that the men could now see the images of the tokens of their\nHouses and the Fathers of old time.\n\nNow was there silence in the ring of men; but it opened presently and\nthrough it came all-armed warriors bearing another bier, and lo, Otter\nupon it, dead in his war-gear with many a grievous wound upon his body.\nFor men had found him in an ingle of the wall of the Great Roof, where he\nhad been laid yesterday by the Romans when his company and the Bearings\nwith the Wormings made their onset: for the Romans had noted his\nexceeding valour, and when they had driven off the Goths some of them\nbrought him dead inside their garth, for they would know the name and\ndignity of so valorous a man.\n\nSo now they bore him to the mound where Thiodolf lay and set the bier\ndown beside Thiodolf's, and the two War-dukes of the Markmen lay there\ntogether: and when the warriors beheld that sight, they could not\nforbear, but some groaned aloud, and some wept great tears, and they\nclashed their swords on their shields and the sound of their sorrow and\ntheir praise went up to the summer heavens.\n\nNow the Hall-Sun holding aloft the waxen torch lifted up her voice and\nsaid:\n\n   \"O warriors of the Wolfings, by the token of the flame\n   That here in my right hand flickers, ye are back at the House of the\n   Name,\n   And there yet burneth the Hall-Sun beneath the Wolfing Roof,\n   And the flame that the foemen quickened hath died out far aloof.\n   Ye gleanings of the battle, lift up your hearts on high,\n   For the House of the War-wise Wolfings and the Folk undoomed to die.\n   But ye kindreds of the Markmen, the Wolfing guests are ye,\n   And to-night we hold the high-tide, and great shall the feasting be,\n   For to-day by the road that we know not a many wend their ways\n   To the Gods and the ancient Fathers, and the hope of the latter days.\n   And how shall their feet be cumbered if we tangle them with woe,\n   And the heavy rain of sorrow drift o'er the road they go?\n   They have toiled, and their toil was troublous to make the days to\n   come;\n   Use ye their gifts in gladness, lest they grieve for the Ancient Home!\n   Now are our maids arraying that fire-scorched Hall of ours\n   With the treasure of the Wolfings and the wealth of summer flowers,\n   And this eve the work before you will be the Hall to throng\n   And purge its walls of sorrow and quench its scathe and wrong.\"\n\nShe looked on the dead Thiodolf a moment, and then glanced from him to\nOtter and spake again:\n\n   \"O kindreds, here before you two mighty bodies lie;\n   Henceforth no man shall see them in house and field go by\n   As we were used to behold them, familiar to us then\n   As the wind beneath the heavens and the sun that shines on men;\n   Now soon shall there be nothing of their dwelling-place to tell,\n   Save the billow of the meadows, the flower-grown grassy swell!\n   Now therefore, O ye kindreds, if amidst you there be one\n   Who hath known the heart of the War-dukes, and the deeds their hands\n   have done,\n   Will not the word be with him, while yet your hearts are hot,\n   Of our praise and long remembrance, and our love that dieth not?\n   Then let him come up hither and speak the latest word\n   O'er the limbs of the battle-weary and the hearts outworn with the\n   sword.\"\n\nShe held her peace, and there was a stir in the ring of men: for they who\nwere anigh the Dayling banner saw an old warrior sitting on a great black\nhorse and fully armed.  He got slowly off his horse and walked toward the\nring of warriors, which opened before him; for all knew him for Asmund\nthe old, the war-wise warrior of the Daylings, even he who had lamented\nover the Hauberk of Thiodolf.  He had taken horse the day before, and had\nridden toward the battle, but was belated, and had come up with them of\nthe wain-burg just as they had crossed the water.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI--OLD ASMUND SPEAKETH OVER THE WAR-DUKES: THE DEAD ARE LAID\nIN MOUND\n\n\nNow while all looked on, he went to the place where lay the bodies of the\nWar-dukes, and looked down on the face of Otter and said:\n\n   \"O Otter, there thou liest! and thou that I knew of old,\n   When my beard began to whiten, as the best of the keen and the bold,\n   And thou wert as my youngest brother, and thou didst lead my sons\n   When we fared forth over the mountains to meet the arrowy Huns,\n   And I smiled to see thee teaching the lore that I learned thee erst.\n   O Otter, dost thou remember how the Goth-folk came by the worst,\n   And with thee in mine arms I waded the wide shaft-harrowed flood\n   That lapped the feet of the mountains with its water blent with blood;\n   And how in the hollow places of the mountains hidden away\n   We abode the kindreds' coming as the wet night bideth day?\n   Dost thou remember, Otter, how many a joy we had,\n   How many a grief remembered has made our high-tide glad?\n   O fellow of the hall-glee!  O fellow of the field!\n   Why then hast thou departed and left me under shield?\n   I the ancient, I the childless, while yet in the Laxing hall\n   Are thy brother's sons abiding and their children on thee call.\n\n   \"O kindreds of the people! the soul that dwelt herein,\n   This goodly way-worn body, was keen for you to win\n   Good days and long endurance.  Who knoweth of his deed\n   What things for you it hath fashioned from the flame of the fire of\n   need?\n   But of this at least well wot we, that forth from your hearts it came\n   And back to your hearts returneth for the seed of thriving and fame.\n   In the ground wherein ye lay it, the body of this man,\n   No deed of his abideth, no glory that he wan,\n   But evermore the Markmen shall bear his deeds o'er earth,\n   With the joy of the deeds that are coming, the garland of his worth.\"\n\nHe was silent a little as he stood looking down on Otter's face with\ngrievous sorrow, for all that his words were stout.  For indeed, as he\nhad said, Otter had been his battle-fellow and his hall-fellow, though he\nwas much younger than Asmund; and they had been standing foot to foot in\nthat battle wherein old Asmund's sons were slain by his side.\n\nAfter a while he turned slowly from looking at Otter to gaze upon\nThiodolf, and his body trembled as he looked, and he opened his mouth to\nspeak; but no word came from it; and he sat down upon the edge of the\nbier, and the tears began to gush out of his old eyes, and he wept aloud.\nThen they that saw him wondered; for all knew the stoutness of his heart,\nand how he had borne more burdens than that of eld, and had not cowered\ndown under them.  But at last he arose again, and stood firmly on his\nfeet, and faced the folk-mote, and in a voice more like the voice of a\nman in his prime than of an old man, he sang:\n\n      \"Wild the storm is abroad\n      Of the edge of the sword!\n      Far on runneth the path\n      Of the war-stride of wrath!\n      The Gods hearken and hear\n      The long rumour of fear\n      From the meadows beneath\n      Running fierce o'er the heath,\n   Till it beats round their dwelling-place builded aloof\n   And at last all up-swelling breaks wild o'er their roof,\n   And quencheth their laughter and crieth on all,\n   As it rolleth round rafter and beam of the Hall,\n   Like the speech of the thunder-cloud tangled on high,\n   When the mountain-halls sunder as dread goeth by.\n\n      \"So they throw the door wide\n      Of the Hall where they bide,\n      And to murmuring song\n      Turns that voice of the wrong,\n      And the Gods wait a-gaze\n      For that Wearer of Ways:\n      For they know he hath gone\n      A long journey alone.\n   Now his feet are they hearkening, and now is he come,\n   With his battle-wounds darkening the door of his home,\n   Unbyrnied, unshielded, and lonely he stands,\n   And the sword that he wielded is gone from his hands--\n   Hands outstretched and bearing no spoil of the fight,\n   As speechless, unfearing, he stands in their sight.\n\n      \"War-father gleams\n      Where the white light streams\n      Round kings of old\n      All red with gold,\n      And the Gods of the name\n      With joy aflame.\n      All the ancient of men\n      Grown glorious again:\n   Till the Slains-father crieth aloud at the last:\n   'Here is one that belieth no hope of the past!\n   No weapon, no treasure of earth doth he bear,\n   No gift for the pleasure of Godhome to share;\n   But life his hand bringeth, well cherished, most sweet;\n   And hark! the Hall singeth the Folk-wolf to greet!'\n\n      \"As the rain of May\n      On earth's happiest day,\n      So the fair flowers fall\n      On the sun-bright Hall\n      As the Gods rise up\n      With the greeting-cup,\n      And the welcoming crowd\n      Falls to murmur aloud.\n   Then the God of Earth speaketh; sweet-worded he saith,\n   'Lo, the Sun ever seeketh Life fashioned of death;\n   And to-day as he turneth the wide world about\n   On Wolf-stead he yearneth; for there without doubt\n   Dwells the death-fashioned story, the flower of all fame.\n   Come hither new Glory, come Crown of the Name!'\"\n\nAll men's hearts rose high as he sang, and when he had ended arose the\nclang of sword and shield and went ringing down the meadow, and the\nmighty shout of the Markmen's joy rent the heavens: for in sooth at that\nmoment they saw Thiodolf, their champion, sitting among the Gods on his\ngolden chair, sweet savours around him, and sweet sound of singing, and\nhe himself bright-faced and merry as no man on earth had seen him, for as\njoyous a man as he was.\n\nBut when the sound of their exultation sank down, the Hall-Sun spake\nagain:\n\n   \"Now wendeth the sun westward, and weary grows the Earth\n   Of all the long day's doings in sorrow and in mirth;\n   And as the great sun waneth, so doth my candle wane,\n   And its flickering flame desireth to rest and die again.\n   Therefore across the meadows wend we aback once more\n   To the holy Roof of the Wolfings, the shrine of peace and war.\n   And these that once have loved us, these warriors images,\n   Shall sit amidst our feasting, and see, as the Father sees\n   The works that men-folk fashion and the rest of toiling hands,\n   When his eyes look down from the mountains and the heavens above all\n   lands,\n   And up from the flowery meadows and the rolling deeps of the sea.\n   There then at the feast with our champions familiar shall we be\n   As oft we are with the Godfolk, when in story-rhymes and lays\n   We laugh as we tell of their laughter, and their deeds of other days.\n\n   \"Come then, ye sons of the kindreds who hither bore these twain!\n   Take up their beds of glory, and fare we home again,\n   And feast as men delivered from toil unmeet to bear,\n   Who through the night are looking to the dawn-tide fresh and fair\n   And the morn and the noon to follow, and the eve and its morrow morn,\n   All the life of our deliv'rance and the fair days yet unborn.\"\n\nSo she spoke, and a murmur arose as those valiant men came forth again.\nBut lo, now were they dight in fresh and fair raiment and gleaming war-\narray.  For while all this was a-doing and a-saying, they had gotten them\nby the Hall-Sun's bidding unto the wains of their Houses, and had arrayed\nthem from the store therein.\n\nSo now they took up the biers, and the Hall-Sun led them, and they went\nover the meadow before the throng of the kindreds, who followed them duly\nordered, each House about its banner; and when they were come through the\ngarth which the Romans had made to the Man's-door of the Hall, there were\nthe women of the House freshly attired, who cast flowers on the living\nmen of the host, and on the dead War-dukes, while they wept for pity of\nthem.  So went the freemen of the Houses into the Hall, following the\nHall-Sun, and the bearers of the War-dukes; but the banners abode without\nin the garth made by the Romans; and the thralls arrayed a feast for\nthemselves about the wains of the kindreds in the open place before their\ncots and the smithying booths and the byres.\n\nAnd as the Hall-Sun went into the Hall, she thrust down the candle\nagainst the threshold of the Man's-door, and so quenched it.\n\nLong were the kindreds entering, and when they were under the Roof of the\nWolfings, they looked and beheld Thiodolf set in his chair once more, and\nOtter set beside him; and the chiefs and leaders of the House took their\nplaces on the dais, those to whom it was due, and the Hall-Sun sat under\nthe wondrous Lamp her namesake.\n\nNow was the glooming falling upon the earth; but the Hall was bright\nwithin even as the Hall-Sun had promised.  Therein was set forth the\nTreasure of the Wolfings; fair cloths were hung on the walls, goodly\nbroidered garments on the pillars: goodly brazen cauldrons and\nfair-carven chests were set down in nooks where men could see them well,\nand vessels of gold and silver were set all up and down the tables of the\nfeast.  The pillars also were wreathed with flowers, and flowers hung\ngarlanded from the walls over the precious hangings; sweet gums and\nspices were burning in fair-wrought censers of brass, and so many candles\nwere alight under the Roof, that scarce had it looked more ablaze when\nthe Romans had litten the faggots therein for its burning amidst the\nhurry of the Morning Battle.\n\nThere then they fell to feasting, hallowing in the high-tide of their\nreturn with victory in their hands: and the dead corpses of Thiodolf and\nOtter, clad in precious glistering raiment, looked down on them from the\nHigh-seat, and the kindreds worshipped them and were glad; and they drank\nthe Cup to them before any others, were they Gods or men.\n\nBut before the feast was hallowed in, came Ali the son of Grey up to the\nHigh-seat, bearing something in his hand: and lo! it was Throng-plough,\nwhich he had sought all over the field where the Markmen had been\novercome by the Romans, and had found it at last.  All men saw him how he\nheld it in his hand now as he went up to the Hall-Sun and spake to her.\nBut she kissed the lad on the forehead, and took Throng-plough, and wound\nthe peace-strings round him and laid him on the board before Thiodolf;\nand then she spake softly as if to herself, yet so that some heard her:\n\n\"O father, no more shalt thou draw Throng-plough from the sheath till the\nbattle is pitched in the last field of fight, and the sons of the\nfruitful Earth and the sons of Day meet Swart and his children at last,\nwhen the change of the World is at hand.  Maybe I shall be with thee\nthen: but now and in meanwhile, farewell, O mighty hand of my father!\"\n\nThus then the Houses of the Mark held their High-tide of Returning under\nthe Wolfing Roof with none to blame them or make them afraid: and the\nmoon rose and the summer night wore on towards dawn, and within the Roof\nand without was there feasting and singing and harping and the voice of\nabundant joyance: for without the Roof feasted the thralls and the\nstrangers, and the Roman war-captives.\n\nBut on the morrow the kindreds laid their dead men in mound betwixt the\nGreat Roof and the Wild-wood.  In one mound they laid them with the War-\ndukes in their midst, and Arinbiorn by Otter's right side; and Thiodolf\nbore Throng-plough to mound with him.\n\nBut a little way from the mound of their own dead, toward the south they\nlaid the Romans, a great company, with their Captain in the midst: and\nthey heaped a long mound over them not right high; so that as years wore,\nand the feet of men and beasts trod it down, it seemed a mere swelling of\nthe earth not made by men's hands; and belike men knew not how many bones\nof valiant men lay beneath; yet it had a name which endured for long, to\nwit, the Battle-toft.\n\nBut the mound whereunder the Markmen were laid was called Thiodolf's Howe\nfor many generations of men, and many are the tales told of him; for men\nwere loth to lose him and forget him: and in the latter days men deemed\nof him that he sits in that Howe not dead but sleeping, with\nThrong-plough laid before him on the board; and that when the sons of the\nGoths are at their sorest need and the falcons cease to sit on the ridge\nof the Great Roof of the Wolfings, he will wake and come forth from the\nHowe for their helping.  But none have dared to break open that Howe and\nbehold what is therein.\n\nBut that swelling of the meadow where the Goths had their overthrow at\nthe hands of the Romans, and Thiodolf fell to earth unwounded, got a name\nalso, and was called the Swooning Knowe; and it kept that name long after\nmen had forgotten wherefore it was so called.\n\nNow when all this was done, and the warriors of the kindreds were\ndeparted each to his own stead, the Wolfings gathered in wheat-harvest,\nand set themselves to make good all that the Romans had undone; and they\ncleansed and mended their Great Roof and made it fairer than before, and\ntook from it all signs of the burning, save that they left the charring\nand marks of the flames on one tie-beam, the second from the dais, for a\ntoken of the past tidings.  Also when Harvest was over the Wolfings, the\nBeamings, the Galtings, and the Elkings, set to work with the Bearings to\nrebuild their Great Roof and the other dwellings and booths which the\nRomans had burned; and right fair was that house.\n\nBut the Wolfings throve in field and fold, and they begat children who\ngrew up to be mighty men and deft of hand, and the House grew more\nglorious year by year.\n\nThe tale tells not that the Romans ever fell on the Mark again; for about\nthis time they began to stay the spreading of their dominion, or even to\ndraw in its boundaries somewhat.\n\nAND THIS IS ALL THAT THE TALE HAS TO TELL CONCERNING THE HOUSE OF THE\nWOLFINGS AND THE KINDREDS OF THE MARK.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n{1}  Welsh with these men means Foreign, and is used for all people of\nEurope who are not of Gothic or Teutonic blood.\n\n{2}  i.e. Foreigners: see note {1}","title":"The House of the Wolfings: A Tale of the House of the Wolfings and All the Kindreds of the Mark Written in Prose and in Verse","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":84971}