(1896)

Table of Contents


BOOK ONE The Road Unto Love


1 The Sundering of the Ways
2 Ralph Goeth Back Home to the High House
3 Ralph Cometh to the Cheaping-Town
4 Ralph Rideth the Downs
5 Ralph Cometh to Higham-on-the-Way
6 Ralph Goeth His Ways From the Abbey of St. Mary at Higham
7 The Maiden of Bourton Abbas
8 Ralph Cometh to the Wood Perilous. An Adventure Therein
9 Another Adventure in the Wood Perilous
10 A Meeting and a Parting in the Wood Perilous
11 Now Must Ralph Ride For It
12 Ralph Entereth Into the Burg of the Four Friths
13 The Streets of the Burg of the Four Friths
14 What Ralph Heard of the Matters of the Burg of the Four Friths
15 How Ralph Departed From the Burg of the Four Friths
16 Ralph Rideth the Wood Perilous Again
17 Ralph Cometh to the House of Abundance
18 Of Ralph in the Castle of Abundance
19 Ralph Readeth in a Book Concerning the Well at the World's End
20 Ralph Meeteth a Man in the Wood
21 Ralph Weareth Away Three Days Uneasily
22 An Adventure in the Wood
23 The Leechcraft of the Lady
24 Supper and Slumber in the Woodland Hall


BOOK TWO The Road Unto Trouble


1 Ralph Meets With Love in the Wilderness
2 They Break Their Fast in the Wildwood
3 The Lady Telleth Ralph of the Past Days of Her Life
4 The Lady Tells of Her Deliverance
5 Yet More of the Lady's Story
6 The Lady Tells Somewhat of Her Doings After She Left the Wilderness
7 The Lady Tells of the Strife and Trouble That Befell After Her Coming
8 The Lady Maketh an End of Her Tale
9 They Go On Their Way Once More
10 Of the Desert-House and the Chamber of Love in the Wilderness
11 Ralph Cometh Out of the Wilderness
12 Ralph Falleth in With Friends and Rideth to Whitwall
13 Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End.
14 Ralph Falleth in With Another Old Friend
15 Ralph Dreams a Dream Or Sees a Vision
16 Of the Tales of Swevenham
17 Richard Bringeth Tidings of Departing
18 Ralph Departeth From Whitwall With the Fellowship of Clement Chapman
19 Master Clement Tells Ralph Concerning the Lands Whereunto They Were
20 They Come to the Mid-Mountain Guest-House
21 A Battle in the Mountains
22 Ralph Talks With Bull Shockhead
23 Of the Town of Cheaping Knowe
24 Ralph Heareth More Tidings of the Damsel
25 The Fellowship Comes to Whiteness
26 They Ride the Mountains Toward Goldburg
27 Clement Tells of Goldburg
28 Now They Come to Goldburg
29 Of Goldburg and the Queen Thereof
30 Ralph Hath Hope of Tidings Concerning the Well at the World's End
31 The Beginning of the Road To Utterbol
32 Ralph Happens on Evil Days
33 Ralph is Brought on the Road Towards Utterbol
34 The Lord of Utterbol Will Wot of Ralph's Might and Minstrelsy
35 Ralph Cometh To the Vale of the Tower
36 The Talk of Two Women Concerning Ralph
37 How Ralph Justed With the Aliens
38 A Friend Gives Ralph Warning
39 The Lord of Utterbol Makes Ralph a Free Man
40 They Ride Toward Utterness From Out of Vale Turris
41 Redhead Keeps Tryst


BOOK THREE The Road To The Well At World's End.


1 An Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountains
2 Ralph Rides the Wood Under the Mountains
3 Ralph Meeteth With Another Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountain
4 They Ride the Wood Under the Mountains
5 They Come on the Sage of Swevenham
6 Those Two Are Learned Lore by the Sage of Swevenham
7 An Adventure by the Way
8 They Come to the Sea of Molten Rocks
9 They Come Forth From the Rock-Sea
10 They Come to the Gate of the Mountains
11 They Come to the Vale of Sweet Chestnuts
12 Winter Amidst of the Mountains
13 Of Ursula and the Bear
14 Now Come the Messengers of the Innocent Folk
15 They Come to the Land of the Innocent Folk
16 They Come to the House of the Sorceress
17 They Come Through the Woodland to the Thirsty Desert
18 They Come to the Dry Tree
19 They Come Out of the Thirsty Desert
20 They Come to the Ocean Sea
21 Now They Drink of the Well at the World's End
22 Now They Have Drunk and Are Glad


BOOK FOUR The Road Home


1 Ralph and Ursula Come Back Again Through the Great Mountains
2 They Hear New Tidings of Utterbol
3 They Winter With the Sage; and Thereafter Come Again to Vale Turris
4 A Feast in the Red Pavilion
5 Bull Telleth of His Winning of the Lordship of Utterbol
6 They Ride From Vale Turris. Redhead Tells of Agatha
7 Of Their Riding the Waste, and of a Battle Thereon
8 Of Goldburg Again, and the Queen Thereof
9 They Come to Cheaping Knowe Once More. Of the King Thereof
10 An Adventure on the Way to the Mountains
11 They Come Through the Mountains Into the Plain
12 The Roads Sunder Again
13 They Come to Whitwall Again
14 They Ride Away From Whitwall
15 A Strange Meeting in the Wilderness
16 They Come to the Castle of Abundance Once More
17 They Fall in With That Hermit
18 A Change of Days in the Burg of the Four Friths
19 Ralph Sees Hampton and the Scaur
20 They Come to the Gate of Higham By the Way
21 Talk Between Those Two Brethren
22 An Old Acquaintance Comes From the Down Country to See Ralph
23 They Ride to Bear Castle
24 The Folkmote of the Shepherds
25 They Come to Wulstead
26 Ralph Sees His Father and Mother Again
27 Ralph Holds Converse With Katherine His Gossip
28 Dame Katherine Tells of the Pair of Beads, and Whence She Had Them
29 They Go Down to Battle in Upmeads
30 Ralph Brings His Father and Mother to Upmeads
31 Ralph Brings Ursula Home to the High House
32 Yet a Few Words Concerning Ralph of Upmeads




BOOK ONE: The Road Unto Love



CHAPTER 1

The Sundering of the Ways


Long ago there was a little land, over which ruled a regulus or
kinglet, who was called King Peter, though his kingdom was but little.
He had four sons whose names were Blaise, Hugh, Gregory and Ralph: of
these Ralph was the youngest, whereas he was but of twenty winters and
one; and Blaise was the oldest and had seen thirty winters.

Now it came to this at last, that to these young men the kingdom of
their father seemed strait; and they longed to see the ways of other
men, and to strive for life. For though they were king's sons, they
had but little world's wealth; save and except good meat and drink, and
enough or too much thereof; house-room of the best; friends to be merry
with, and maidens to kiss, and these also as good as might be; freedom
withal to come and go as they would; the heavens above them, the earth
to bear them up, and the meadows and acres, the woods and fair streams,
and the little hills of Upmeads, for that was the name of their country
and the kingdom of King Peter.

So having nought but this little they longed for much; and that the
more because, king's sons as they were, they had but scant dominion
save over their horses and dogs: for the men of that country were
stubborn and sturdy vavassors, and might not away with masterful
doings, but were like to pay back a blow with a blow, and a foul word
with a buffet. So that, all things considered, it was little wonder if
King Peter's sons found themselves straitened in their little land:
wherein was no great merchant city; no mighty castle, or noble abbey
of monks: nought but fair little halls of yeomen, with here and there a
franklin's court or a shield-knight's manor-house; with many a goodly
church, and whiles a house of good canons, who knew not the road to
Rome, nor how to find the door of the Chancellor's house.

So these young men wearied their father and mother a long while with
telling them of their weariness, and their longing to be gone: till at
last on a fair and hot afternoon of June King Peter rose up from the
carpet which the Prior of St. John's by the Bridge had given him (for
he had been sleeping thereon amidst the grass of his orchard after his
dinner) and he went into the hall of his house, which was called the
High House of Upmeads, and sent for his four sons to come to him. And
they came and stood before his high-seat and he said:

"Sons, ye have long wearied me with words concerning your longing for
travel on the roads; now if ye verily wish to be gone, tell me when
would ye take your departure if ye had your choice?"

They looked at one another, and the three younger ones nodded at Blaise
the eldest: so he began, and said: "Saving the love and honour that
we have for thee, and also for our mother, we would be gone at once,
even with the noon's meat still in our bellies. But thou art the lord
in this land, and thou must rule. Have I said well, brethren?" And
they all said "Yea, yea." Then said the king; "Good! now is the sun
high and hot; yet if ye ride softly ye may come to some good harbour
before nightfall without foundering your horses. So come ye in an
hour's space to the Four-want-way, and there and then will I order your
departure."

The young men were full of joy when they heard his word; and they
departed and went this way and that, gathering such small matters as
each deemed that he needed, and which he might lightly carry with him;
then they armed themselves, and would bid the squires bring them their
horses; but men told them that the said squires had gone their ways
already to the Want-way by the king's commandment: so thither they went
at once a-foot all four in company, laughing and talking together
merrily.

It must be told that this Want-way aforesaid was but four furlongs from
the House, which lay in an ingle of the river called Upmeads Water
amongst very fair meadows at the end of the upland tillage; and the
land sloped gently up toward the hill-country and the unseen mountains
on the north; but to the south was a low ridge which ran along the
water, as it wound along from west to east. Beyond the said ridge, at
a place whence you could see the higher hills to the south, that
stretched mainly east and west also, there was presently an end of the
Kingdom of Upmeads, though the neighbours on that side were peaceable
and friendly, and were wont to send gifts to King Peter. But toward
the north beyond the Want-way King Peter was lord over a good stretch
of land, and that of the best; yet was he never a rich man, for he had
no freedom to tax and tail his folk, nor forsooth would he have used it
if he had; for he was no ill man, but kindly and of measure. On these
northern marches there was war at whiles, whereas they ended in a great
forest well furnished of trees; and this wood was debateable, and King
Peter and his sons rode therein at their peril: but great plenty was
therein of all wild deer, as hart, and buck, and roe, and swine, and
bears and wolves withal. The lord on the other side thereof was a
mightier man than King Peter, albeit he was a bishop, and a baron of
Holy Church. To say sooth he was a close-fist and a manslayer; though
he did his manslaying through his vicars, the knights and men-at-arms
who held their manors of him, or whom he waged.

In that forest had King Peter's father died in battle, and his eldest
son also; therefore, being a man of peace, he rode therein but seldom,
though his sons, the three eldest of them, had both ridden therein and
ran therefrom valiantly. As for Ralph the youngest, his father would
not have him ride the Wood Debateable as yet.

So came those young men to the Want-ways, and found their father
sitting there on a heap of stones, and over against him eight horses,
four destriers, and four hackneys, and four squires withal. So they
came and stood before their father, waiting for his word, and wondering
what it would be.

Now spake King Peter: "Fair sons, ye would go on all adventure to seek
a wider land, and a more stirring life than ye may get of me at home:
so be it! But I have bethought me, that, since I am growing old and
past the age of getting children, one of you, my sons, must abide at
home to cherish me and your mother, and to lead our carles in war if
trouble falleth upon us. Now I know not how to choose by mine own wit
which of you shall ride and which abide. For so it is that ye are
diverse of your conditions; but the evil conditions which one of you
lacks the other hath, and the valiancy which one hath, the other lacks.
Blaise is wise and prudent, but no great man of his hands. Hugh is a
stout rider and lifter, but headstrong and foolhardy, and over-
bounteous a skinker; and Gregory is courteous and many worded, but
sluggish in deed; though I will not call him a dastard. As for Ralph,
he is fair to look on, and peradventure he may be as wise as Blaise, as
valiant as Hugh, and as smooth-tongued as Gregory; but of all this we
know little or nothing, whereas he is but young and untried. Yet may
he do better than you others, and I deem that he will do so. All
things considered, then, I say, I know not how to choose between you,
my sons; so let luck choose for me, and ye shall draw cuts for your
roads; and he that draweth longest shall go north, and the next longest
shall go east, and the third straw shall send the drawer west; but as
to him who draweth the shortest cut, he shall go no whither but back
again to my house, there to abide with me the chances and changes of
life; and it is most like that this one shall sit in my chair when I am
gone, and be called King of Upmeads.

"Now, my sons, doth this ordinance please you? For if so be it doth
not, then may ye all abide at home, and eat of my meat, and drink of my
cup, but little chided either for sloth or misdoing, even as it hath
been aforetime."

The young men looked at one another, and Blaise answered and said:
"Sir, as for me I say we will do after your commandment, to take what
road luck may show us, or to turn back home again." They all yeasaid
this one after the other; and then King Peter said: "Now before I draw
the cuts, I shall tell you that I have appointed the squires to go with
each one of you. Richard the Red shall go with Blaise; for though he
be somewhat stricken in years, and wise, yet is he a fierce carle and a
doughty, and knoweth well all feats of arms.

"Lancelot Longtongue shall be squire to Hugh; for he is good of seeming
and can compass all courtesy, and knoweth logic (though it be of the
law and not of the schools), yet is he a proper man of his hands; as
needs must he be who followeth Hugh; for where is Hugh, there is
trouble and debate.

"Clement the Black shall serve Gregory: for he is a careful carle, and
speaketh one word to every ten deeds that he doeth; whether they be
done with point and edge, or with the hammer in the smithy.

"Lastly, I have none left to follow thee, Ralph, save Nicholas
Longshanks; but though he hath more words than I have, yet hath he more
wisdom, and is a man lettered and far-travelled, and loveth our house
right well.

"How say ye, sons, is this to your liking?"

They all said "yea." Then quoth the king; "Nicholas, bring hither the
straws ready dight, and I will give them my sons to draw."

So each young man came up in turn and drew; and King Peter laid the
straws together and looked at them, and said:

"Thus it is, Hugh goeth north with Lancelot, Gregory westward with
Clement." He stayed a moment and then said: "Blaise fareth eastward
and Richard with him. As for thee, Ralph my dear son, thou shalt back
with me and abide in my house and I shall see thee day by day; and thou
shalt help me to live my last years happily in all honour; and thy love
shall be my hope, and thy valiancy my stay."

Therewith he arose and threw his arm about the young man's neck; but he
shrank away a little from his father, and his face grew troubled; and
King Peter noted that, and his countenance fell, and he said:

"Nay nay, my son; grudge not thy brethren the chances of the road, and
the ill-hap of the battle. Here at least for thee is the bounteous
board and the full cup, and the love of kindred and well-willers, and
the fellowship of the folk. O well is thee, my son, and happy shalt
thou be!"

But the young man knit his brows and said no word in answer.

Then came forward those three brethren who were to fare at all
adventure, and they stood before the old man saying nought. Then he
laughed and said: "O ho, my sons! Here in Upmeads have ye all ye need
without money, but when ye fare in the outlands ye need money; is it
not a lack of yours that your pouches be bare? Abide, for I have seen
to it."

Therewith he drew out of his pouch three little bags, and said; "Take
ye each one of these; for therein is all that my treasury may shed as
now. In each of these is there coined money, both white and red, and
some deal of gold uncoined, and of rings and brooches a few, and by
estimation there is in each bag the same value reckoned in lawful
silver of Upmeads and the Wolds and the Overhill-Countries. Take up
each what there is, and do the best ye may therewith."

Then each took his bag, and kissed and embraced his father; and they
kissed Ralph and each other, and so got to horse and departed with
their squires, going softly because of the hot sun. But Nicholas
slowly mounted his hackney and led Ralph's war-horse with him home
again to King Peter's House.



CHAPTER 2

Ralph Goeth Back Home to the High House


Ralph and King Peter walked slowly home together, and as they went King
Peter fell to telling of how in his young days he rode in the Wood
Debateable, and was belated there all alone, and happed upon men who
were outlaws and wolfheads, and feared for his life; but they treated
him kindly, and honoured him, and saw him safe on his way in the
morning. So that never thereafter would he be art and part with those
who hunted outlaws to slay them. "For," said he, "it is with these men
as with others, that they make prey of folk; yet these for the more
part prey on the rich, and the lawful prey on the poor. Otherwise it
is with these wolfheads as with lords and knights and franklins, that
as there be bad amongst them, so also there be good; and the good ones
I happed on, and so may another man."

Hereto paid Ralph little heed at that time, since he had heard the tale
and its morality before, and that more than once; and moreover his mind
was set upon his own matters and these was he pondering. Albeit
perchance the words abode with him. So came they to the House, and
Ralph's mother, who was a noble dame, and well-liking as for her years,
which were but little over fifty, stood in the hall-door to see which
of her sons should come back to her, and when she saw them coming
together, she went up to them, and cast her arms about Ralph and kissed
him and caressed him--being exceeding glad that it was he and not one
of the others who had returned to dwell with them; for he was her
best-beloved, as was little marvel, seeing that he was by far the
fairest and the most loving. But Ralph's face grew troubled again in
his mother's arms, for he loved her exceeding well; and forsooth he
loved the whole house and all that dwelt there, down to the turnspit
dogs in the chimney ingle, and the swallows that nested in the earthen
bottles, which when he was little he had seen his mother put up in the
eaves of the out-bowers: but now, love or no love, the spur was in his
side, and he must needs hasten as fate would have him. However, when
he had disentangled himself from his mother's caresses, he enforced
himself to keep a cheerful countenance, and upheld it the whole evening
through, and was by seeming merry at supper, and went to bed singing.



CHAPTER 3

Ralph Cometh to the Cheaping-Town


He slept in an upper chamber in a turret of the House, which chamber
was his own, and none might meddle with it. There the next day he
awoke in the dawning, and arose and clad himself, and took his wargear
and his sword and spear, and bore all away without doors to the side of
the Ford in that ingle of the river, and laid it for a while in a
little willow copse, so that no chance-comer might see it; then he went
back to the stable of the House and took his destrier from the stall
(it was a dapple-grey horse called Falcon, and was right good,) and
brought him down to the said willow copse, and tied him to a tree till
he had armed himself amongst the willows, whence he came forth
presently as brisk-looking and likely a man-at-arms as you might see on
a summer day. Then he clomb up into the saddle, and went his ways
splashing across the ford, before the sun had arisen, while the
throstle-cocks were yet amidst their first song.

Then he rode on a little trot south away; and by then the sun was up he
was without the bounds of Upmeads; albeit in the land thereabout dwelt
none who were not friends to King Peter and his sons: and that was
well, for now were folk stirring and were abroad in the fields; as a
band of carles going with their scythes to the hay-field; or a maiden
with her milking-pails going to her kine, barefoot through the seeding
grass; or a company of noisy little lads on their way to the nearest
pool of the stream that they might bathe in the warm morning after the
warm night. All these and more knew him and his armour and Falcon his
horse, and gave him the sele of the day, and he was nowise troubled at
meeting them; for besides that they thought it no wonder to meet one of
the lords of Upmeads going armed about his errands, their own errands
were close at home, and it was little likely that they should go that
day so far as to Upmeads Water, seeing that it ran through the meadows
a half-score miles to the north-ward.

So Ralph rode on, and came into the high road, that led one way back
again into Upmeads, and crossed the Water by a fair bridge late builded
between King Peter and a house of Canons on the north side, and the
other way into a good cheaping-town hight Wulstead, beyond which Ralph
knew little of the world which lay to the south, and seemed to him a
wondrous place, full of fair things and marvellous adventures.

So he rode till he came into the town when the fair morning was still
young, the first mass over, and maids gathered about the fountain
amidst the market-place, and two or three dames sitting under the
buttercross. Ralph rode straight up to the house of a man whom he
knew, and had often given him guesting there, and he himself was not
seldom seen in the High House of Upmeads. This man was a merchant, who
went and came betwixt men's houses, and bought and sold many things
needful and pleasant to folk, and King Peter dealt with him much and
often. Now he stood in the door of his house, which was new and
goodly, sniffing the sweet scents which the morning wind bore into the
town; he was clad in a goodly long gown of grey welted with silver, of
thin cloth meet for the summer-tide: for little he wrought with his
hands, but much with his tongue; he was a man of forty summers,
ruddy-faced and black-bearded, and he was called Clement Chapman.

When he saw Ralph he smiled kindly on him, and came and held his
stirrup as he lighted down, and said: "Welcome, lord! Art thou come
to give me a message, and eat and drink in a poor huckster's house, and
thou armed so gallantly?"

Ralph laughed merrily, for he was hungry, and he said: "Yea, I will eat
and drink with thee and kiss my gossip, and go my ways."

Therewith the carle led him into the house; and if it were goodly
without, within it was better. For there was a fair chamber panelled
with wainscot well carven, and a cupboard of no sorry vessels of silver
and latten: the chairs and stools as fair as might be; no king's might
be better: the windows were glazed, and there were flowers and knots
and posies in them; and the bed was hung with goodly web from over sea
such as the soldan useth. Also, whereas the chapman's ware-bowers were
hard by the chamber, there was a pleasant mingled smell therefrom
floating about. The table was set with meat and drink and vessel of
pewter and earth, all fair and good; and thereby stood the chapman's
wife, a very goodly woman of two-score years, who had held Ralph at the
font when she was a slim damsel new wedded; for she was come of no mean
kindred of the Kingdom of Upmeads: her name was Dame Katherine.

Now she kissed Ralph's cheek friendly, and said: "Welcome, gossip! thou
art here in good time to break thy fast; and we will give thee a trim
dinner thereafter, when thou hast been here and there in the town and
done thine errand; and then shalt thou drink a cup and sing me a song,
and so home again in the cool of the evening."

Ralph seemed a little troubled at her word, and he said: "Nay, gossip,
though I thank thee for all these good things as though I had them, yet
must I ride away south straightway after I have breakfasted, and said
one word to the goodman. Goodman, how call ye the next town southward,
and how far is it thither?"

Quoth Clement: "My son, what hast thou to do with riding south? As
thou wottest, going hence south ye must presently ride the hill-coun-
try; and that is no safe journey for a lonely man, even if he be a dough-
ty knight like to thee, lord."

Said Ralph, reddening withal: "I have an errand that way."

"An errand of King Peter's or thine own?" said Clement.

"Of King Peter's, if ye must wot," said Ralph.

Clement were no chapman had he not seen that the lad was lying; so he
said:

"Fair lord, saving your worship, how would it be as to the speeding of
King Peter's errand, if I brought thee before our mayor, and swore the
peace against thee; so that I might keep thee in courteous prison till
I had sent to thy father of thy whereabouts?"

The young man turned red with anger; but ere he could speak Dame
Katherine said sharply: "Hold thy peace, Clement! What hast thou to
meddle or make in the matter? If our young lord hath will to ride out
and see the world, why should we let him? Yea, why should his father
let him, if it come to that? Take my word for it that my gossip shall
go through the world and come back to those that love him, as goodly as
he went forth. And hold! here is for a token thereof."

Therewith she went to an ark that stood in the corner, and groped in
the till thereof and brought out a little necklace of blue and green
stones with gold knobs betwixt, like a pair of beads; albeit neither
pope nor priest had blessed them; and tied to the necklace was a little
box of gold with something hidden therein. This gaud she gave to
Ralph, and said to him: "Gossip, wear this about thy neck, and let no
man take it from thee, and I think it will be salvation to thee in
peril, and good luck to thee in the time of questing; so that it shall
be to thee as if thou hadst drunk of the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

"What is that water?" said Ralph, "and how may I find it?"

"I know not rightly," she said, "but if a body might come by it, I hear
say it saveth from weariness and wounding and sickness; and it winneth
love from all, and maybe life everlasting. Hast thou not heard tell of
it, my husband?"

"Yea," said the chapman, "many times; and how that whoso hath drunk
thereof hath the tongue that none may withstand, whether in buying or
selling, or prevailing over the hearts of men in any wise. But as for
its wherabouts, ye shall not find it in these parts. Men say that it
is beyond the Dry Tree; and that is afar, God wot! But now, lord
Ralph, I rede thee go back again this evening with Andrew, my nephew,
for company: forsooth, he will do little less gainful than riding with
thee to Upmeads than if he abide in Wulstead; for he is idle. But, my
lord, take it not amiss that I spake about the mayor and the tipstaves;
for it was but a jest, as thou mayest well wot."

Ralph's face cleared at that word, and he stood smiling, weighing the
chaplet in his hand; but Dame Katherine said:

"Dear gossip, do it on speedily; for it is a gift from me unto thee:
and from a gossip even king's sons may take a gift."

Quoth Ralph: "But is it lawful to wear it? is there no wizardry within
it?"

"Hearken to him!" she said, "and how like unto a man he speaketh; if
there were a brawl in the street, he would strike in and ask no word
thereof, not even which were the better side: whereas here is my
falcon-chick frighted at a little gold box and a pair of Saracen beads."

"Well," quoth Ralph, "the first holy man I meet shall bless them for
me."

"That shall he not," said the dame, "that shall he not. Who wotteth
what shall betide to thee or me if he do so? Come, do them on, and
then to table! For seest thou not that the goodman is wearying for
meat? and even thine eyes will shine the brighter for a mouthful,
king's son and gossip."

She took him by the hand and did the beads on his neck and kissed and
fondled him before he sat down, while the goodman looked on, grinning
rather sheepishly, but said nought to them; and only called on his boy
to lead the destrier to stable. So when they were set down, the
chapman took up the word where it had been dropped, and said: "So,
Lord Ralph, thou must needs take to adventures, being, as thou deemest,
full grown. That is all one as the duck taketh to water despite of the
hen that hath hatched her. Well, it was not to be thought that Upmeads
would hold you lords much longer. Or what is gone with my lords your
brethren?"

Said Ralph: "They have departed at all adventure, north, east, and
west, each bearing our father's blessing and a bag of pennies. And to
speak the truth, goodman, for I perceive I am no doctor at lying, my
father and mother would have me stay at home when my brethren were
gone, and that liketh me not; therefore am I come out to seek my luck
in the world: for Upmeads is good for a star-gazer, maybe, or a
simpler, or a priest, or a worthy good carle of the fields, but not for
a king's son with the blood running hot in his veins. Or what sayest
thou, gossip?"

Quoth the dame: "I could weep for thy mother; but for thee nought at
all. It is good that thou shouldest do thy will in the season of youth
and the days of thy pleasure. Yea, and I deem that thou shalt come
back again great and worshipful; and I am called somewhat foreseeing.
Only look to it that thou keep the pretty thing that I have just given
thee."

"Well," said the chapman, "this is fine talk about pleasure and the
doing of one's will; nevertheless a whole skin is good wares, though it
be not to be cheapened in any market of the world. Now, lord, go thou
where thou wilt, whether I say go or abide; and forsooth I am no man of
King Peter's, that I should stay thee. As for the name of the next
town, it is called Higham-on-the-Way, and is a big town plenteous of
victuals, with strong walls and a castle, and a very rich abbey of
monks: and there is peace within its walls, because the father abbot
wages a many men to guard him and his, and to uphold his rights against
all comers; wherein he doth wisely, and also well. For much folk
flocketh to his town and live well therein; and there is great recourse
of chapmen thither. No better market is there betwixt this and
Babylon. Well, Sir Ralph, I rede thee if thou comest unhurt to
Higham-on-the-Way, go no further for this time, but take service with
the lord abbot, and be one of his men of war; thou may'st then become
his captain if thou shouldest live; which would be no bad adventure for
one who cometh from Upmeads."

Ralph looked no brighter for this word, and he answered nought to it:
but said presently:

"And what is to be looked for beyond Higham if one goeth further? Dost
thou know the land any further?"

The carle smiled: "Yea forsooth, and down to the Wood Perilous, and
beyond it, and the lands beyond the Wood; and far away through them. I
say not that I have been to the Dry Tree; but I have spoken to one who
hath heard of him who hath seen it; though he might not come by a
draught of the Well at the World's End."

Ralph's eyes flashed, and his cheeks reddened as he listened hereto;
but he spake quietly:

"Master Clement, how far dost thou make it to Higham-on-the-Way?"

"A matter of forty miles," said the Chapman; "because, as thou wottest,
if ye ride south from hence, ye shall presently bring your nose up
against the big downs, and must needs climb them at once; and when ye
are at the top of Bear Hill, and look south away ye shall see nought
but downs on downs with never a road to call a road, and never a
castle, or church, or homestead: nought but some shepherd's hut; or at
the most the little house of a holy man with a little chapel thereby in
some swelly of the chalk, where the water hath trickled into a pool;
for otherwise the place is waterless." Therewith he took a long pull at
the tankard by his side, and went on:

"Higham is beyond all that, and out into the fertile plain; and a
little river hight Coldlake windeth about the meadows there; and it is
a fair land; though look you the wool of the downs is good, good, good!
I have foison of this year's fleeces with me. Ye shall raise none such
in Upmeads."

Ralph sat silent a little, as if pondering, and then he started up and
said: "Good master Clement, we have eaten thy meat and thank thee for
that and other matters. Wilt thou now be kinder, and bid thy boy bring
round Falcon our horse; for we have far to go, and must begone
straight-away."

"Yea, lord," said Clement, "even so will I do." And he muttered under
his breath; "Thou talkest big, my lad, with thy 'we'; but thou art
pressed lest Nicholas be here presently to fetch thee back; and to say
sooth I would his hand were on thy shoulder even now."

Then he spake aloud again, and said:

"I must now begone to my lads, and I will send one round with thy
war-horse. But take my rede, my lord, and become the man of the Abbot
of St. Mary's of Higham, and all will be well."

Therewith he edged himself out of the chamber, and the dame fell to
making a mighty clatter with the vessel and trenchers and cups on the
board, while Ralph walked up and down the chamber his war-gear jingling
upon him. Presently the dame left her table-clatter and came up to
Ralph and looked kindly into his face and said: "Gossip, hast thou
perchance any money?"

He flushed up red, and then his face fell; yet he spake gaily: "Yea,
gossip, I have both white and red: there are three golden crowns in my
pouch, and a little flock of silver pennies: forsooth I say not as many
as would reach from here to Upmeads, if they were laid one after the
other."

She smiled and patted his cheek, and said:

"Thou art no very prudent child, king's son. But it comes into my mind
that my master did not mean thee to go away empty-handed; else had he
not departed and left us twain together."

Therewith she went to the credence that stood in a corner, and opened a
drawer therein and took out a little bag, and gave it into Ralph's
hand, and said: "This is the gift of the gossip; and thou mayst take
it without shame; all the more because if thy father had been a worser
man, and a harder lord he would have had more to give thee. But now
thou hast as much or more as any one of thy brethren."

He took the bag smiling and shame-faced, but she looked on him fondly
and said:

"Now I know not whether I shall lay old Nicholas on thine heels when he
cometh after thee, as come he will full surely; or whether I shall
suffer the old sleuth-hound nose out thy slot of himself, as full
surely he will set on to it."

"Thou mightest tell him," said Ralph, "that I am gone to take service
with the Abbot of St. Mary's of Higham: hah?"

She laughed and said: "Wilt thou do so, lord, and follow the rede of
that goodman of mine, who thinketh himself as wise as Solomon?"

Ralph smiled and answered her nothing.

"Well," she said, "I shall say what likes me when the hour is at hand.
Lo, here! thine horse. Abide yet a moment of time, and then go whither
thou needs must, like the wind of the summer day."

Therewith she went out of the chamber and came back again with a
scrip which she gave to Ralph and said: and it might be said of her
and him that she let him go thereafter; for though as aforesaid he love-
d her, and praised her kindness, he scarce understood the eagerness
of her love for him; whereas moreover she saw him not so often be-
twixt Upmeads and Wulstead: and belike she herself scarce understood
it. Albeit she was a childless woman.

So when he had got to horse, she watched him riding a moment, and
saw how he waved his hand to her as he turned the corner of the
market-place, and how a knot of lads and lasses stood staring on him
after she lost sight of him. Then she turned her back into the chamber
and laid her head on the table and wept. Then came in the goodman
quietly and stood by her and she heeded him not. He stood grinning
curiously on her awhile, and then laid his hand on her shoulder, and
said as she raised her face to him:

"Sweetheart, it availeth nought; when thou wert young and exceeding
fair, he was but a little babe, and thou wert looking in those days to
have babes of thine own; and then it was too soon: and now that he is
such a beauteous young man, and a king's son withal, and thou art
wedded to a careful carle of no weak heart, and thou thyself art more
than two-score years old, it is too late. Yet thou didst well to give
our lord the money. Lo! here is wherewithal to fill up the lack in thy
chest; and here is a toy for thee in place of the pair of beads thou
gavest him; and I bid thee look on it as if I had given him my share of
the money and the beads."

She turned to Clement, and took the bag of money, and the chaplet which
he held out to her, and she said: "God wot thou art no ill man, my
husband, but would God I had a son like to him!"

She still wept somewhat; but the chapman said: "Let it rest there,
sweetheart! let it rest there! It may be a year or twain before thou
seest him again: and then belike he shall be come back with some woman
whom he loves better than any other; and who knows but in a way he may
deem himself our son. Meanwhile thou hast done well, sweetheart, so be
glad."

Therewith he kissed her and went his ways to his merchandize, and she
to the ordering of her house, grieved but not unhappy.



CHAPTER 4

Ralph Rideth the Downs


As for Ralph, he rode on with a merry heart, and presently came to an
end of the plain country, and the great downs rose up before him with a
white road winding up to the top of them. Just before the slopes began
to rise was a little thorp beside a stream, and thereby a fair church
and a little house of Canons: so Ralph rode toward the church to see if
therein were an altar of St. Nicholas, who was his good lord and
patron, that he might ask of him a blessing on his journey. But as he
came up to the churchyard-gate he saw a great black horse tied thereto
as if abiding some one; and as he lighted down from his saddle he saw a
man coming hastily from out the church-door and striding swiftly toward
the said gate. He was a big man, and armed; for he had a bright steel
sallet on his head, which covered his face all save the end of his
chin; and plates he had on his legs and arms. He wore a green coat
over his armour, and thereon was wrought in gold an image of a tree
leafless: he had a little steel axe about his neck, and a great sword
hung by his side. Ralph stood looking on him with his hand on the
latch of the gate, but when the man came thereto he tore it open
roughly and shoved through at once, driving Ralph back, so that he
well-nigh overset him, and so sprang to his horse and swung himself
into the saddle, just as Ralph steadied himself and ruffled up to him,
half drawing his sword from the scabbard the while. But the
man-at-arms cried out, "Put it back, put it back! If thou must needs
deal with every man that shoveth thee in his haste, thy life is like to
be but short."

He was settling himself in his saddle as he spoke, and now he shook his
rein, and rode off speedily toward the hill-road. But when he was so
far off that Ralph might but see his face but as a piece of reddish
colour, he reined up for a moment of time, and turning round in his
saddle lifted up his sallet and left his face bare, and cried out as if
to Ralph, "The first time!" And then let the head-piece fall again, and
set spurs to his horse and gallopped away.

Ralph stood looking at him as he got smaller on the long white road,
and wondering what this might mean, and how the unknown man should know
him, if he did know him. But presently he let his wonder run off him,
and went his ways into the church, wherein he found his good lord and
friend St. Nicholas, and so said a paternoster before his altar, and
besought his help, and made his offering; and then departed and gat to
horse again, and rode softly the way to the downs, for the day was hot.

The way was steep and winding, with a hollow cup of the hills below it,
and above it a bent so steep that Ralph could see but a few yards of it
on his left hand; but when he came to the hill's brow and could look
down on the said bent, he saw strange figures on the face thereof, done
by cutting away the turf so that the chalk might show clear. A tree
with leaves was done on that hill-side, and on either hand of it a
beast like a bear ramping up against the tree; and these signs were
very ancient. This hill-side carving could not be seen from the thorp
beneath, which was called Netherton, because the bent looked westward
down into the hollow of the hill abovesaid; but from nigher to Wulstead
they were clear to see, and Ralph had often beheld them, but never so
nigh: and that hill was called after them Bear Hill. At the top of it
was an earth-work of the ancient folk, which also was called Bear
Castle. And now Ralph rode over the hill's brow into it; for the walls
had been beaten down in places long and long ago.

Now he rode up the wall, and at the topmost of it turned and looked
aback on the blue country which he had ridden through stretching many a
league below, and tried if he could pick out Upmeads from amongst the
diverse wealth of the summer land: but Upmeads Water was hidden, and he
could see nothing to be sure of to tell him whereabouts the High House
stood; yet he deemed that he could make out the Debateable Wood and the
hills behind it well enough. Then he turned his horse about, and had
the down-country before him; long lines of hills to wit, one rising
behind the other like the waves of a somewhat quiet sea: no trees
thereon, nor houses that he might see thence: nought but a green road
that went waving up and down before him greener than the main face of
the slopes.

He looked at it all for a minute or two as the south-west wind went
past his ears, and played a strange tune on the innumerable stems of
the bents and the hard-stalked blossoms, to which the bees sang
counterpoint. Then the heart arose within him, and he drew the sword
from the scabbard, and waved it about his head, and shook it toward the
south, and cried out, "Now, welcome world, and be thou blessed from one
end to the other, from the ocean sea to the uttermost mountains!"

A while he held the white steel in his fist, and then sheathed the
blade, and rode down soberly over the turf bridge across the ancient
fosse, and so came on to the green road made many ages before by an
ancient people, and so trotted south along fair and softly.

Little is to be told of his journey through the downs: as he topped a
low hill whereon were seven grave-mounds of the ancient folk in a row,
he came on a shepherd lying amidst of his sheep: the man sprang to his
feet when he heard horse-hoofs anigh him and saw the glint of steel,
and he set his hand to a short spear which lay by him; but when he saw
nought but Ralph, and heard how he gave him the sele of the day, he
nodded his head in a friendly way, though he said nought in salutation;
for the loneliness of the downs made the speech slow within him.

Again some two miles further on Ralph met a flock of sheep coming down
a bent which the road climbed, and with them were three men, their
drovers, and they drew nigh him as he was amidst of the sheep, so that
he could scarce see the way. Each of these three had a weapon; one a
pole-axe, another a long spear, and the third a flail jointed and bound
with iron, and an anlace hanging at his girdle. So they stood in the
way and hailed him when the sheep were gone past; and the man with the
spear asked him whither away. "I am turned toward Higham-on-the-Way,"
quoth he; "and how many miles shall I ride ere I get there?"

Said one of them: "Little less than twenty, lord." Now it was past
noon two hours, and the day was hot; so whereas the faces of the men
looked kind and friendly, albeit somewhat rugged, he lighted down from
his horse and sat down by the way-side, and drew his bottle of good
wine from out of his wallet, and asked the men if they were in haste.
"Nay, master," said he of the pole-axe, while all eyes turned to the
bottle, "HE has gone by too long; and will neither meddle with us, nor
may we deal with him."

"Well then," quoth Ralph, "there is time for bever. Have ye ought of a
cup, that we may drink to each other?"

"Yea," said the carle with the anlace, "that have I." Therewith he drew
from his pouch a ram's horn rimmed with silver, and held it up, and
said as if he were speaking to it: "Now, Thirly, rejoice! for ye shall
have lord's wine poured into thy maw."

Therewith he held it out toward Ralph, who laughed and filled it up,
and filled for himself a little silver cup which he carried, and said:
"To you, shepherds! Much wool and little cry!" And he drank withal.

"And I," quoth the man with the horn, "call this health; Much cry and
little wool!"

"Well, well, how mean ye by that, Greasy Wat?" said the man with the
spear, taking the horn as he spake; "that is but a poor wish for a lord
that drinketh out of our cup."

Said Wat: "Why, neighbour, why! thy wit is none too hasty. The wool
that a knight sheareth is war and battle; that is wounding and death;
but the cry is the talk and boasting and minstrelsy that goeth before
all this. Which is the best wish to wish him? the wounds and the
death, or the fore-rumour and stir thereof which hurteth no man?"

Ralph laughed thereat, and was merry and blithe with them; but the
spearman, who was an old man, said:

"For all Wat sayeth, lord, and his japes, ye must not misdeem of us
that we shepherds of the Downs can do nought but run to ales and
feasts, and that we are but pot-valiant: maybe thou thyself mayst live
to see things go otherwise: and in that day may we have such as thee
for captain. Now, fair lord, I drink to thy crown of valour, and thy
good luck; and we thank thee for the wine and yet more for the blithe
fellowship."

So Ralph filled up the ram's horn till Dame Katherine's good island
wine was well-nigh spent; and at last he said:

"Now, my masters, I must to horse; but I pray you tell or we depart,
what did ye mean when ye said that HE had gone past? Who is HE?"

The merry faces of the men changed at his word, and they looked in each
other's faces, till at last the old spearman answered him:

"Fair lord, these things we have little will to talk about: for we be
poor men with no master to fleece us, and no lord to help us: also we
be folk unlearned and unlettered, and from our way of life, whereas we
dwell in the wilderness, we seldom come within the doors of a church.
But whereas we have drunk with thee, who seemest to be a man of
lineage, and thou hast been blithe with us, we will tell thee that we
have seen one riding south along the Greenway, clad in a coat as green
as the way, with the leafless tree done on his breast. So nigh to him
we were that we heard his cry as he sped along, as ye may hear the
lapwing whining; for he said: 'POINT AND EDGE, POINT AND EDGE! THE RED
WATER AMIDST OF THE HILLS!' In my lifetime such a man hath, to my
knowledge, been seen thrice before; and after each sight of him
followed evil days and the death of men. Moreover this is the Eve of
St. John, and we deem the token the worse therefor. Or how deemest
thou?"

Ralph stood silent awhile; for he was thinking of the big man whom he
had met at the churchyard gate, and all this tale seemed wonderful to
him. But at last he said:

"I cannot tell what there is in it; herein am I no help to you. To-day
I am but little; though I may one day be great. Yet this may I do for
you; tomorrow will I let sing a mass in St. Mary's Church on your
behoof. And hereafter, if I wax as my will is, and I come to be lord
in these lands, I will look to it to do what a good lord should do for
the shepherds of the Downs, so that they may live well, and die in good
hope. So may the Mother of God help me at need!"

Said the old shepherd: "Thou hast sworn an oath, and it is a good
oath, and well sworn. Now if thou dost as thou swearest, words can but
little thanks, yet deeds may. Wherefore if ever thou comest back
hither, and art in such need that a throng of men may help thee
therein; then let light a great fire upon each corner of the topmost
wall of Bear Castle, and call to mind this watch-word: 'SMITE ASIDE THE
AXE, O BEAR-FATHER,' and then shalt thou see what shall betide thee for
thy good-hap: farewell now, with the saints to aid!"

Ralph bade them live well and hail, and mounted his horse and rode off
down the Greenway, and as he rode the shepherds waved their weapons to
him in token of good-will.



CHAPTER 5

Ralph Cometh to Higham-on-the-Way


Nought more befell Ralph to tell of till he came to the end of the
Downs and saw Higham lying below him overlooked by a white castle
on a knoll, and with a river lapping it about and winding on through its
fair green meadows even as Clement had told. From amidst its houses
rose up three towers of churches above their leaden roofs, and high
above all, long and great, the Abbey Church; and now was the low sun
glittering on its gilded vanes and the wings of the angels high upon
the battlements.

So Ralph rode down the slopes and was brisk about it, for it was
drawing toward sunset, and he knew not at what hour they shut their
gates. The road was steep and winding, and it was the more part of an
hour ere he came to the gate, which was open, and like to be yet, for
many folk were thronging in, which throng also had hindered him soon
after he came into the plain country. The gate was fair and strong,
but Ralph saw no men-at-arms about it that evening. He rode into the
street unquestioned, and therein was the throng great of people clad in
fair and gay attire; and presently Ralph called to mind that this was
St. John's Eve, so that he knew that there was some feast toward.

At last the throng was so thick that he was stayed by it; and
therewithal a religious who was beside him and thrust up against his
horse, turned to him and gave him good even, and said: "By thy weapons
and gear thou art a stranger here in our burg, Sir Knight?"

"So it is," said Ralph.

"And whither away?" said the monk; "hast thou some kinsman or friend in
the town?"

"Nay," said Ralph, "I seek a good hostelry where I may abide the night
for my money."

The monk shook his head and said: "See ye the folk? It is holiday
time, and midsummer after haysel. Ye shall scarce get lodging outside
our house. But what then? Come thou thither straightway and have
harbour of the best, and see our prior, who loveth young and brisk
men-at-arms like to thee. Lo now! the throng openeth a little; I will
walk by thy bridle and lead thee the shortest road thither."

Ralph gainsaid him not, and they bored through the throng of the street
till they came into the market-square, which was very great and clean,
paved with stones all over: tall and fair houses rose up on three
sides of it, and on the fourth was the Great Church which made those
houses seem but low: most of it was new-built; for the lord Abbot that
then was, though he had not begun it, had taken the work up from his
forerunner and had pushed it forward all he might; for he was very
rich, and an open-handed man. Like dark gold it showed under the
evening sun, and the painted and gilded imagery shone like jewels upon
it.

"Yea," said the monk, as he noted Ralph's wonder at this wonder; "a
most goodly house it is, and happy shall they be that dwell there."

Therewith he led Ralph on, turning aside through the great square.
Ralph saw that there were many folk therein, though it was too big to
be thronged thick with them. Amidst of it was now a great pile of wood
hung about with flowers, and hard by it a stage built up with hangings
of rich cloth on one side thereof. He asked the monk what this might
mean, and he told him the wood was for the Midsummer bale-fire, and the
stage for the show that should come thereafter. So the brother led
Ralph down a lane to the south of the great west door, and along the
side of the minster and so came to the Abbey gate, and there was Ralph
well greeted, and had all things given him which were due to a good
knight; and then was he brought into the Guest-hall, a very fair
chamber, which was now full of men of all degrees. He was shown to a
seat on the dais within two of the subprior's, and beside him sat an
honourable lord, a vassal of St. Mary's. So was supper served well and
abundantly: the meat and drink was of the best, and the vessel and all
the plenishing was as good as might be; and the walls of that chamber
were hung with noble arras-cloth picturing the Pilgrimage of the Soul
of Man.

Every man there who spoke with Ralph, and they were many, was exceeding
courteous to him; and he heard much talk about him of the wealth of the
lands of St. Mary's at Higham, and how it was flourishing; and of the
Abbot how mighty he was, so that he might do what he would, and that
his will was to help and to give, and be blithe with all men: and folk
told of turmoil and war in other lands, and praised the peace of
Higham-on-the-Way.

Ralph listened to all this, and smiled, and said to himself that to
another man this might well be the end of his journey for that time;
but for him all this peace and well-being was not enough; for though it
were a richer land than Upmeads, yet to the peace and the quiet he was
well used, and he had come forth not for the winning of fatter peace,
but to try what new thing his youth and his might and his high hope and
his good hap might accomplish.

So when the supper was over, and the wine and spices had been brought,
the Guest-hall began to thin somewhat, and the brother who had brought
Ralph thither came to him and said:

"Fair lord, it were nowise ill if ye went forth, as others of our
guests have done, to see the deeds of Midsummer Eve that shall be done
in the great square in honour of Holy John; for our manner therein at
Higham has been much thought of. Look my son!"

He pointed to the windows of the hall therewith, and lo! they grew
yellow and bright with some fire without, as if a new fiery day had
been born out of the dusk of the summer night; for the light that shone
through the windows out-did the candle-light in the hall. Ralph
started thereat and laid his right hand to the place of his sword,
which indeed he had left with the chamberlain; but the monk laughed and
said: "Fear nothing, lord; there is no foeman in Higham: come now,
lest thou be belated of the show."

So he led Ralph forth, and into the square, where there was a space
appointed for the brethren and their guests to see the plays; and the
square was now so full of folk that it seemed like as if that there
were no one man in the streets which were erewhile so thronged.

There were rows of men-at-arms in bright armour also to keep the folk
in their places, like as hurdles pen the sheep up; howbeit they were
nowise rough with folk, but humble and courteous. Many and many were
the torches and cressets burning steadily in the calm air, so that, as
aforesaid, night was turned into day. But on the scaffold aforesaid
were standing bright and gay figures, whose names or what they were
Ralph had no time to ask.

Now the bells began to clash from the great tower of the minster, and
in a little while they had clashed themselves into order and rang clear
and tuneably for a space; and while they were ringing, lo! those
gay-clad people departed from the scaffold, and a canvas painted like a
mountain-side, rocky and with caves therein, was drawn up at the back
of it. Then came thereon one clad like a king holding a fair maiden by
the hand, and with him was a dame richly clad and with a crown on her
head. So these two kissed the maiden, and lamented over her, and went
their ways, and the maiden left alone sat down upon a rock and covered
up her face and wept; and while Ralph wondered what this might mean, or
what grieved the maiden, there came creeping, as it were from out of a
cranny of the rocks, a worm huge-headed and covered over with scales
that glittered in the torch-light. Then Ralph sprang up in his place,
for he feared for the maiden that the worm would devour her: but the
monk who sat by him pulled him down by the skirt, and laughed and said:
"Sit still, lord! for the champion also has been provided."

Then Ralph sat down again somewhat abashed and looked on; yet was
his heart in his mouth the while. And so while the maiden stood as one
astonied before the worm, who gaped upon her with wide open mouth,
there came forth from a cleft in the rocks a goodly knight who bore
silver, a red cross; and he had his sword in his hand, and he fell upon
the worm to smite him; and the worm ramped up against him, and there
was battle betwixt them, while the maiden knelt anigh with her hands
clasped together.

Then Ralph knew that this was a play of the fight of St. George with
the worm; so he sat silent till the champion had smitten off the worm's
head and had come to the maiden and kissed and embraced her, and shown
her the grisly head. Then presently came many folk on to the scaffold,
to wit, the king and queen who were the father and mother of the
maiden, and a bishop clad in very fair vestments, and knights withal;
and they stood about St. George and the maiden, and with them were
minstrels who fell to playing upon harps and fiddles; while other some
fell to singing a sweet song in honour of St. George, and the maiden
delivered.

So when it was all done, the monk said: "This play is set forth by the
men-at-arms of our lord Abbot, who have great devotion toward St.
George, and he is their friend and their good lord. But hereafter will
be other plays, of wild men and their feasting in the woods in the
Golden Age of the world; and that is done by the scribes and the
limners. And after that will be a pageant of St. Agnes ordered by the
clothiers and the webbers, which be both many and deft in this good
town. Albeit thou art a young man and hast ridden far to-day belike,
and mayhappen thou wilt not be able to endure it: so it may be well to
bring thee out of this throng straightway. Moreover I have bethought
me, that there is much of what is presently to come which we shall see
better from the minster roof, or even it may be from the tower: wilt
thou come then?"

Ralph had liefer have sat there and seen all the plays to the end, for
they seemed to him exceeding fair, and like to ravish the soul from the
body; howbeit, being shamefaced, he knew not how to gainsay the
brother, who took him by the hand, and led him through the press to the
west front of the minster, where on the north side was a little door in
a nook. So they went up a stair therein a good way till they came into
a gallery over the western door; and looking forth thence Ralph deemed
that he could have seen a long way had daylight been, for it was higher
than the tops of the highest houses.

So there they abode a space looking down on the square and its throng,
and the bells, which had been ringing when they came up, now ceased a
while. But presently there arose great shouts and clamour amongst the
folk below, and they could see men with torches drawing near to the
pile of wood, and then all of a sudden shot up from it a great spiring
flame, and all the people shouted together, while the bells broke out
again over their heads.

Then the brother pointed aloof with his finger and said: "Lo you! fair
lord, how bale speaks to bale all along the headlands of the down-
country, and below there in the thorps by the river!"

Forsooth Ralph saw fire after fire break out to the westward; and the
brother said: "And if we stood over the high altar and looked east, ye
would see more of such fires and many more; and all these bales are
piled up and lighted by vassals and villeins of my lord Abbot: now
to-night they are but mere Midsummer bale-fires; but doubt ye not that
if there came war into the land each one of these bales would mean at
least a half-score of stout men, archers and men-at-arms, all ready to
serve their lord at all adventure. All this the tyrants round about,
that hate holy Church and oppress the poor, know full well; therefore
we live in peace in these lands."

Ralph hearkened, but said nought; for amidst all this flashing of fire
and flame, and the crying out of folk, and the measured clash of the
bells so near him, his thought was confused, and he had no words ready
to hand. But the monk turned from the parapet and looked him full in
the face and said to him:

"Thou art a fair young man, and strong, and of gentle blood as I deem;
and thou seemest to me to have the lucky look in thine eyes: now I tell
thee that if thou wert to take service with my lord thou shouldest
never rue it. Yea, why shouldest thou not wax in his service, and
become his Captain of Captains, which is an office meet for kings?"

Ralph looked on him, but answered nought, for he could not gather his
thoughts for an answer; and the brother said: "Think of it, I bid thee,
fair young lord; and be sure that nowhere shalt thou have a better
livelihood, not even wert thou a king's son; for the children of my
lord Abbot are such that none dareth to do them any displeasure;
neither is any overlord as good as is Holy Church."

"Yea," said Ralph, "doubtless thou sayest sooth; yet I wot not that I
am come forth to seek a master."

Said the brother: "Nay, do but see the lord Abbot, as thou mayst do
to-morrow, if thou wilt."

"I would have his blessing," said Ralph.

"No less shalt thou have," said the brother; "but look you down yonder;
for I can see tokens that my lord is even now coming forth."

Ralph looked down and beheld the folk parting to right and left, and a
lane made amidst the throng, guarded by men-at-arms mingled with the
cross-bearers and brethren; and the sound of trumpets blared forth over
the noises of the throng.

"If the lord Abbot cometh," said Ralph, "I were fain of his blessing
to-night before I sleep: so go we down straightway that I may kneel
before him with the rest."

"What!" said the monk, "Wilt thou, my lord, kneel amongst all these
burgesses and vavassors when thou mightest see the Abbot in his own
chamber face to face alone with him?"

"Father," said Ralph, "I am no great man, and I must needs depart
betimes to-morrow; for I perceive that here are things too mighty and
over-mastering for such as I be."

"Well," said the monk, "yet mayst thou come back again; so at present I
will make no more words about it."

So they went down, and came out amidst the throng, above which the
bale still flared high, making the summer night as light as day. The
brother made way for Ralph, so that they stood in the front row of
folk: they had not been there one minute ere they heard the sound of
the brethren singing, and the Abbot came forth out of the lane that
went down to the gate. Then all folk went down upon their knees, and
thus abode him. Right so Ralph deemed that he felt some one pull his
sleeve, but in such a throng that was nought of a wonder; howbeit, he
turned and looked to his left, whence came the tug, and saw kneeling
beside him a tall man-at-arms, who bore a sallet on his head in such
wise that it covered all his face save the point of his chin. Then
Ralph bethought him of the man of the leafless tree, and he looked to
see what armoury the man bore on his coat; but he had nothing save a
loose frock of white linen over his hauberk. Nevertheless, he heard a
voice in his ear, which said, "The second time!" whereon he deemed that
it was verily that same man: yet had he nought to do to lay hold on
him, and he might not speak with him, for even therewith came the Abbot
in garments all of gold, going a-foot under a canopy of baudekyn, with
the precious mitre on his head, and the crozier borne before him, as if
he had been a patriarch: for he was an exceeding mighty lord.

Ralph looked hard on him as he passed by, blessing the folk with
upraised hand; and he saw that he was a tall spare man, clean-shaven,
and thin-faced; but no old man, belike scarce of fifty winters. Ralph
caught his eye, and he smiled on the goodly young man so kindly, that
for a moment Ralph deemed that he would dwell in St. Mary's House for
a little while; for, thought he, if my father, or Nicholas, hear of me
therein, they must even let me alone to abide here.

Therewith the Abbot went forth to his place, and sat him down under a
goodly cloth of estate, and folk stood up again; but when Ralph looked
for the man in the sallet he could see nought of him. Now when the
Abbot was set down, men made a clear ring round about the bale, and
there came into the said ring twelve young men, each clad in nought
save a goat-skin, and with garlands of leaves and flowers about their
middles: they had with them a wheel done about with straw and hemp
payed with pitch and brimstone. They set fire to the same, and then
trundled it blazing round about the bale twelve times. Then came to
them twelve damsels clad in such-like guise as the young men: then
both bands, the young men and the maidens, drew near to the bale, which
was now burning low, and stood about it, and joined hands, and so
danced round it a while, and meantime the fiddles played an uncouth
tune merrily: then they sundered, and each couple of men and maids
leapt backward and forward over the fire; and when they had all leapt,
came forward men with buckets of water which they cast over the dancers
till it ran down them in streams. Then was all the throng mingled
together, and folk trod the embers of the bale under foot, and
scattered them hither and thither all over the square.

All this while men were going about with pitchers of wine and ale, and
other good drinks; and every man drank freely what he would, and there
was the greatest game and joyance.

But now was Ralph exceeding weary, and he said: "Father, mightest thou
lead me out of this throng, and show me some lair where I may sleep in
peace, I would thank thee blithely."

As he spake there sounded a great horn over the square, and the Abbot
rose in his place and blessed all the people once more. Then said the
monk:

"Come then, fair field-lord, now shalt thou have thy will of bed." And
he laughed therewith, and drew Ralph out of the throng and brought him
into the Abbey, and into a fair little chamber, on the wall whereof was
pictured St. Christopher, and St. Julian the lord and friend of
wayfarers. Then he brought Ralph the wine and spices, and gave him
good-night, and went his ways.

As Ralph put the raiment from off him he said to himself a long day
forsooth, so long that I should have thought no day could have held all
that has befallen me. So many strange things have I seen, that surely
my dreams shall be full of them; for even now I seem to see them,
though I waken.

So he lay down in his bed and slept, and dreamed that he was fishing
with an angle in a deep of Upmeads Water; and he caught many fish; but
after a while whatsoever he caught was but of gilded paper stuffed with
wool, and at last the water itself was gone, and he was casting his
angle on to a dry road. Therewith he awoke and saw that day was
dawning, and heard the minster clock strike three, and heard the
thrushes singing their first song in the Prior's garden. Then he
turned about and slept, and dreamed no more till he woke up in the
bright sunny morning.



CHAPTER 6

Ralph Goeth His Ways From the Abbey of St. Mary at Higham


It was the monk who had been his guide the day before who had now
waked him, and he stood by the bedside holding a great bowl of milk in
his hand, and as Ralph sat up, and rubbed his eyes, with all his youthful
sloth upon him, the monk laughed and said:

"That is well, lord, that is well! I love to see a young man so sleepy
in the morning; it is a sign of thriving; and I see thou art thriving
heartily for the time when thou shalt come back to us to lead my lord's
host in battle."

"Where be the bale-fires?" said Ralph, not yet fully awake.

"Where be they!" said the brother, "where be they! They be sunken to
cold coals long ago, like many a man's desires and hopes, who hath not
yet laid his head on the bosom of the mother, that is Holy Church.
Come, my lord, arise, and drink the monk's wine of morning, and then if
ye must need ride, ride betimes, and ride hard; for the Wood Perilous
beginneth presently as ye wend your ways; and it were well for thee to
reach the Burg of the Four Friths ere thou be benighted. For, son,
there be untoward things in the wood; and though some of them be of
those for whom Christ's Cross was shapen, yet have they forgotten hell,
and hope not for heaven, and their by-word is, 'Thou shalt lack ere I
lack.' Furthermore there are worse wights in the wood than they be--
God save us!--but against them have I a good hauberk, a neck-guard
which I will give thee, son, in token that I look to see thee again at
the lovely house of Mary our Mother."

Ralph had taken the bowl and was drinking, but he looked over the brim,
and saw how the monk drew from his frock a pair of beads, as like to
Dame Katherine's gift as one pea to another, save that at the end
thereof was a little box shapen crosswise. Ralph emptied the bowl
hastily, got out of bed, and sat on the bed naked, save that on his
neck was Dame Katherine's gift. He reached out his hand and took the
beads from the monk and reddened therewith, as was his wont when he
had to begin a contest in words: but he said:

"I thank thee, father; yet God wot if these beads will lie sweetly
alongside the collar which I bear on my neck as now, which is the gift
of a dear friend."

The monk made up a solemn countenance and said: "Thou sayest sooth,
my son; it is most like that my chaplet, which hath been blessed time was
by the holy Richard, is no meet fellow for the gift of some light love
of thine: or even," quoth he, noting Ralph's flush deepen, and his brow
knit, "or even if it were the gift of a well-willer, yet belike it is a
worldly gift; therefore, since thy journey is with peril, thou wert
best do it off and let me keep it for thee till thou comest again."

Now as he spake he looked anxiously, nay, it may be said greedily, at
the young man. But Ralph said nought; for in his heart he was
determined not to chaffer away his gossip's gift for any shaveling's
token. Yet he knew not how to set his youthful words against the
father's wisdom; so he stood up, and got his shirt into his hand, and
as he did it over his head he fell to singing to himself a song of
eventide of the High House of Upmeads, the words whereof were somewhat
like to these:


Art thou man, art thou maid, through the long grass a-going?
For short shirt thou bearest, and no beard I see,
And the last wind ere moonrise about thee is blowing.
Would'st thou meet with thy maiden or look'st thou for me?

Bright shineth the moon now, I see thy gown longer;
And down by the hazels Joan meeteth her lad:
But hard is thy palm, lass, and scarcely were stronger
Wat's grip than thine hand-kiss that maketh me glad.

And now as the candles shine on us and over,
Full shapely thy feet are, but brown on the floor,
As the bare-footed mowers amidst of the clover
When the gowk's note is broken and mid-June is o'er.

O hard are mine hand-palms because on the ridges
I carried the reap-hook and smote for thy sake;
And in the hot noon-tide I beat off the midges
As thou slep'st 'neath the linden o'er-loathe to awake.

And brown are my feet now because the sun burneth
High up on the down-side amidst of the sheep,
And there in the hollow wherefrom the wind turneth,
Thou lay'st in my lap while I sung thee to sleep.

O friend of the earth, O come nigher and nigher,
Thou art sweet with the sun's kiss as meads of the May,
O'er the rocks of the waste, o'er the water and fire,
Will I follow thee, love, till earth waneth away.


The monk hearkened to him with knitted brow, and as one that liketh not
the speech of his fellow, though it be not wise to question it: then he
went out of the chamber, but left the pair of beads lying in the
window. But Ralph clad himself in haste, and when he was fully clad,
went up to the window and took the beads in his hand, and looked into
them curiously and turned them over, but left them lying there. Then
he went forth also, and came into the forecourt of the house, and found
there a squire of the men-at-arms with his weapons and horse, who
helped him to do on his war-gear.

So then, just as he was setting his foot in the stirrup, came the
Brother again, with his face once more grown smiling and happy; and in
his left hand he held the chaplet, but did not offer it to Ralph again,
but nodded his head to him kindly, and said: "Now, lord, I can see by
thy face that thou art set on beholding the fashion of this world, and
most like it will give thee the rue."

Then came a word into Ralph's mouth, and he said: "Wilt thou tell me,
father, whose work was the world's fashion?"

The monk reddened, but answered nought, and Ralph spake again:

"Forsooth, did the craftsman of it fumble over his work?"

Then the monk scowled, but presently he enforced himself to speak
blithely, and said: "Such matters are over high for my speech or
thine, lord; but I tell thee, who knoweth, that there are men in this
House who have tried the world and found it wanting."

Ralph smiled, and said stammering:

"Father, did the world try them, and find them wanting perchance?"

Then he reddened, and said: "Are ye verily all such as this in this
House? Who then is it who hath made so fair a lordship, and so goodly
a governance for so many people? Know ye not at all of the world's
ways!"

"Fair sir," said the monk sternly, "they that work for us work for the
Lord and all his servants."

"Yea," said Ralph, "so it is; and will the Lord be content with the
service of him whom the devil hath cast out because he hath found him a
dastard?"

The monk frowned, yet smiled somewhat withal, and said: "Sir, thou art
young, but thy wits are over old for me; but there are they in this
House who may answer thee featly; men who have read the books of the
wise men of the heathen, and the doctors of Holy Church, and are even
now making books for the scribes to copy." Then his voice softened,
and he said: "Dear lord, we should be right fain of thee here, but
since thou must needs go, go with my blessing, and double blessing
shalt thou have when thou comest back to us." Then Ralph remembered
his promise to the shepherds and took a gold crown from his pouch, and
said: "Father, I pray thee say a mass for the shepherd downsmen; and
this is for the offering."

The monk praised the gift and the bidding, and kissed Ralph, who clomb
into his saddle; and the brother hospitalier brought him his wallet
with good meat and drink therein for the way. Then Ralph shook his
rein, and rode out of the abbey-gate, smiling at the lay-brethren and
the men-at-arms who hung about there.

But he sighed for pleasure when he found himself in the street again,
and looked on the shops of the chapmen and the booths of the petty
craftsmen, as shoe-smiths and glovers, and tinsmiths and coppersmiths,
and horners and the like; and the folk that he met as he rode toward
the southern gate seemed to him merry and in good case, and goodly to
look on. And he thought it pleasant to gaze on the damsels in the
street, who were fair and well clad: and there were a many of them
about his way now, especially as he drew nigh the gate before the
streets branched off: for folk were coming in from the countryside with
victual and other wares for the town and the Abbey; and surely as he
looked on some of the maidens he deemed that Hall-song of Upmeads a
good one.



CHAPTER 7

The Maiden of Bourton Abbas


So went he through the gate, and many, both of men and maids gazed at
him, for he was fair to look on, but none meddled with him.

There was a goodly fauburg outside the gate, and therein were fair
houses, not a few, with gardens and orchards about them; and when these
were past he rode through very excellent meadows lying along the water,
which he crossed thrice, once by a goodly stone bridge and twice by
fords; for the road was straight, and the river wound about much.

After a little while the road led him off the plain meads into a country
of little hills and dales, the hill-sides covered with vineyards and orchards,
and the dales plenteous of corn-fields; and now amongst these dales
Higham was hidden from him.

Through this tillage and vine-land he rode a good while, and thought he
had never seen a goodlier land; and as he went he came on husbandmen
and women of the country going about their business: yet were they not
too busy to gaze on him, and most greeted him; and with some he gave
and took a little speech.

These people also he deemed well before the world, for they were well
clad and buxom, and made no great haste as they went, but looked about
them as though they deemed the world worth looking at, and as if they
had no fear either of a blow or a hard word for loitering.

So he rode till it was noon, and he was amidst a little thorp of grey
stone houses, trim enough, in a valley wherein there was more of
wild-wood trees and less of fruit-bearers than those behind him. In
the thorp was a tavern with the sign of the Nicholas, so Ralph deemed
it but right to enter a house which was under the guard of his master
and friend; therefore he lighted down and went in. Therein he found a
lad of fifteen winters, and a maiden spinning, they two alone, who
hailed him and asked his pleasure, and he bade them bring him meat and
drink, and look to his horse, for that he had a mind to rest a while.
So they brought him bread and flesh, and good wine of the hill-side, in
a little hall well arrayed as of its kind; and he sat down and the
damsel served him at table, but the lad, who had gone to see to his
horse, did not come back.

So when he had eaten and drunk, and the damsel was still there, he
looked on her and saw that she was sad and drooping of aspect; and
whereas she was a fair maiden, Ralph, now that he was full, fell to
pitying her, and asked her what was amiss. "For," said he, "thou art
fair and ailest nought; that is clear to see; neither dwellest thou in
penury, but by seeming hast enough and to spare. Or art thou a servant
in this house, and hath any one misused thee?"

She wept at his words, for indeed he spoke softly to her; then she
said: "Young lord, thou art kind, and it is thy kindness that draweth
the tears from me; else it were not well to weep before a young man:
therefore I pray thee pardon me. As for me, I am no servant, nor has
any one misused me: the folk round about are good and neighbourly; and
this house and the croft, and a vineyard hard by, all that is mine own
and my brother's; that is the lad who hath gone to tend thine horse.
Yea, and we live in peace here for the most part; for this thorp, which
is called Bourton Abbas, is a land of the Abbey of Higham; though it be
the outermost of its lands and the Abbot is a good lord and a defence
against tyrants. All is well with me if one thing were not."

"What is thy need then?" said Ralph, "if perchance I might amend it."
And as he looked on her he deemed her yet fairer than he had done at
first. But she stayed her weeping and sobbing and said: "Sir, I fear
me that I have lost a dear friend." "How then," said he, "why fearest
thou, and knowest not? doth thy friend lie sick between life and
death?" "O Sir," she said, "it is the Wood which is the evil and
disease."

"What wood is that?" said he.

She said: "The Wood Perilous, that lieth betwixt us and the Burg of
the Four Friths, and all about the Burg. And, Sir, if ye be minded to
ride to the Burg to-day, do it not, for through the wood must thou wend
thereto; and ye are young and lovely. Therefore take my rede, and
abide till the Chapmen wend thither from Higham, who ride many in
company. For, look you, fair lord, ye have asked of my grief, and this
it is and nought else; that my very earthly love and speech-friend rode
five days ago toward the Burg of the Four Friths all alone through the
Wood Perilous, and he has not come back, though we looked to see him in
three days' wearing: but his horse has come back, and the reins and
the saddle all bloody."

And she fell a-weeping with the telling of the tale. But Ralph said
(for he knew not what to say): "Keep a good heart, maiden; maybe he
is safe and sound; oft are young men fond to wander wide, even as I
myself."

She looked at him hard and said: "If thou hast stolen thyself away
from them that love thee, thou hast done amiss. Though thou art a
lord, and so fair as I see thee, yet will I tell thee so much."

Ralph reddened and answered nought; but deemed the maiden both fair
and sweet. But she said: "Whether thou hast done well or ill, do no
worse; but abide till the Chapmen come from Higham, on their way to the
Burg of the Four Friths. Here mayst thou lodge well and safely if thou
wilt. Or if our hall be not dainty enough for thee, then go back to
Higham: I warrant me the monks will give thee good guesting as long as
thou wilt."

"Thou art kind, maiden," said Ralph, "but why should I tarry for an
host? and what should I fear in the Wood, as evil as it may be? One
man journeying with little wealth, and unknown, and he no weakling, but
bearing good weapons, hath nought to dread of strong-thieves, who ever
rob where it is easiest and gainfullest. And what worse may I meet
than strong-thieves?"

"But thou mayest meet worse," she said; and therewith fell a-weeping
again, and said amidst her tears: "O weary on my life! And why should
I heed thee when nought heedeth me, neither the Saints of God's House,
nor the Master of it; nor the father and the mother that were once so
piteous kind to me? O if I might but drink a draught from the WELL AT
THE WORLD'S END!"

He turned about on her hastily at that word; for he had risen to depart;
being grieved at her grief and wishful to be away from it, since he might
not amend it. But now he said eagerly:

"Where then is that Well? Know ye of it in this land?"

"At least I know the hearsay thereof," she said; "but as now thou shalt
know no more from me thereof; lest thou wander the wider in seeking it.
I would not have thy life spilt."

Ever as he looked on her he thought her still fairer; and now he looked
long on her, saying nought, and she on him in likewise, and the blood
rose to her cheeks and her brow, but she would not turn her from his
gaze. At last he said: "Well then, I must depart, no more learned than
I came: but yet am I less hungry and thirsty than I came; and have thou
thanks therefor."

Therewith he took from his pouch a gold piece of Upmeads, which was
good, and of the touch of the Easterlings, and held it out to her. And
she put out her open hand and he put the money in it; but thought it
good to hold her hand a while, and she gainsayed him not.

Then he said: "Well then, I must needs depart with things left as they
are: wilt thou bid thy brother bring hither my horse, for time presses."

"Yea," she said (and her hand was still in his), "Yet do thine utmost,
yet shalt thou not get to the Burg before nightfall. O wilt thou not
tarry?"

"Nay," he said, "my heart will not suffer it; lest I deem myself a
dastard."

Then she reddened again, but as if she were wroth; and she drew her
hand away from his and smote her palms together thrice and cried out:
"Ho Hugh! bring hither the Knight's horse and be speedy!"

And she went hither and thither about the hall and into the buttery and
back, putting away the victual and vessels from the board and making as
if she heeded him not: and Ralph looked on her, and deemed that each
way she moved was better than the last, so shapely of fashion she was;
and again he bethought him of the Even-song of the High House at
Upmeads, and how it befitted her; for she went barefoot after the
manner of maidens who work afield, and her feet were tanned with the
sun of hay harvest, but as shapely as might be; but she was clad goodly
withal, in a green gown wrought with flowers.

So he watched her going to and fro; and at last he said: "Maiden, wilt
thou come hither a little, before I depart?"

"Yea," she said; and came and stood before him: and he deemed that she
was scarce so sad as she had been; and she stood with her hands joined
and her eyes downcast. Then he said:

"Now I depart. Yet I would say this, that I am sorry of thy sorrow:
and now since I shall never see thee more, small would be the harm if I
were to kiss thy lips and thy face."

And therewith he took her hands in his and drew her to him, and put his
arms about her and kissed her many times, and she nothing lothe by
seeming; and he found her as sweet as May blossom.

Thereafter she smiled on him, yet scarce for gladness, and said: "It is
not all so sure that I shall not see thee again; yet shall I do to thee
as thou hast done to me."

Therewith she took his face between her hands, and kissed him
well-favouredly; so that the hour seemed good to him.

Then she took him by the hand and led him out-a-doors to his horse,
whereby the lad had been standing a good while; and he when he saw his
sister come out with the fair knight he scowled on them, and handled a
knife which hung at his girdle; but Ralph heeded him nought. As for
the damsel, she put her brother aside, and held the stirrup for Ralph;
and when he was in the saddle she said to him:

"All luck go with thee! Forsooth I deem thee safer in the Wood than my
words said. Verily I deem that if thou wert to meet a company of
foemen, thou wouldest compel them to do thy bidding."

"Farewell to thee maiden," said Ralph, "and mayst thou find thy beloved
whole and well, and that speedily. Fare-well!"

She said no more; so he shook his rein and rode his ways; but looked
over his shoulder presently and saw her standing yet barefoot on the
dusty highway shading her eyes from the afternoon sun and looking after
him, and he waved his hand to her and so went his ways between the
houses of the Thorp.



CHAPTER 8

Ralph Cometh to the Wood Perilous. An Adventure Therein


Now when he was clear of the Thorp the road took him out of the dale;
and when he was on the hill's brow he saw that the land was of other
fashion from that which lay behind him. For the road went straight
through a rough waste, no pasture, save for mountain sheep or goats,
with a few bushes scattered about it; and beyond this the land rose
into a long ridge; and on the ridge was a wood thick with trees, and no
break in them. So on he rode, and soon passed that waste, which was
dry and parched, and the afternoon sun was hot on it; so he deemed it
good to come under the shadow of the thick trees (which at the first
were wholly beech trees), for it was now the hottest of the day. There
was still a beaten way between the tree-boles, though not overwide,
albeit, a highway, since it pierced the wood. So thereby he went at a
soft pace for the saving of his horse, and thought but little of all he
had been told of the perils of the way, and not a little of the fair
maid whom he had left behind at the Thorp.

After a while the thick beech-wood gave out, and he came into a place
where great oaks grew, fair and stately, as though some lord's
wood-reeve had taken care that they should not grow over close
together, and betwixt them the greensward was fine, unbroken, and
flowery. Thereby as he rode he beheld deer, both buck and hart and
roe, and other wild things, but for a long while no man.

The afternoon wore and still he rode the oak wood, and deemed it a
goodly forest for the greatest king on earth. At last he came to where
another road crossed the way he followed, and about the crossway was
the ground clearer of trees, while beyond it the trees grew thicker,
and there was some underwood of holly and thorn as the ground fell off
as towards a little dale.

There Ralph drew rein, because he doubted in his mind which was his
right road toward the Burg of the Four Friths; so he got off his horse
and abode a little, if perchance any might come by; he looked about
him, and noted on the road that crossed his, and the sward about it,
the sign of many horses having gone by, and deemed that they had passed
but a little while. So he lay on the ground to rest him and let his
horse stray about and bite the grass; for the beast loved him and would
come at his call or his whistle.

Ralph was drowsy when he lay down, and though he said to himself that
he would nowise go to sleep, yet as oft happens, he had no defence to
make against sleepiness, and presently his hands relaxed, his head fell
aside, and he slept quietly. When he woke up in a little space of
time, he knew at once that something had awaked him and that he had not
had his sleep out; for in his ears was the trampling of horse-hoofs and
the clashing of weapons and loud speech of men. So he leapt up
hastily, and while he was yet scarce awake, took to whistling on his
horse; but even therewith those men were upon him, and two came up to
him and laid hold of him; and when he asked them what they would, they
bade him hold his peace.

Now his eyes cleared, and he saw that those men were in goodly
war-gear, and bore coats of plate, and cuir-bouilly, or of bright
steel; they held long spears and were girt with good swords; there was
a pennon with them, green, whereon was done a golden tower, embattled,
amidst of four white ways; and the same token bore many of the men on
their coats and sleeves. Unto this same pennon he was brought by the
two men who had taken him, and under it, on a white horse, sat a Knight
bravely armed at all points with the Tower and Four Ways on his green
surcoat; and beside him was an ancient man-at-arms, with nought but an
oak wreath on his bare head, and his white beard falling low over his
coat: but behind these twain a tall young man, also on a white horse
and very gaily clad, upheld the pennon. On one side of these three
were five men, unarmed, clad in green coats, with a leafless tree done
on them in gold: they were stout carles, bearded and fierce-faced:
their hands were bound behind their backs and their feet tied together
under their horses' bellies. The company of those about the Knight,
Ralph deemed, would number ten score men.

So when those twain stayed Ralph before the Knight, he turned to the
old man and said:

"It is of no avail asking this lither lad if he be of them or no: for
no will be his answer. But what sayest thou, Oliver?"

The ancient man drew closer to Ralph and looked at him up and down and
all about; for those two turned him about as if he had been a joint of
flesh on the roasting-jack; and at last he said:

"His beard is sprouting, else might ye have taken him for a maid of
theirs, one of those of whom we wot. But to say sooth I seem to know
the fashion of his gear, even as Duke Jacob knew Joseph's tabard. So
ask him whence he is, lord, and if he lie, then I bid bind him and lead
him away, that we may have a true tale out of him; otherwise let him go
and take his chance; for we will not waste the bread of the Good Town
on him."

The Knight looked hard on Ralph, and spake to him somewhat courteously:

"Whence art thou, fair Sir, and what is thy name? for we have many foes
in the wildwood."

Ralph reddened as he answered: "I am of Upmeads beyond the down
country; and I pray thee let me be gone on mine errands. It is meet
that thou deal with thine own robbers and reivers, but not with me."

Then cried out one of the bounden men: "Thou liest, lad, we be no
robbers." But he of the Knight's company who stood by him smote the man
on the mouth and said: "Hold thy peace, runagate! Thou shalt give
tongue to-morrow when the hangman hath thee under his hands."

The Knight took no heed of this; but turned to the ancient warrior and
said: "Hath he spoken truth so far?"

"Yea, Sir Aymer," quoth Oliver; "And now meseems I know him better than
he knoweth me."

Therewith he turned to Ralph and said: "How fareth Long Nicholas, my
lord?"

Ralph reddened again: "He is well," said he.

Then said the Knight: "Is the young man of a worthy house, Oliver?"

But ere the elder could speak, Ralph brake in and said: "Old warrior, I
bid thee not to tell out my name, as thou lovest Nicholas."

Old Oliver laughed and said: "Well, Nicholas and I have been friends
in a way, as well as foes; and for the sake of the old days his name
shall help thee, young lord." Then he said to his Knight: "Yea, Sir
Aymer, he is of a goodly house and an ancient; but thou hearest how he
adjureth me. Ye shall let his name alone."

The Knight looked silently on Ralph for a while; then he said: "Wilt
thou wend with us to the Burg of the Four Friths, fair Sir? Wert thou
not faring thither? Or what else dost thou in the Wood Perilous?"

Ralph turned it over in his mind; and though he saw no cause why he
should not join himself to their company, yet something in his heart
forbade him to rise to the fly too eagerly; so he did but say: "I am
seeking adventures, fair lord."

The Knight smiled: "Then mayst thou fill thy budget with them if thou
goest with us," quoth he. Now Ralph did not know how he might gainsay
so many men at arms in the long run, though he were scarce willing to
go; so he made no haste to answer; and even therewith came a man
running, through the wood up from the dale; a long, lean carle, meet
for running, with brogues on his feet, and nought else but a shirt; the
company parted before him to right and left to let him come to the
Knight, as though he had been looked for; and when he was beside him,
the Knight leaned down while the carle spake softly to him and all men
drew out of ear-shot. And when the carle had given his message the
Knight drew himself straight up in his saddle again and lifted up his
hand and cried out:

"Oliver! Oliver! lead on the way thou wottest! Spur! spur, all men!"

Therewith he blew one blast from a horn which hung at his saddle-bow;
the runner leapt up behind old Oliver, and the whole company went off
at a smart trot somewhat south-east, slantwise of the cross-roads,
where the wood was nought cumbered with undergrowth; and presently they
were all gone to the last horse-tail, and no man took any more note of
Ralph.



CHAPTER 9

Another Adventure in the Wood Perilous


Ralph left alone pondered a little; and thought that he would by no
means go hastily to the Burg of the Four Friths. Said he to himself;
This want-way is all unlike to the one near our house at home: for
belike adventures shall befall here: I will even abide here for an hour
or two; but will have my horse by me and keep awake, lest something hap
to me unawares.

Therewith he whistled for Falcon his horse, and the beast came to him,
and whinnied for love of him, and Ralph smiled and tied him to a
sapling anigh, and himself sat down on the grass, and pondered many
things; as to what folk were about at Upmeads, and how his brethren
were faring; and it was now about five hours after noon, and the sun's
rays fell aslant through the boughs of the noble oaks, and the scent of
the grass and bracken trodden by the horse-hoofs of that company went
up into the warm summer air. A while he sat musing but awake, though
the faint sound of a little stream in the dale below mingled with all
the lesser noises of the forest did its best to soothe him to sleep
again: and presently had its way with him; for he leaned his head back
on the bracken, and in a minute or two was sleeping once more and
dreaming some dream made up of masterless memories of past days.

When he awoke again he lay still a little while, wondering where in the
world he was, but as the drowsiness left him, he arose and looked
about, and saw that the sun was sinking low and gilding the oakboles
red. He stood awhile and watched the gambols of three hares, who had
drawn nigh him while he slept, and now noted him not; and a little way
he saw through the trees a hart and two hinds going slowly from grass
to grass, feeding in the cool eventide; but presently he saw them raise
their heads and amble off down the slope of the little dale, and
therewith he himself turned his face sharply toward the north-west, for
he was fine-eared as well as sharp-eyed, and on a little wind which had
just arisen came down to him the sound of horse-hoofs once more.

So he went up to Falcon and loosed him, and stood by him bridle in
hand, and looked to it that his sword was handy to him: and he
hearkened, and the sound drew nigher and nigher to him. Then lightly
he got into the saddle and gathered the reins into his left hand, and
sat peering up the trodden wood-glades, lest he should have to ride for
his life suddenly. Therewith he heard voices talking roughly and a man
whistling, and athwart the glade of the wood from the northwest, or
thereabout, came new folk; and he saw at once that there went two men
a-horseback and armed; so he drew his sword and abode them close to the
want-ways. Presently they saw the shine of his war-gear, and then they
came but a little nigher ere they drew rein, and sat on their horses
looking toward him. Then Ralph saw that they were armed and clad as
those of the company which had gone before. One of the armed men rode
a horse-length after his fellow, and bore a long spear over his
shoulder. But the other who rode first was girt with a sword, and had
a little axe hanging about his neck, and with his right hand he seemed
to be leading something, Ralph could not see what at first, as his left
side was turned toward Ralph and the want-way.

Now, as Ralph looked, he saw that at the spearman's saddle-bow was hung
a man's head, red-haired and red-bearded; for this man now drew a
little nigher, and cried out to Ralph in a loud and merry voice: "Hail,
knight! whither away now, that thou ridest the green-wood sword in
hand?"

Ralph was just about to answer somewhat, when the first man moved a
little nigher, and as he did so he turned so that Ralph could see what
betid on his right hand; and lo! he was leading a woman by a rope tied
about her neck (though her hands were loose), as though he were
bringing a cow to market. When the man stayed his horse she came
forward and stood within the slack of the rope by the horse's head, and
Ralph could see her well, that though she was not to say naked, her
raiment was but scanty, for she had nought to cover her save one short
and strait little coat of linen, and shoes on her feet. Yet Ralph
deemed her to be of some degree, whereas he caught the gleam of gold
and gems on her hands, and there was a golden chaplet on her head. She
stood now by the horse's head with her hands folded, looking on, as if
what was tiding and to betide, were but a play done for her pleasure.

So when Ralph looked on her, he was silent a while; and the spearman
cried out again: "Ho, young man, wilt thou speak, or art thou dumb-
foundered for fear of us?"

But Ralph knit his brows, and was first red and then pale; for he was
both wroth, and doubtful how to go to work; but he said:

"I ride to seek adventures; and here meseemeth is one come to hand. Or
what will ye with the woman?"

Said the man who had the woman in tow: "Trouble not thine head
therewith; we lead her to her due doom. As for thee, be glad that thou
art not her fellow; since forsooth thou seemest not to be one of them;
so go thy ways in peace."

"No foot further will I go," said Ralph, "till ye loose the woman and
let her go; or else tell me what her worst deed is."

The man laughed, and said: "That were a long tale to tell; and it is
little like that thou shalt live to hear the ending thereof."

Therewith he wagged his head at the spearman, who suddenly let his
spear fall into the rest, and spurred, and drave on at Ralph all he
might. There and then had the tale ended, but Ralph, who was wary,
though he were young, and had Falcon well in hand, turned his wrist and
made the horse swerve, so that the man-at-arms missed his attaint, but
could not draw rein speedily enough to stay his horse; and as he passed
by all bowed over his horse's neck, Ralph gat his sword two-handed and
rose in his stirrups and smote his mightiest; and the sword caught the
foeman on the neck betwixt sallet and jack, and nought held before it,
neither leather nor ring-mail, so that the man's head was nigh smitten
off, and he fell clattering from his saddle: yet his stirrups held him,
so that his horse went dragging him on earth as he gallopped over rough
and smooth betwixt the trees of the forest. Then Ralph turned about to
deal with his fellow, and even through the wrath and fury of the
slaying saw him clear and bright against the trees as he sat handling
his axe doubtfully, but the woman was fallen back again somewhat.

But even as Ralph raised his sword and pricked forward, the woman
sprang as light as a leopard on to the saddle behind the foeman, and
wound her arms about him and dragged him back just as he was raising
his axe to smite her, and as Ralph rode forward she cried out to him,
"Smite him, smite! O lovely creature of God!"

Therewith was Ralph beside them, and though he were loth to slay a man
held in the arms of a woman, yet he feared lest the man should slay her
with some knife-stroke unless he made haste; so he thrust his sword
through him, and the man died at once, and fell headlong off his horse,
dragging down the woman with him.

Then Ralph lighted down from his horse, and the woman rose up to him,
her white smock all bloody with the slain man. Nevertheless was she as
calm and stately before him, as if she were sitting on the dais of a
fair hall; so she said to him:

"Young warrior, thou hast done well and knightly, and I shall look to
it that thou have thy reward. And now I rede thee go not to the Burg
of the Four Friths; for this tale of thee shall get about and they
shall take thee, if it were out of the very Frith-stool, and there for
thee should be the scourge and the gibbet; for they of that Burg be
robbers and murderers merciless. Yet well it were that thou ride hence
presently; for those be behind my tormentors whom thou hast slain, who
will be as an host to thee, and thou mayst not deal with them. If thou
follow my rede, thou wilt take the way that goeth hence east away, and
then shalt thou come to Hampton under Scaur, where the folk are
peaceable and friendly."

He looked at her hard as she spake, and noted that she spake but
slowly, and turned red and white and red again as she looked at him.
But whatever she did, and in spite of her poor attire, he deemed he had
never seen woman so fair. Her hair was dark red, but her eyes grey,
and light at whiles and yet at whiles deep; her lips betwixt thin and
full, but yet when she spoke or smiled clad with all enticements; her
chin round and so wrought as none was ever better wrought; her body
strong and well-knit; tall she was, with fair and large arms, and limbs
most goodly of fashion, of which but little was hidden, since her coat
was but thin and scanty. But whatever may be said of her, no man would
have deemed her aught save most lovely. Now her face grew calm and
stately again as it was at the first, and she laid a hand on Ralph's
shoulder, and smiled in his face and said:

"Surely thou art fair, though thy strokes be not light." Then she took
his hand and caressed it, and said again: "Dost thou deem that thou
hast done great things, fair child? Maybe. Yet some will say that
thou hast but slain two butchers: and if thou wilt say that thou hast
delivered me; yet it may be that I should have delivered myself ere
long. Nevertheless hold up thine heart, for I think that greater
things await thee."

Then she turned about, and saw the dead man, how his feet yet hung in
the stirrups as his fellow's had done, save that the horse of this one
stood nigh still, only reaching his head down to crop a mouthful of
grass; so she said: "Take him away, that I may mount on his horse."

So he drew the dead man's feet out of the stirrups, and dragged him
away to where the bracken grew deep, and laid him down there, so to say
hidden. Then he turned back to the lady, who was pacing up and down
near the horse as the beast fed quietly on the cool grass. When Ralph
came back she took the reins in her hand and put one foot in the
stirrup as if she would mount at once; but suddenly lighted down again,
and turning to Ralph, cast her arms about him, and kissed his face many
times, blushing red as a rose meantime. Then lightly she gat her up
into the saddle, and bestrode the beast, and smote his flanks with her
heels, and went her ways riding speedily toward the south-east, so that
she was soon out of sight.

But Ralph stood still looking the way she had gone and wondering at the
adventure; and he pondered her words and held debate with himself
whether he should take the road she bade him. And he said within
himself: "Hitherto have I been safe and have got no scratch of a weapon
upon me, and this is a place by seeming for all adventures; and little
way moreover shall I make in the night if I must needs go to Hampton
under Scaur, where dwell those peaceable people; and it is now growing
dusk already. So I will abide the morning hereby; but I will be wary
and let the wood cover me if I may."

Therewith he went and drew the body of the slain man down into a little
hollow where the bracken was high and the brambles grew strong, so that
it might not be lightly seen. Then he called to him Falcon, his horse,
and looked about for cover anigh the want-way, and found a little thin
coppice of hazel and sweet chestnut, just where two great oaks had been
felled a half score years ago; and looking through the leaves thence,
he could see the four ways clearly enough, though it would not be easy
for anyone to see him thence.

Thither he betook him, and he did the rein off Falcon, but tethered him
by a halter in the thickest of the copse, and sat down himself nigher
to the outside thereof; he did off his helm and drew what meat he had
from out his wallet and ate and drank in the beginning of the summer
night; and then sat pondering awhile on what had befallen on this
second day of his wandering. The moon shone out presently, little
clouded, but he saw her not, for though he strove to wake awhile,
slumber soon overcame him, and nothing waked him till the night was
passing, nor did he see aught of that company of which the lady had
spoken, and which in sooth came not.



CHAPTER 10

A Meeting and a Parting in the Wood Perilous


When the first glimmer of dawn was in the sky he awoke in the fresh
morning, and sat up and hearkened, for even as he woke he had heard
something, since wariness had made him wakeful. Now he hears the sound
of horse-hoofs on the hard road, and riseth to his feet and goeth to
the very edge of the copse; looking thence he saw a rider who was just
come to the very crossing of the roads. The new comer was much muffled
in a wide cloak, but he seemed to be a man low of stature. He peered
all round about him as if to see if the way were clear, and then
alighted down from horseback and let the hood fall off his head, and
seemed pondering which way were the best to take. By this time it was
grown somewhat lighter and Ralph, looking hard, deemed that the rider
was a woman; so he stepped forward lightly, and as he came on to the
open sward about the way, the new comer saw him and put a foot into the
stirrup to mount, but yet looked at him over the shoulder, and then
presently left the saddle and came forward a few steps as if to meet
Ralph, having cast the cloak to the ground.

Then Ralph saw that it was none other than the damsel of the hostelry
of Bourton Abbas, and he came up to her and reached out his hand to
her, and she took it in both hers and held it and said, smiling: "It is
nought save mountains that shall never meet. Here have I followed on
thy footsteps; yet knew I not where thou wouldst be in the forest. And
now I am glad to have fallen in with thee; for I am going a long way."

Ralph looked on her and himseemed some pain or shame touched his heart,
and he said: "I am a knight adventurous; I have nought to do save to
seek adventures. Why should I not go with thee?"

She looked at him earnestly awhile and said: "Nay, it may not be; thou
art a lord's son, and I a yeoman's daughter." She stopped, and he said
nothing in answer.

"Furthermore," said she, "it is a long way, and I know not how long."
Again he made no answer, and she said: "I am going to seek the WELL AT
THE WORLD'S END, and to find it and live, or to find it not, and die."

He spake after a while: "Why should I not come with thee?"

It was growing light now, and he could see that she reddened and then
turned pale and set her lips close.

Then she said: "Because thou willest it not: because thou hadst
liefer make that journey with some one else."

He reddened in his turn, and said: "I know of no one else who shall go
with me."

"Well," she said, "it is all one, I will not have thee go with me."
"Yea, and why not?" said he. She said: "Wilt thou swear to me that
nought hath happed to thee to change thee betwixt this and Bourton? If
thou wilt, then come with me; if thou wilt not, then refrain thee. And
this I say because I see and feel that there is some change in thee
since yesterday, so that thou wouldst scarce be dealing truly in being
my fellow in this quest: for they that take it up must be single-hearted,
and think of nought save the quest and the fellow that is with them."

She looked on him sadly, and his many thoughts tongue-tied him a while;
but at last he said: "Must thou verily go on this quest?" "Ah," she
said, "now since I have seen thee and spoken with thee again, all need
there is that I should follow it at once."

Then they both kept silence, and when she spoke again her voice was as
if she were gay against her will. She said: "Here am I come to these
want-ways, and there are three roads besides the one I came by, and I
wot that this that goeth south will bring me to the Burg of the Four
Friths; and so much I know of the folk of the said Burg that they would
mock at me if I asked them of the way to the Well at the World's End.
And as for the western way I deem that that will lead me back again to
the peopled parts whereof I know; therefore I am minded to take the
eastern way. What sayest thou, fair lord?"

Said Ralph: "I have heard of late that it leadeth presently to Hampton
under the Scaur, where dwelleth a people of goodwill."

"Who told thee this tale?" said she. Ralph answered, reddening again,
"I was told by one who seemed to know both of that folk, and of the
Burg of the Four Friths, and she said that the folk of Hampton were a
good folk, and that they of the Burg were evil."

The damsel smiled sadly when she heard him say 'She,' and when he
had done she said: "And I have heard, and not from yesterday, that at
Hampton dwelleth the Fellowship of the Dry Tree, and that those of the
fellowship are robbers and reivers. Nevertheless they will perchance
be little worse than the others; and the tale tells that the way to the
Well at the World's End is by the Dry Tree; so thither will I at all
adventure. And now will I say farewell to thee, for it is most like
that I shall not see thee again."

"O, maiden!" said Ralph, "why wilt thou not go back to Bourton Abbas?
There I might soon meet thee again, and yet, indeed, I also am like to
go to Hampton. Shall I not see thee there?"

She shook her head and said: "Nay, since I must go so far, I shall not
tarry; and, sooth to say, if I saw thee coming in at one gate I should
go out by the other, for why should I dally with a grief that may not
be amended. For indeed I wot that thou shalt soon forget to wish to
see me, either at Bourton Abbas or elsewhere; so I will say no more
than once again farewell."

Then she came close to him and put her hands on his shoulders and
kissed his mouth; and then she turned away swiftly, caught up her
cloak, and gat lightly into the saddle, and so shook her reins and rode
away east toward Hampton, and left Ralph standing there downcast and
pondering many things. It was still so early in the summer morning,
and he knew so little what to do, that presently he turned and walked
back to his lair amongst the hazels, and there he lay down, and his
thoughts by then were all gone back again to the lovely lady whom he
had delivered, and he wondered if he should ever see her again, and,
sooth to say, he sorely desired to see her. Amidst such thoughts he
fell asleep again, for the night yet owed him something of rest, so
young as he was and so hard as he had toiled, both body and mind,
during the past day.



CHAPTER 11

Now Must Ralph Ride For It


When he awoke again the sun was shining through the hazel leaves,
though it was yet early; he arose and looked to his horse, and led him
out of the hazel copse and stood and looked about him; and lo! a man
coming slowly through the wood on Ralph's right hand, and making as it
seemed for the want-way; he saw Ralph presently, and stopped, and bent
a bow which he held in his hand, and then came towards him warily, with
the arrow nocked. But Ralph went to meet him with his sword in his
sheath, and leading Falcon by the rein, and the man stopped and took
the shaft from the string: he had no armour, but there was a little axe
and a wood-knife in his girdle; he was clad in homespun, and looked
like a carle of the country-side. Now he greeted Ralph, and Ralph gave
him the sele of the day, and saw that the new-comer was both tall and
strong, dark of skin and black-haired, but of a cheerful countenance.
He spake frank and free to Ralph, and said: "Whither away, lord, out of
the woodland hall, and the dwelling of deer and strong-thieves? I would
that the deer would choose them a captain, and gather head and destroy
the thieves--and some few others with them."

Said Ralph: "I may scarce tell thee till I know myself. Awhile ago I
was minded for the Burg of the Four Friths; but now I am for Hampton
under Scaur."

"Yea?" said the carle, "when the Devil drives, to hell must we."

"What meanest thou, good fellow?" said Ralph, "Is Hampton then so evil
an abode?" And indeed it was in his mind that the adventure of the
lady led captive bore some evil with it.

Said the carle: "If thou wert not a stranger in these parts I need not
to answer thy question; but I will answer it presently, yet not till we
have eaten, for I hunger, and have in this wallet both bread and
cheese, and thou art welcome to a share thereof, if thou hungerest
also, as is most like, whereas thou art young and fresh coloured."

"So it is," said Ralph, laughing, "and I also may help to spread this
table in the wilderness, since there are yet some crumbs in my wallet.
Let us sit down and fall to at once."

"By your leave, Sir Gentleman," said the carle, "we will go a few yards
further on, where there is a woodland brook, whereof we may drink when
my bottle faileth."

"Nay, I may better that," said Ralph, "for I have wherewithal."

"Nevertheless," said the carle, "we will go thither, for here is it too
open for so small a company as ours, since this want-way hath an ill
name, and I shall lead thee whereas we shall be somewhat out of the
way of murder-carles. So come on, if thou trusteth in me."

Ralph yeasaid him, and they went together a furlong from the want-way
into a little hollow place wherethrough ran a clear stream betwixt
thick-leaved alders. The carle led Ralph to the very lip of the water
so that the bushes covered them; there they sat down and drew what they
had from their wallets, and so fell to meat; and amidst of the meat the
carle said:

"Fair Knight, as I suppose thou art one, I will ask thee if any need
draweth thee to Hampton?"

Said Ralph: "The need of giving the go-by to the Burg of the Four
Friths, since I hear tell that the folk thereof be robbers and
murderers."

"Thou shalt find that out better, lord, by going thither; but I shall
tell thee, that though men may slay and steal there time and time
about, yet in regard to Hampton under Scaur, it is Heaven, wherein men
sin not. And I am one who should know, for I have been long dwelling
in Hell, that is Hampton; and now am I escaped thence, and am minded
for the Burg, if perchance I may be deemed there a man good enough to
ride in their host, whereby I might avenge me somewhat on them that
have undone me: some of whom meseemeth must have put in thy mouth that
word against the Burg. Is it not so?"

"Maybe," said Ralph, "for thou seemest to be a true man." No more he
spake though he had half a mind to tell the carle all the tale of that
adventure; but something held him back when he thought of that lady and
her fairness. Yet again his heart misgave him of what might betide
that other maiden at Hampton, and he was unquiet, deeming that he must
needs follow her thither. The carle looked on him curiously and
somewhat anxiously, but Ralph's eyes were set on something that was not
there; or else maybe had he looked closely on the carle he might have
deemed that longing to avenge him whereof he spoke did not change his
face much; for in truth there was little wrath in it.

Now the carle said: "Thou hast a tale which thou deemest unmeet for
my ears, as it well may be. Well, thou must speak, or refrain from
speaking, what thou wilt; but thou art so fair a young knight, and so
blithe with a poor man, and withal I deem that thou mayest help me to
some gain and good, that I will tell thee a true tale: and first that
the Burg is a good town under a good lord, who is no tyrant nor
oppressor of peaceful men; and that thou mayest dwell there in peace
as to the folk thereof, who be good folk, albeit they be no dastards to
let themselves be cowed by murder-carles. And next I will tell thee
that the folk of the town of Hampton be verily as harmless and innocent
as sheep; but that they be under evil lords who are not their true
lords, who lay heavy burdens on them and torment them even to the
destroying of their lives: and lastly I will tell thee that I was one
of those poor people, though not so much a sheep as the more part of
them, therefore have these tyrants robbed me of my croft, and set
another man in my house; and me they would have slain had I not fled to
the wood that it might cover me. And happy it was for me that I had
neither wife, nor chick, nor child, else had they done as they did with
my brother, whose wife was too fair for him, since he dwelt at Hampton;
so that they took her away from him to make sport for them of the Dry
Tree, who dwell in the Castle of the Scaur, who shall be thy masters if
thou goest thither.

"This is my tale, and thine, I say, I ask not; but I deem that thou
shalt do ill if thou go not to the Burg either with me or by thyself
alone; either as a guest, or as a good knight to take service in their
host."

Now so it was that Ralph was wary; and this time he looked closely at
the carle, and found that he spake coldly for a man with so much wrath
in his heart; therefore he was in doubt about the thing; moreover he
called to mind the words of the lady whom he had delivered, and her
loveliness, and the kisses she had given him, and he was loth to find
her a liar; and he was loth also to think that the maiden of Bourton
had betaken her to so evil a dwelling. So he said:

"Friend, I know not that I must needs be a partaker in the strife
betwixt Hampton and the Burg, or go either to one or the other of these
strongholds. Is there no other way out of this wood save by Hampton or
the Burg? or no other place anigh, where I may rest in peace awhile,
and then go on mine own errands?"

Said the Carle: "There is a thorp that lieth somewhat west of the
Burg, which is called Apthorp; but it is an open place, not fenced, and
is debateable ground, whiles held by them of the Burg, whiles by the
Dry Tree; and if thou tarry there, and they of the Dry Tree take thee,
soon is thine errand sped; and if they of the Burg take thee, then
shalt thou be led into the Burg in worse case than thou wouldest be if
thou go thereto uncompelled. What sayest thou, therefore? Who shall
hurt thee in the Burg, a town which is under good and strong law, if
thou be a true man, as thou seemest to be? And if thou art seeking
adventures, as may well be, thou shalt soon find them there ready to
hand. I rede thee come with me to the Burg; for, to say sooth, I shall
find it somewhat easier to enter therein if I be in the company of
thee, a knight and a lord."

So Ralph considered and thought that there lay indeed but little peril
to him in the Burg, whereas both those men with whom he had striven
were hushed for ever, and there was none else to tell the tale of the
battle, save the lady, whose peril from them of the Burg was much
greater than his; and also he thought that if anything untoward befel,
he had some one to fall back on in old Oliver: yet on the other hand
he had a hankering after Hampton under Scaur, where, to say sooth, he
doubted not to see the lady again.

So betwixt one thing and the other, speech hung on his lips awhile,
when suddenly the carle said: "Hist! thou hast left thy horse without
the bushes, and he is whinnying" (which indeed he was), "there is now
no time to lose. To horse straightway, for certainly there are folk at
hand, and they may be foemen, and are most like to be."

Therewith they both arose and hastened to where Falcon stood just
outside the alder bushes, and Ralph leapt a-horseback without more ado,
and the carle waited no bidding to leap up behind him, and pointing to
a glade of the wood which led toward the highway, cried out, "Spur that
way, thither! they of the Dry Tree are abroad this morning. Spur! 'tis
for life or death!"

Ralph shook the rein and Falcon leapt away without waiting for the
spur, while the carle looked over his shoulder and said, "Yonder they
come! they are three; and ever they ride well horsed. Nay, nay! They
are four," quoth he, as a shout sounded behind them. "Spur, young
lord! spur! And thine horse is a mettlesome beast. Yea, it will do,
it will do."

Therewith came to Ralph's ears the sound of their horse-hoofs beating
the turf, and he spurred indeed, and Falcon flew forth.

"Ah," cried the carle! "but take heed, for they see that thy horse is
good, and one of them, the last, hath a bent Turk bow in his hand, and
is laying an arrow on it; as ever their wont is to shoot a-horseback: a
turn of thy rein, as if thine horse were shying at a weasel on the
road!"

Ralph stooped his head and made Falcon swerve, and heard therewith the
twang of the bowstring and straightway the shaft flew past his ears.
Falcon galloped on, and the carle cried out: "There is the highway
toward the Burg! Do thy best, do thy best! Lo you again!"

For the second shaft flew from the Turkish bow, and the noise of the
chase was loud behind them. Once again twanged the bow-string, but
this time the arrow fell short, and the woodland man, turning himself
about as well as he might, shook his clenched fist at the chase, crying
out in a voice broken by the gallop: "Ha, thieves! I am Roger of the
Rope-walk, I go to twist a rope for the necks of you!"

Then he spake to Ralph: "They are turning back: they are beaten, and
withal they love not the open road: yet slacken not yet, young knight,
unless thou lovest thine horse more than thy life; for they will follow
on through the thicket on the way-side to see whether thou wert born a
fool and hast learned nothing later."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and now I deem thou wilt tell me that to the Burg I
needs must."

"Yea, forsooth," said the carle, "nor shall we be long, riding thus,
ere we come to the Burg Gate."

"Yea, or even slower," said Ralph, drawing rein somewhat, "for now I
deem the chase done: and after all is said, I have no will to slay
Falcon, who is one of my friends, as thou perchance mayest come to be
another."

Thereafter he went a hand-gallop till the wood began to thin, and there
were fields of tillage about the highway; and presently Roger said:
"Thou mayst breathe thy nag now, and ride single, for we are amidst
friends; not even a score of the Dry Tree dare ride so nigh the Burg
save by night and cloud."

So Ralph stayed his horse, and he and Roger lighted down, and Ralph
looked about him and saw a stone tower builded on a little knoll amidst
a wheatfield, and below it some simple houses thatched with straw;
there were folk moreover working, or coming and going about the fields,
who took little heed of the two when they saw them standing quiet by
the horse's head; but each and all of these folk, so far as could be
seen, had some weapon.

Then said Ralph: "Good fellow, is this the Burg of the Four Friths?"
The carle laughed, and said: "Simple is the question, Sir Knight:
yonder is a watch-tower of the Burg, whereunder husbandmen can live,
because there be men-at-arms therein. And all round the outskirts of
the Frank of the Burg are there such-like towers to the number of
twenty-seven. For that, say folk, was the tale of the winters of the
Fair Lady who erewhile began the building of the Burg, when she was
first wedded to the Forest Lord, who before that building had dwelt, he
and his fathers, in thatched halls of timber here and there about the
clearings of the wild-wood. But now, knight, if thou wilt, thou mayest
go on softly toward the Gate of the Burg, and if thou wilt I will walk
beside thy rein, which fellowship, as aforesaid, shall be a gain to me."

Said Ralph: "I pray thee come with me, good fellow, and show me how
easiest to enter this stronghold." So, when Falcon was well breathed,
they went on, passing through goodly acres and wide meadows, with here
and there a homestead on them, and here and there a carle's cot. Then
came they to a thorp of the smallest on a rising ground, from the
further end of which they could see the walls and towers of the Burg.
Thereafter right up to the walls were no more houses or cornfields,
nought but reaches of green meadows plenteously stored with sheep and
kine, and with a little stream winding about them.



CHAPTER 12

Ralph Entereth Into the Burg of the Four Friths


When they came up to the wall they saw that it was well builded of good
ashlar, and so high that they might not see the roofs of the town
because of it; but there were tall towers on it, a many of them, strong
and white. The road led up straight to the master-gate of the Burg,
and there was a bailey before it strongly walled, and manned with
weaponed men, and a captain going about amongst them. But they entered
it along with men bringing wares into the town, and none heeded them
much, till they came to the very gate, on the further side of a moat
that was both deep and clean; but as now the bridge was down and the
portcullis up, so that the market-people might pass in easily, for it
was yet early in the day. But before the door on either side stood
men-at-arms well weaponed, and on the right side was their captain, a
tall man with bare grizzled head, but otherwise all-armed, who stopped
every one whom he knew not, and asked their business.

As Ralph came riding up with Roger beside him, one of the guard laid
his spear across and bade them stand, and the captain spake in a dry
cold voice: "Whence comest thou, man-at-arms?" "From the Abbey of St.
Mary at Higham," said Ralph. "Yea," said the captain, smiling grimly,
"even so I might have deemed: thou wilt be one of the Lord Abbot's
lily lads." "No I am not," quoth Ralph angrily. "Well, well," said the
captain, "what is thy name?"

"Ralph Motherson," quoth Ralph, knitting his brow. Said the captain
"And whither wilt thou?" Said Ralph, "On mine own errands." "Thou
answerest not over freely," quoth the captain. Said Ralph, "Then is it
even; for thou askest freely enough." "Well, well," said the captain,
grinning in no unfriendly wise, "thou seemest a stout lad enough; and
as to my asking, it is my craft as captain of the North Gate: but now
tell me friendly, goest thou to any kinsman or friend in the Burg?"

Then Ralph's brow cleared and he said, "Nay, fair sir." "Well then,"
said the captain, "art thou but riding straight through to another
gate, and so away again?" "Nay," said Ralph, "if I may, I would abide
here the night over, or may-happen longer." "Therein thou shalt do
well, young man," said the captain; "then I suppose thou wilt to some
hostelry? tell me which one."

Said Ralph, "Nay, I wot not to which one, knowing not the town." But
Roger close by him spake and said: "My lord shall go to the Flower de
Luce, which is in the big square."

"Truly," said the captain, "he goes to a good harbour; and moreover,
fair sir, to-morrow thou shalt see a goodly sight from thine inn; thou
mayst do no better, lord. But thou, carle, who art thou, who knowest
the inside of our Burg so well, though I know thee not, for as well as
I know our craftsmen and vavassors?"

Then Roger's words hung on his lips awhile, and the knight bent his
brow on him, till at last he said, "Sir Captain, I was minded to lie,
and say that I am this young knight's serving-man." The captain broke
in on him grimly, "Thou wert best not lie."

"Yea, sir," quoth Roger, "I deemed, as it was on my tongue's end, that
thou wouldst find me out, so I have nought to do but tell thee the very
sooth: this it is: I am a man made masterless by the thieves of the
Dry Tree. From my land at Hampton under Scaur have I been driven, my
chattels have been lifted, and my friends slain; and therefore by your
leave would I ride in the host of the Burg, that I may pay back the
harm which I had, according to the saw, 'better bale by breeding bale.'
So, lord, I ask thee wilt thou lend me the sword and give me the loaf,
that I may help both thee, and the Burg, and me?"

The captain looked at him closely and sharply, while the carle faced
him with open simple eyes, and at last he said: "Well, carle, thou wert
about to name thyself this young knight's serving-man; be thou even so
whiles he abideth in the Burg; and when he leaveth the Burg then come
back to me here any day before noon, and may be I shall then put a
sword in thy fist and horse between thy thighs. But," (and he wagged
his head threateningly at Roger) "see that thou art at the Flower de
Luce when thou art called for."

Roger held his peace and seemed somewhat abashed at this word, and the
captain turned to Ralph and said courteously: "Young knight, if thou
art seeking adventures, thou shalt find them in our host; and if thou
be but half as wise as thou seemest bold, thou wilt not fail to gain
honour and wealth both, in the service of the Burg; for we be overmuch
beset with foemen that we should not welcome any wight and wary
warrior, though he be an alien of blood and land. If thou thinkest
well of this, then send me thy man here and give me word of thy mind,
and I shall lead thee to the chiefs of the Port, and make the way easy
for thee."

Ralph thanked him and rode through the gate into the street, and Roger
still went beside his stirrup.

Presently Ralph turned to Roger and spake to him somewhat sourly, and
said: "Thou hadst one lie in thy mouth and didst swallow it; but how
shall I know that another did not come out thence? Withal thou must
needs be my fellow here, will I, nill I; for thou it was that didst put
that word into the captain's mouth that thou shouldst serve me while I
abide in the Burg. So I will say here and now, that my mind misgives
me concerning thee, whether thou be not of those very thieves and
tyrants whom thou didst mis-say but a little while ago."

"Yea," said Roger, "thou art wise indeed to set me down as one of the
Dry Tree; doubtless that is why I delivered thee from their ambush even
now. And as for my service, thou mayst need it; for indeed I deem thee
not so safe as thou deemest thyself in this Burg."

"What!" said Ralph, "Dost thou blow hot and cold? why even now, when we
were in the wood, thou wert telling me that I had nought at all to fear
in the Burg of the Four Friths, and that all was done there by reason
and with justice. What is this new thing then which thou hast found
out, or what is that I have to fear?"

Roger changed countenance thereat and seemed somewhat confused, as one
who has been caught unawares; but he gat his own face presently, and
said: "Nay, Sir Knight, I will tell thee the truth right out. In the
wood yonder thy danger was great that thou mightest run into the hands
of them of the Dry Tree; therefore true it is that I spake somewhat
beyond my warrant concerning the life of the folk of the Burg, as how
could I help it? But surely whatever thy peril may be here, it is
nought to that which awaited thee at Hampton."

"Nay, but what is the peril?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger, "If thou wilt
become their man and enter into their host, there is none; for they
will ask few questions of so good a man-at-arms, when they know that
thou art theirs; but if thou naysay that, it may well be that they will
be for turning the key on thee till thou tellest them what and whence
thou art." Ralph answered nought, thinking in his mind that this was
like enough; so he rode on soberly, till Roger said:

"Anyhow, thou mayst turn the cold shoulder on me if thou wilt. Yet
were I thee, I would not, for so it is, both that I can help thee, as I
deem, in time to come, and that I have helped thee somewhat in time
past."

Now Ralph was young and could not abide the blame of thanklessness; so
he said, "Nay, nay, fellow, go we on together to the Flower de Luce."

Roger nodded his head and grumbled somewhat, and they made no stay
except that now and again Ralph drew rein to look at goodly things in
the street, for there were many open booths therein, so that the whole
street looked like a market. The houses were goodly of building, but
not very tall, the ways wide and well-paved. Many folk were in the
street, going up and down on their errands, and both men and women of
them seemed to Ralph stout and strong, but not very fair of favour.
Withal they seemed intent on their business, and payed little heed to
Ralph and his fellow, though he was by his attire plainly a stranger.

Now Ralph sees a house more gaily adorned than most, and a sign hung
out from it whereon was done an image of St. Loy, and underneath the
same a booth on which was set out weapons and war-gear exceeding
goodly; and two knaves of the armourer were standing by to serve folk,
and crying their wares with "what d'ye lack?" from time to time. So he
stayed and fell to looking wistfully at the gleam and glitter of those
fair things, till one of the aforesaid knaves came to his side and said:

"Fair Sir, surely thou lackest somewhat; what have we here for thy
needs?" So Ralph thought and called to mind that strong little steel
axe of the man whom he had slain yesterday, and asked for the sight of
such a weapon, if he might perchance cheapen it. And the lad brought a
very goodly steel axe, gold-inlaid about the shaft, and gave him the
price thereof, which Ralph deemed he might compass; so he brought round
his scrip to his hand, that he might take out the money. But while his
hand was yet in the bag, out comes the master-armourer, a tall and very
stark carle, and said in courteous wise: "Sir Knight, thou art a
stranger to me and I know thee not; so I must needs ask for a sight of
thy license to buy weapons, under the seal of the Burg."

"Hear a wonder," said Ralph, "that a free man for his money shall not
buy wares set out to be bought, unless he have the Burg-Reeve's hand
and seal for it! Nay, take thy florins, master, and give me the axe
and let the jest end there." "I jest not, young rider," quoth the
armourer. "When we know thee for a liegeman of the Burg, thou shalt
buy what thou wilt without question; but otherwise I have told thee the
law, and how may I, the master of the craft, break the law? Be not
wrath, fair sir, I will set aside thine axe for thee, till thou bring
me the license, or bid me come see it, and thou shalt get the said
license at the Town Hall straight-way, when they may certify thee no
foeman of the Burg."

Ralph saw that it availed nothing to bicker with the smith, and so went
his way somewhat crestfallen, and that the more as he saw Roger
grinning a little.

Now they come into the market-place, on one side whereof was the master
church of the town, which was strongly built and with a tall tower to
it, but was not very big, and but little adorned. Over against it they
saw the sign of the Flower de Luce, a goodly house and great.
Thitherward they turned; but in the face of the hostelry amidmost the
place was a thing which Roger pointed at with a grin that spoke as well
as words; and this was a high gallows-tree furnished with four forks or
arms, each carved and wrought in the fashion of the very bough of a
tree, from which dangled four nooses, and above them all was a board
whereon was written in big letters THE DRY TREE. And at the foot of
this gallows were divers folk laughing and talking.

So Ralph understood at once that those four men whom he had seen led
away bound yesterday should be hanged thereon; so he stayed a franklin
who was passing by, and said to him, "Sir, I am a stranger in the town,
and I would know if justice shall be done on the four woodmen to-day."
"Nay," said the man, "but to-morrow; they are even now before the
judges."

Then said Roger in a surly voice, "Why art thou not there to look on?"
"Because," quoth the man, "there is little to see there, and not much
more to hearken. The thieves shall be speedily judged, and not
questioned with torments, so that they may be the lustier to feel what
the hangman shall work on them to-morrow; then forsooth the show shall
be goodly. But far better had it been if we had had in our hands the
great witch of these dastards, as we looked to have her; but now folk
say that she has not been brought within gates, and it is to be feared
that she hath slipped through our fingers once more."

Roger laughed, and said: "Simple are ye folk of the Burg and know
nought of her shifts. I tell thee it is not unlike that she is in the
Burg even now, and hath in hand to take out of your prison the four
whom ye have caught."

The franklin laughed scornfully in his turn and said: "If we be simple,
thou art a fool merely: are we not stronger and more than the Dry
Tree? How should she not be taken? How should she not be known if she
were walking about these streets? Have we no eyes, fool-carle?" And he
laughed again, for he was wroth.

Ralph hearkened, and a kind of fear seemed griping his heart, so he
asked the franklin: "Tell me, sir, are ye two speaking of a woman who
is Queen of these strong-thieves?" "Yea," said he, "or it might better
be said that she is their goddess, their mawmet, their devil, the very
heart and soul of their wickedness. But one day shall we have her body
and soul, and then shall her body have but an evil day of it till she
dieth in this world."

"Yea, forsooth, if she can die at all," quoth Roger.

The franklin looked sourly on him and said: "Good man, thou knowest
much of her, meseemeth--Whence art thou?" Said Roger speedily: "From
Hampton under Scaur; and her rebel I am, and her dastard, and her
runaway. Therefore I know her forsooth."

"Well," the Franklin said, "thou seemest a true man, and yet I would
counsel thee to put a rein on thy tongue when thou art minded to talk
of the Devil of the Dry Tree, or thou mayst come to harm in the Burg."

He walked away towards the gallows therewith; and Roger said, almost as
if he were talking to himself; "A heavy-footed fool goeth yonder; but
after this talk we were better hidden by the walls of the
Flower-de-Luce." So therewith they went on toward the hostel.

But the market place was wide, and they were yet some minutes getting
to the door, and ere they came there Ralph said, knitting his brows
anxiously: "Is this woman fair or foul to look on?" "That is nought so
easy to tell of," said Roger, "whiles she is foul, whiles very fair,
whiles young and whiles old; whiles cruel and whiles kind. But note
this, when she is the kindest then are her carles the cruellest; and
she is the kinder to them because they are cruel."

Ralph pondered what he said, and wondered if this were verily the woman
whom he had delivered, or some other. As if answering to his unspoken
thought, Roger went on: "They speak but of one woman amongst them of
the Dry Tree, but in sooth they have many others who are like unto her
in one way or other; and this again is a reason why they may not lay
hands on the very Queen of them all."

Therewithal they came unto the hostel, and found it fair enough within,
the hall great and goodly for such a house, and with but three
chapmen-carles therein. Straightway they called for meat, for it was
now past noon, and the folk of the house served them when the grooms
had taken charge of Falcon. And Roger served Ralph as if he were
verily his man. Then Ralph went to his chamber aloft and rested a
while, but came down into the hall a little before nones, and found
Roger there walking up and down the hall floor, and no man else, so he
said to him: "Though thou art not of the Burg, thou knowest it; wilt
thou not come abroad then, and show it me? for I have a mind to learn
the ways of the folk here."

Said Roger, and smiled a little: "If thou commandest me as my lord, I
will come; yet I were better pleased to abide behind; for I am weary
with night-waking and sorrow; and have a burden of thought, one which I
must bear to the end of the road; and if I put it down I shall have to
go back and take it up again."

Ralph thought that he excused himself with more words than were needed;
but he took little heed of it, but nodded to him friendly, and went out
of the house afoot, but left his weapons and armour behind him by the
rede of Roger.



CHAPTER 13

The Streets of the Burg of the Four Friths


He went about the streets and found them all much like to the one which
they had entered by the north gate; he saw no poor or wretched houses,
and none very big as of great lords; they were well and stoutly
builded, but as aforesaid not much adorned either with carven work or
painting: there were folk enough in the streets, and now Ralph, as was
like to be, looked specially at the women, and thought many of them
little better-favoured than the men, being both dark and low; neither
were they gaily clad, though their raiment, like the houses, was stout
and well wrought. But here and there he came on a woman taller and
whiter than the others, as though she were of another blood; all such
of these as he saw were clad otherwise than the darker women: their
heads uncoifed, uncovered save for some garland or silken band: their
gowns yellow like wheat-straw, but gaily embroidered; sleeveless withal
and short, scarce reaching to the ancles, and whiles so thin that they
were rather clad with the embroidery than the cloth; shoes they had
not, but sandals bound on their naked feet with white thongs, and each
bore an iron ring about her right arm.

The more part of the men wore weapons at their sides and had staves
in hand, and were clad in short jerkins brown or blue of colour, and
looked ready for battle if any moment should call them thereto; but
among them were men of different favour and stature from these, taller
for the most part, unarmed, and clad in long gowns of fair colours with
cloths of thin and gay-coloured web twisted about their heads. These
he took for merchants, as they were oftenest standing in and about the
booths and shops, whereof there were some in all the streets, though
the market for victuals and such like he found over for that day, and
but scantily peopled.

Out of one of these markets, which was the fish and fowl market, he
came into a long street that led him down to a gate right over against
that whereby he had entered the Burg; and as he came thereto he saw
that there was a wide way clear of all houses inside of the wall, so
that men-at-arms might go freely from one part to the other; and he had
also noted that a wide way led from each port out of the great place,
and each ended not but in a gate. But as to any castle in the town, he
saw none; and when he asked a burgher thereof, the carle laughed in his
face, and said to him that the whole Burg, houses and all, was a
castle, and that it would turn out to be none of the easiest to win.
And forsooth Ralph himself was much of that mind.

Now he was just within the south gate when he held this talk, and there
were many folk thereby already, and more flocking thereto; so he stood
there to see what should betide; and anon he heard great blowing of
horns and trumpets all along the wall, and, as he deemed, other horns
answered from without; and so it was; for soon the withoutward horns
grew louder, and the folk fell back on either side of the way, and next
the gates were thrown wide open (which before had been shut save for a
wicket) and thereafter came the first of a company of men-at-arms,
foot-men, with bills some, and some with bows, and all-armed knights
and sergeants a-horseback.

So streamed in these weaponed men till Ralph saw that it was a great
host that was entering the Burg; and his heart rose within him, so
warrior-like they were of men and array, though no big men of their
bodies; and many of them bore signs of battle about them, both in the
battering of their armour and the rending of their raiment, and the
clouts tied about the wounds on their bodies.

After a while among the warriors came herds of neat and flocks of sheep
and strings of horses, of the spoil which the host had lifted; and then
wains filled, some with weapons and war gear, and some with bales of
goods and household stuff. Last came captives, some going afoot and
some for weariness borne in wains; for all these war-taken thralls were
women and women-children; of males there was not so much as a little
lad. Of the women many seemed fair to Ralph despite their grief and
travel; and as he looked on them he deemed that they must be of the
kindred and nation of the fair white women he had seen in the streets;
though they were not clad like those, but diversely.

So Ralph gazed on this pageant till all had passed, and he was weary
with the heat and the dust and the confused clamour of shouting and
laughter and talking; and whereas most of the folk followed after the
host and their spoil, the streets of the town there about were soon
left empty and peaceful. So he turned into a street narrower than
most, that went east from the South Gate and was much shaded from the
afternoon sun, and went slowly down it, meaning to come about the
inside of the wall till he should hit the East Gate, and so into the
Great Place when the folk should have gone their ways home.

He saw no folk in the street save here and there an old woman sitting
at the door of her house, and maybe a young child with her. As he came
to where the street turned somewhat, even such a carline was sitting on
a clean white door-step on the sunny side, somewhat shaded by a tall
rose-laurel tree in a great tub, and she sang as she sat spinning, and
Ralph stayed to listen in his idle mood, and he heard how she sang in a
dry, harsh voice:

Clashed sword on shield In the harvest field;
And no man blames The red red flames,
War's candle-wick On roof and rick.
Now dead lies the yeoman unwept and unknown
On the field he hath furrowed, the ridge he hath sown:
And all in the middle of wethers and neat
The maidens are driven with blood on their feet;
For yet 'twixt the Burg-gate and battle half-won
The dust-driven highway creeps uphill and on,
And the smoke of the beacons goes coiling aloft,
While the gathering horn bloweth loud, louder and oft.

Throw wide the gates
For nought night waits;
Though the chase is dead
The moon's o'erhead
And we need the clear
Our spoil to share.
Shake the lots in the helm then for brethren are we,
And the goods of my missing are gainful to thee.
Lo! thine are the wethers, and his are the kine;
And the colts of the marshland unbroken are thine,
With the dapple-grey stallion that trampled his groom;
And Giles hath the gold-blossomed rose of the loom.
Lo! leaps out the last lot and nought have I won,
But the maiden unmerry, by battle undone.


Even as her song ended came one of those fair yellow-gowned damsels
round the corner of the street, bearing in her hand a light basket full
of flowers: and she lifted up her head and beheld Ralph there; then she
went slowly and dropped her eyelids, and it was pleasant to Ralph to
behold her; for she was as fair as need be. Her corn-coloured gown was
dainty and thin, and but for its silver embroidery had hidden her limbs
but little; the rosiness of her ancles showed amidst her white
sandal-thongs, and there were silver rings and gold on her arms along
with the iron ring.

Now she lifted up her eyes and looked shyly at Ralph, and he smiled at
her well-pleased, and deemed it would be good to hear her voice; so he
went up to her and greeted her, and she seemed to take his greeting
well, though she glanced swiftly at the carline in the doorway.

Said Ralph: "Fair maiden, I am a stranger in this town, and have seen
things I do not wholly understand; now wilt thou tell me before I ask
the next question, who will be those war-taken thralls whom even now I
saw brought into the Burg by the host? of what nation be they, and of
what kindred?"

Straightway was the damsel all changed; she left her dainty tricks, and
drew herself up straight and stiff. She looked at him in the eyes,
flushing red, and with knit brows, a moment, and then passed by him
with swift and firm feet as one both angry and ashamed.

But the carline who had beheld the two with a grin on her wrinkled face
changed aspect also, and cried out fiercely after the damsel, and said:
"What! dost thou flee from the fair young man, and he so kind and soft
with thee, thou jade? Yea, I suppose thou dost fetch and carry for
some mistress who is young and a fool, and who has not yet learned how
to deal with the daughters of thine accursed folk. Ah! if I had but
money to buy some one of you, and a good one, she should do something
else for me than showing her fairness to young men; and I would pay her
for her long legs and her white skin, till she should curse her fate
that she had not been born little and dark-skinned and free, and with
heels un-bloodied with the blood of her back."

Thus she went on, though the damsel was long out of ear-shot of her
curses; and Ralph tarried not to get away from her spiteful babble,
which he now partly understood; and that all those yellow-clad damsels
were thralls to the folk of the Burg; and belike were of the kindred of
those captives late-taken whom he had seen amidst the host at its
entering into the Burg.

So he wandered away thence thinking on what he should do till the sun
was set, and he had come into the open space underneath the walls, and
had gone along it till he came to the East Gate: there he looked around
him a little and found people flowing back from the Great Place,
whereto they had gathered to see the host mustered and the spoil
blessed; then he went on still under the wall, and noted not that here
and there a man turned about to look upon him curiously, for he was
deep in thought, concerning the things which he had seen and heard of,
and pondered much what might have befallen his brethren since they
sundered at the Want-way nigh to the High House of Upmeads. Withal the
chief thing that he desired was to get him away from the Burg, for he
felt himself unfree therein; and he said to himself that if he were
forced to dwell among this folk, that he had better never have stolen
himself away from his father and mother; and whiles even he thought
that he would do his best on the morrow to get him back home to Upmeads
again. But then when he thought of how his life would go in his old
home, there seemed to him a lack, and when he questioned himself as
to what that lack was, straightway he seemed to see that Lady of the
Wildwood standing before the men-at-arms in her scanty raiment the
minute before his life was at adventure because of them. And in sooth
he smiled to himself then with a beating heart, as he told himself that
above all things he desired to see that Lady, whatever she might be,
and that he would follow his adventure to the end until he met her.

Amidst these thoughts he came unto the North Gate, whereby he had first
entered the Burg, and by then it was as dark as the summer night would
be; so he woke up from his dream, as it were, and took his way briskly
back to the Flower de Luce.



CHAPTER 14

What Ralph Heard of the Matters of the Burg of the Four Friths


There was no candle in the hall when he entered, but it was not so dark
therein but he might see Roger sitting on a stool near the chimney, and
opposite to him on the settle sat two men; one very tall and big, the
other small; Roger was looking away from these, and whistling; and it
came into Ralph's mind that he would have him think that he had nought
to do with them, whether that were so or not. But he turned round as
Ralph came up the hall and rose and came up to him, and fell to talking
with him and asking him how he liked the Burg; and ever he spake fast
and loud, so that again it came on Ralph that he was playing a part.

Ralph heeded him little, but ever looked through the hall-dusk on those
twain, who presently arose and went toward the hall door, but when they
were but half-way across the floor a chamberlain came in suddenly,
bearing candles in his hands, and the light fell on those guests and
flashed back from a salade on the head of the big man, and Ralph saw
that he was clad in a long white gaberdine, and he deemed that he was
the very man whom he had seen last in the Great Place at Higham, nigh
the church, and before that upon the road. As for the smaller man
Ralph had no knowledge of him, for he could see but little of his face,
whereas he was wrapped up in a cloak, for as warm as the evening was,
and wore a slouch hat withal; but his eyes seemed great and wondrous
bright.

But when they were gone Ralph asked Roger if he knew aught of them, or
if they had told him aught. "Nay," said Roger, "they came in here as I
sat alone, and had their meat, and spake nought to me, and little to
each other. I deem them not to be of the Burg. Nay, sooth to say, I
doubt if they be true men."

As he spake came in a sort of the townsmen somewhat merry and noisy,
and called for meat and drink and more lights; so that the board was
brought and the hall was speedily astir. These men, while supper was
being dight, fell to talking to Ralph and Roger, and asking them
questions of whence and whither, but nowise uncourteously: to whom
Roger answered with the tale which he had told Ralph, and Ralph told
what he would, and that was but little.

But when the board was dight they bade them sit down with them and eat.
Ralph sat down at once, and Roger would have served him, but Ralph bade
him do it not, and constrained him to sit by his side, and they two sat
a little apart from the townsmen.

So when they had eaten their fill, and wine was brought, and men were
drinking kindly, Ralph began to ask Roger concerning those women whom
he had seen in the street, and the captives whom he had seen brought in
by the host, and if they were of one kindred, and generally how it was
with them: and he spake somewhat softly as if he would not break into
the talk of the townsmen: but Roger answered him in a loud voice so
that all could hear:

"Yea, lord, I will tell thee the tale of them, which setteth forth well
both the wise policy and the great mercy of the folk of the Burg and
their rulers."

Said Ralph: "Are these women also of the Dry Tree? For I perceive
them to be born of the foes of the Burg."

Now the townsmen had let their talk drop a while to listen to the talk
of the aliens; and Roger answered still in a loud voice: "Nay, nay, it
is not so. These queens are indeed war-taken thralls, but not from
them of the Dry Tree, or they would have been slain at once, like as
the carles of those accursed ones. But these are of the folk of the
Wheat-wearers, even as those whom thou sawest brought to-day amidst
the other spoil. And to this folk the Burg showeth mercy, and whenso the
host goeth against them and over-cometh (and that is well-nigh whenever
they meet) these worthy lords slay no woman of them, but the men only,
whether they be old or young or youngest. As for their women they are
brought hither and sold at the market-cross to the highest bidder. And
this honour they have, that such of them as be fair, and that is the
more part of the younger ones, fetch no ill penny. Yet for my part I
were loth to cheapen such wares: for they make but evil servants,
being proud, and not abiding stripes lightly, or toiling the harder for
them; and they be somewhat too handy with the knife if they deem
themselves put upon. Speak I sooth, my masters?" quoth he, turning
toward them of the town.

Said a burgher somewhat stricken in years, "Nought but sooth; peaceable
men like to me eschew such servants; all the more because of this, that
if one of these queens misbehave with the knife, or strayeth from her
master's bed, the laws of the Burg meddle not therein. For the wise
men say that such folk are no more within the law than kine be, and may
not for their deeds be brought before leet or assize any more than
kine. So that if the master punish her not for her misdoings, unpun-
ished she needs must go; yea even if her deed be mere murder."

"That is sooth," said a somewhat younger man; "yet whiles it fareth ill
with them at the hands of our women. To wit, my father's brother has
even now come from the war to find his thrall all spoilt by his wife:
and what remedy may he have against his wife? his money is gone, even
as if she had houghed his horse or his best cow."

"Yea," said a third, "we were better without such cattle. A thrust
with a sword and all the tale told, were the better way of dealing with
them."

Said another; "Yet are the queens good websters, and, lacking them,
figured cloth of silk would be far-fetched and dear-bought here."

A young man gaily clad, who had been eyeing the speakers disdainfully,
spake next and said: "Fair sirs, ye are speaking like hypocrites, and
as if your lawful wives were here to hearken to you; whereas ye know
well how goodly these thralls be, and that many of them can be kind
enough withal; and ye would think yourselves but ill bestead if ye
might not cheapen such jewels for your money. Which of you will go to
the Cross next Saturday and there buy him a fairer wife than he can wed
out of our lineages? and a wife withal of whose humours he need take no
more account of than the dullness of his hound or the skittish temper
of his mare, so long as the thong smarts, and the twigs sting."

One or two grinned as he spake, but some bent their brows at him, yet
scarce in earnest, and the talk thereover dropped, nor did Ralph ask
any more questions; for he was somewhat down-hearted, calling to mind
the frank and free maidens of Upmead, and their friendly words and
hearty kisses. And him seemed the world was worse than he had looked
to find it.

Howsoever, the oldest and soberest of the guests, seeing that he was
a stranger and of noble aspect, came unto him and sat by him, and fell
to telling him tales of the wars of the men of the Burg with the
Wheat-wearers; and how in time past, when the town was but little
fenced, the Wheat-wearers had stormed their gates and taken the city,
and had made a great slaughter; but yet had spared many of the
fighting-men, although they had abided there as the masters of them,
and held them enthralled for three generations of men: after which time
the sons' sons of the old Burg-dwellers having grown very many again,
and divers of them being trusted in sundry matters by the conquerors,
who oppressed them but little, rose up against them as occasion served,
in the winter season and the Yule feast, and slew their masters, save
for a few who were hidden away.

"And thereafter," quoth he, "did we make the Burg strong and hard to
win, as ye see it to-day; and we took for our captain the Forest Lord,
who ere-while had dwelt in the clearings of the wildwood, and he wedded
the Fair Lady who was the son's daughter of him who had been our lord
ere the Wheat-wearers overcame us; and we grew safe and free and
mighty again. And the son of the Forest Lord, he whom we call the War-
smith, he it was who beheld the Burg too much given to pleasure, and
delighting in the softness of life; and he took order to harden our
hearts, and to cause all freemen to learn the craft of war and battle,
and let the women and thralls and aliens see to other craftsmanship and
to chaffer; and even so is it done as he would; and ye shall find us
hardy of heart enough, though belike not so joyous as might be. Yet at
least we shall not be easy to overcome."

"So indeed it seemeth," said Ralph. "Yet will I ask of you first one
question, and then another."

"Ask on," said the burgher.

Said Ralph: "How is it that ye, being so strong, should still suffer
them of the Dry Tree, taking a man here and a man there, when ye might
destroy them utterly?"

The Burgher reddened and cleared his throat and said: "Sir, it must be
made clear to you that these evil beasts are no peril to the Burg of
the Four Friths; all the harm they may do us, is as when a cur dog
biteth a man in the calf of the leg; whereby the man shall be grieved
indeed, but the dog slain. Such grief as that they have done us at
whiles: but the grief is paid for thus, that the hunting and slaying
of them keeps our men in good trim, and pleasures them; shortly to say
it, they are the chief deer wherewith our wood is stocked."

He stopped awhile and then went on again and said: "To say sooth they
be not very handy for crushing as a man crushes a wasp, because sorcery
goes with them, and the wiles of one who is their Queen, the evilest
woman who ever spat upon the blessed Host of the Altar: yet is she
strong, a devouring sea of souls, God help us!" And he blessed himself
therewith.

Said Ralph: "Yet a word on these Wheat-wearers; it seemeth that ye
never fail to overcome them in battle?"

"But seldom at least," quoth the Burgher.

Said Ralph: "Then it were no great matter for you to gather a host
overwhelming, and to take their towns and castles, and forbid them
weapons, and make them your thralls to till the land for you which now
they call theirs; so that ye might have of their gettings all save what
were needful for them to live as thralls."

"I deem it were an easy thing," said the burgher.

Quoth Ralph: "Then why do ye not so?"

"It were but a poor game to play," said the burgher. "Such of their
wealth as we have a mind to, we can have now at the cost of a battle or
two, begun one hour and ended the next: were we their masters sitting
down amidst of their hatred, and amidst of their plotting, yea, and in
the very place where that were the hottest and thickest, the battle
would be to begin at every sun's uprising, nor would it be ended at any
sunset. Hah! what sayest thou?"

Said Ralph: "This seemeth to me but the bare truth; yet it is little
after the manner of such masterful men as ye be. But why then do ye
slay all their carles that are taken; whereas ye bear away the women
and make thralls of them at home, that is to say, foes in every house?"

"It may be," said the Burgher, "that this is not amongst the wisest of
our dealings. Yet may we do no otherwise; for thus we swore to do by
all the greatest oaths that we might swear, in the days when we first
cast off their yoke, and yet were not over strong at the first; and now
it hath so grown into a part of our manners, yea, and of our very
hearts and minds, that the slaying of a Wheat-wearer is to us a lighter
matter than the smiting of a rabbit or a fowmart. But now, look you,
fair sir, my company ariseth from table; so I bid thee a good night.
And I give thee a good rede along with the good wish, to wit, that thou
ask not too many questions in this city concerning its foemen: for here
is the stranger looked upon with doubt, if he neither will take the
wages of the Burg for battle, nor hath aught to sell."

Ralph reddened at his word, and the other looked at him steadily as he
spoke, so that Ralph deemed that he mistrusted him: he deemed more-
over that three or four of the others looked hard at him as they went
towards the door, while Roger stood somewhat smiling, and humming a
snatch of an old song.

But when the other guests had left the hostelry, Roger left his
singing, and turned to Ralph and said: "Master, meseems that they
mistrust us, and now maybe is that peril that I spake of nigher than I
deemed when we came into the Burg this morning. And now I would that
we were well out of the Burg and in the merry greenwood again, and it
repents me that I brought thee hither."

"Nay, good fellow," quoth Ralph, "heed it not: besides, it was me, not
thee, that they seemed to doubt of. I will depart hence to-morrow
morning no worser than I came, and leave thee to seek thy fortune here;
and good luck go with thee."

Roger looked hard at him and said: "Not so, young lord; if thou goest
I will go with thee, for thou hast won my heart, I know not how: and I
would verily be thy servant, to follow thee whithersoever thou goest;
for I think that great deeds will come of thee."

This word pleased Ralph, for he was young and lightly put faith in
men's words, and loved to be well thought of, and was fain of good
fellowship withal. So he said: "This is a good word of thine, and I
thank thee for it; and look to it that in my adventures, and the reward
of them thou shalt have thy due share. Lo here my hand on it!"

Roger took his hand, yet therewith his face seemed a little troubled,
but he said nought. Then spoke Ralph: "True it is that I am not fain
to take the wages of the Burg; for it seems to me that they be hard
men, and cruel and joyless, and that their service shall be rather
churlish than knightly. Howbeit, let night bring counsel, and we will
see to this to-morrow; for now I am both sleepy and weary." Therewith
he called the chamberlain, who bore a wax light before him to his
chamber, and he did off his raiment and cast himself on his bed, and
fell asleep straightway, before he knew where Roger was sleeping,
whether it were in the hall or some place else.



CHAPTER 15

How Ralph Departed From the Burg of the Four Friths


Himseemed he had scarce been asleep a minute ere awoke with a sound
of someone saying softly, "Master, master, awake!" So he sat up and
answered softly in his turn: "Who is it? what is amiss, since the
night is yet young?"

"I am thy fellow-farer, Roger," said the speaker, "and this thou hast
to do, get on thy raiment speedily, and take thy weapons without noise,
if thou wouldst not be in the prison of the Burg before sunrise."

Ralph did as he was bidden without more words; for already when he lay
down his heart misgave him that he was in no safe place; he looked to
his weapons and armour that they should not clash, and down they came
into the hall and found the door on the latch; so out they went and
Ralph saw that it was somewhat cloudy; the moon was set and it was
dark, but Ralph knew by the scent that came in on the light wind, and a
little stir of blended sounds, that it was hard on dawning; and even
therewith he heard the challenge of the warders on the walls and their
crying of the hour; and the chimes of the belfry rang clear and loud,
and seeming close above him, two hours and a half after midnight.
Roger spake not, and Ralph was man-at-arms enough to know that he must
hold his peace; and though he longed sore to have his horse Falcon with
him, yet he wotted that it availed not to ask of his horse, since he
durst not ask of his life.

So they went on silently till they were out of the Great Place and came
into a narrow street, and so into another which led them straight into
the houseless space under the wall. Roger led right on as if he knew
the way well, and in a twinkling were they come to a postern in the
wall betwixt the East Gate and the South. By the said postern Ralph
saw certain men standing; and on the earth near by, whereas he was
keen-eyed, he saw more than one man lying moveless.

Spake Roger softly to the men who stood on their feet: "Is the rope
twined?" "Nay, rope-twiner," said one of them. Then Roger turned and
whispered to Ralph: "Friends. Get out thy sword!" Wherewithal the
gate was opened, and they all passed out through the wall, and stood
above the ditch in the angle-nook of a square tower. Then Ralph saw
some of the men stoop and shoot out a broad plank over the ditch, which
was deep but not wide thereabout, and straightway he followed the
others over it, going last save Roger. By then they were on the other
side he saw a glimmer of the dawn in the eastern heaven, but it was
still more than dusk, and no man spoke again. They went on softly
across the plain fields outside the wall, creeping from bush to bush,
and from tree to tree, for here, if nowhere about the circuit of the
Burg, were a few trees growing. Thus they came into a little wood and
passed through it, and then Ralph could see that the men were six
besides Roger; by the glimmer of the growing dawn he saw before them a
space of meadows with high hedges about them, and a dim line that he
took for the roof of a barn or grange, and beyond that a dark mass of
trees.

Still they pressed on without speaking; a dog barked not far off and
the cocks were crowing, and close by them in the meadow a cow lowed
and went hustling over the bents and the long, unbitten buttercups. Day
grew apace, and by then they were under the barn-gable which he had
seen aloof he saw the other roofs of the grange and heard the bleating
of sheep. And now he saw those six men clearly, and noted that one of
them was very big and tall, and one small and slender, and it came into
his mind that these two were none other than the twain whom he had come
upon the last night sitting in the hall of the Flower de Luce.

Even therewith came a man to the gate of the sheep-cote by the grange,
and caught sight of them, and had the wits to run back at once shouting
out: "Hugh, Wat, Richard, and all ye, out with you, out a doors! Here
be men! Ware the Dry Tree! Bows and bills! Bows and bills!"

With that those fellows of Ralph made no more ado, but set off running
at their best toward the wood aforesaid, which crowned the slope
leading up from the grange, and now took no care to go softly, nor
heeded the clashing of their armour. Ralph ran with the best and
entered the wood alongside the slim youth aforesaid, who stayed not at
the wood's edge but went on running still: but Ralph stayed and turned
to see what was toward, and beheld how that tall man was the last of
their company, and ere he entered the wood turned about with a bent bow
in his hand, and even as he nocked the shaft, the men from the Grange,
who were seven in all, came running out from behind the barn-gable,
crying out: "Ho thieves! ho ye of the Dry Tree, abide till we come!
flee not from handy strokes." The tall man had the shaft to his ear in
a twinkling, and loosed straightway, and nocked and loosed another
shaft without staying to note how the first had sped. But Ralph saw
that a man was before each of the shafts, and had fallen to earth,
though he had no time to see aught else, for even therewith the tall
man caught him by the hand, and crying out, "The third time!" ran on
with him after the rest of their company; and whereas he was
long-legged and Ralph lightfooted, they speedily came up with them, who
were running still, but laughing as they ran, and jeering at the men of
the Burg; and the tall man shouted out to them: "Yea, lads, the
counterfeit Dry Tree that they have raised in the Burg shall be dry
enough this time." "Truly," said another, "till we come to water it
with the blood of these wretches."

"Well, well, get on," said a third, "waste not your wind in talk; those
carles will make but a short run of it to the walls long as it was for
us, creeping and creeping as we behoved to."

The long man laughed; "Thou sayest sooth," said he, "but thou art the
longest winded of all in talking: get on, lads."

They laughed again at his word and sped on with less noise; while Ralph
thought within himself that he was come into strange company, for now
he knew well that the big man was even he whom he had first met at the
churchyard gate of the thorp under Bear Hill. Yet he deemed that there
was nought for it now but to go on.

Within a while they all slacked somewhat, and presently did but walk,
though swiftly, through the paths of the thicket, which Ralph deemed
full surely was part of that side of the Wood Perilous that lay south
of the Burg of the Four Friths. And now Roger joined himself to him,
and spake to him aloud and said: "So, fair master, thou art out of the
peril of death for this bout."

"Art thou all so sure of that?" quoth Ralph, "or who are these that be
with us? meseems they smell of the Dry Tree."

"Yea, or rebels and runaways therefrom," said Roger, with a dry grin.
"But whosoever they may be, thou shalt see that they will suffer us to
depart whither we will, if we like not their company. I will be thy
warrant thereof."

"Moreover," said Ralph, "I have lost Falcon my horse; it is a sore miss
of him."

"Maybe," quoth Roger, "but at least thou hast saved thy skin; and
whereas there are many horses on the earth, there is but one skin of
thine: be content; if thou wilt, thou shall win somewhat in exchange
for thine horse."

Ralph smiled, but somewhat sourly, and even therewith he heard a shrill
whistle a little aloof, and the men stayed and held their peace, for
they were talking together freely again now. Then the big man put his
fingers to his mouth and whistled again in answer, a third whistle
answered him; and lo, presently, as their company hastened on, the
voices of men, and anon they came into a little wood-lawn wherein
standing about or lying on the grass beside their horses were more than
a score of men well armed, but without any banner or token, and all in
white armour with white Gaberdines thereover; and they had with them,
as Ralph judged, some dozen of horses more than they needed for their
own riding.

Great was the joy at this meeting, and there was embracing and kissing
of friends: but Ralph noted that no man embraced that slender youth,
and that he held him somewhat aloof from the others, and all seemed to
do him reverence.

Now spake one of the runaways: "Well, lads, here be all we four well
met again along with those twain who came to help us at our pinch, as
their wont is, and Roger withal, good at need again, and a friend of
his, as it seemeth, and whom we know not. See ye to that."

Then stood forth the big man and said: "He is a fair young knight, as
ye may see; and he rideth seeking adventures, and Roger did us to wit
that he was abiding in the Burg at his peril, and would have him away,
even if it were somewhat against his will: and we were willing that it
should be so, all the more as I have a guess concerning what he is; and
a foreseeing man might think that luck should go with him." Therewith
he turned to Ralph and said: "How say ye, fair sir, will ye take
guesting with us a while and learn our ways?"

Said Ralph: "Certain I am that whither ye will have me go, thither
must I; yet I deem that I have an errand that lies not your way.
Therefore if I go with you, ye must so look upon it that I am in your
fellowship as one compelled. To be short with you, I crave leave to
depart and go mine own road."

As he spoke he saw the youth walking up and down in short turns; but
his face he could scarce see at all, what for his slouched hat, what
for his cloak; and at last he saw him go up to the tall man and speak
softly to him awhile. The tall man nodded his head, and as the youth
drew right back nigh to the thicket, spake to Ralph again.

"Fair sir, we grant thine asking; and add this thereto that we give
thee the man who has joined himself to thee, Roger of the Rope-walk to
wit, to help thee on the road, so that thou mayst not turn thy face
back to the Burg of the Four Friths, where thine errand, and thy life
withal, were soon sped now, or run into any other trap which the Wood
Perilous may have for thee. And yet if thou think better of it, thou
mayst come with us straightway; for we have nought to do to tarry here
any longer. And in any case, here is a good horse that we will give
thee, since thou hast lost thy steed; and Roger who rideth with thee,
he also is well horsed."

Ralph looked hard at the big man, who now had his salade thrown back
from his face, to see if he gave any token of jeering or malice, but
could see nought such: nay, his face was grave and serious, not
ill-fashioned, though it were both long and broad like his body: his
cheek-bones somewhat high, his eyes grey and middling great, and
looking, as it were, far away.

Now deems Ralph that as for a trap of the Wood Perilous, he had already
fallen into the trap; for he scarce needed to be told that these were
men of the Dry Tree. He knew also that it was Roger who had led him
into this trap, although he deemed it done with no malice against him.
So he said to himself that if he went with Roger he but went a
roundabout road to the Dry Tree; so that he was well nigh choosing to
go on with their company. Yet again he thought that something might
well befall which would free him from that fellowship if he went with
Roger alone; whereas if he went with the others it was not that he
might be, but that he was already of the fellowship of the Dry Tree,
and most like would go straight thence to their stronghold. So he
spake as soberly as the tall man had done.

"Since ye give me the choice, fair sir, I will depart hence with Roger
alone, whom ye call my man, though to me he seemeth to be yours.
Howbeit, he has led me to you once, and belike will do so once more."

"Yea," quoth the big man smiling no whit more than erst, "and that will
make the fourth time. Depart then, fair sir, and take this word with
thee that I wish thee good and not evil."



CHAPTER 16

Ralph Rideth the Wood Perilous Again


Now Roger led up to Ralph a strong horse, red roan of hue, duly
harnessed for war, and he himself had a good grey horse, and they
mounted at once, and Ralph rode slowly away through the wood at his
horse's will, for he was pondering all that had befallen him, and
wondering what next should hap. Meanwhile those others had not
loitered, but were a-horseback at once, and went their ways from Ralph
through the wildwood.

Nought spake Ralph for a while till Roger came close up to him and
said: "Whither shall we betake us, fair lord? hast thou an inkling of
the road whereon lies thine errand?"

Now to Ralph this seemed but mockery, and he answered sharply: "I wot
not, thou wilt lead whither thou wilt, even as thou hast trained me
hitherward with lies and a forged tale. I suppose thou wilt lead me
now by some roundabout road to the stronghold of the Dry Tree. It
matters little, since thou durst not lead me back into the Burg. Yet
now I come to think of it, it is evil to be alone with a found out
traitor and liar; and I had belike have done better to go with their
company."

"Nay nay," quoth Roger, "thou art angry, and I marvel not thereat; but
let thy wrath run off thee if thou mayest; for indeed what I have told
thee of myself and my griefs is not all mere lying. Neither was it any
lie that thou wert in peril of thy life amongst those tyrants of the
Burg; thou with thy manly bearing, and free tongue, and bred, as I
judge, to hate cruel deeds and injustice. Such freedom they cannot
away with in that fellowship of hard men-at-arms; and soon hadst thou
come to harm amongst them. And further, let alone that it is not ill
to be sundered from yonder company, who mayhap will have rough work to
do or ever they win home, I have nought to do to bring thee to Hampton
under Scaur if thou hast no will to go thither: though certes I would
lead thee some whither, whereof thou shalt ask me nought as now; yet
will I say thereof this much, that there thou shalt be both safe and
well at ease. Now lastly know this, that whatever I have done, I have
done it to do thee good and not ill; and there is also another one,
whom I will not name to thee, who wisheth thee better yet, by the token
of those two strokes stricken by thee in the Wood Perilous before
yesterday was a day."

Now when Ralph heard those last words, such strong and sweet hope and
desire stirred in him to see that woman of the Want-ways of the Wood
Perilous that he forgat all else, except that he must nowise fall to
strife with Roger, lest they should sunder, and he should lose the help
of him, which he now deemed would bring him to sight of her whom he had
unwittingly come to long for more than aught else; so he spake to Roger
quietly and humbly: "Well, faring-fellow, thou seest how I am little
more than a lad, and have fallen into matters mighty and perilous,
which I may not deal with of my own strength, at least until I get
nigher to them so that I may look them in the eyes, and strike a stroke
or two on them if they be at enmity with me. So I bid thee lead me
whither thou wilt, and if thou be a traitor to me, on thine own head be
it; in good sooth, since I know nought of this wood and since I might
go astray and so come back to the Burg where be those whom thou hast
now made my foemen, I am content to take thee on thy word, and to hope
the best of thee, and ask no question of thee, save whitherward."

"Fair sir," said Roger, "away from this place at least; for we are as
yet over nigh to the Burg to be safe: but as to elsewhither we may
wend, thereof we may speak on the road as we have leisure."

Therewith he smote his horse with his heel and they went forward at a
smart trot, for the horses were unwearied, and the wood thereabouts of
beech and clear of underwood; and Roger seemed to know his way well,
and made no fumbling over it.

Four hours or more gone, the wood thinned and the beeches failed, and
they came to a country, still waste, of little low hills, stony for the
more part, beset with scraggy thorn-bushes, and here and there some
other berry-tree sown by the birds. Then said Roger: "Now I deem us
well out of the peril of them of the Burg, who if they follow the chase
as far as the sundering of us and the others, will heed our slot
nothing, but will follow on that of the company: so we may breathe our
horses a little, though their bait will be but small in this rough
waste: therein we are better off than they, for lo you, saddle bags on
my nag and meat and drink therein."

So they lighted down and let their horses graze what they could, while
they ate and drank; amidst which Ralph again asked Roger of whither
they were going. Said Roger: "I shall lead thee to a good harbour,
and a noble house of a master of mine, wherein thou mayst dwell certain
days, if thou hast a mind thereto, not without solace maybe."

"And this master," said Ralph, "is he of the Dry Tree?" Said Roger: "I
scarce know how to answer thee without lying: but this I say, that
whether he be or not, this is true; amongst those men I have friends
and amongst them foes; but fate bindeth me to them for a while." Said
Ralph reddening: "Be there any women amongst them?" "Yea, yea," quoth
Roger, smiling a little, "doubt not thereof."

"And that Lady of the Dry Tree," quoth Ralph, reddening yet more, but
holding up his head, "that woman whereof the Burgher spoke so bitterly,
threatening her with torments and death if they might but lay hold of
her; what wilt thou tell me concerning her?" "But little," said Roger,
"save this, that thou desirest to see her, and that thou mayest have
thy will thereon if thou wilt be guided by me."

Ralph hearkened as if he heeded little what Roger said; but presently
he rose up and walked to and fro in short turns with knit brows as one
pondering a hard matter. He spake nought, and Roger seemed to heed him
nothing, though in sooth he looked at him askance from time to time,
till at last he came and lay down again by Roger, and in a while he
spake: "I wot not why ye of the Dry Tree want me, or what ye will do
with me; and but for one thing I would even now ride away from thee at
all adventure."

Roger said: "All this ye shall learn later on, and shalt find it but a
simple matter; and meanwhile I tell thee again that all is for thy gain
and thy pleasure. So now ride away if thou wilt; who hindereth thee?
certes not I."

"Nay," said Ralph, "I will ride with thee first to that fair house; and
afterwards we shall see what is to hap." "Yea," quoth Roger, "then let
us to horse straightway, so that we may be there if not before dark
night yet at least before bright morn; for it is yet far away."



CHAPTER 17

Ralph Cometh to the House of Abundance


Therewithal they gat to horse and rode away through that stony land,
wherein was no river, but for water many pools in the bottoms, with
little brooks running from them. But after a while they came upon a
ridge somewhat high, on the further side whereof was a wide valley
well-grassed and with few trees, and no habitation of man that they
might see. But a wide river ran down the midst of it; and it was now
four hours after noon. Quoth Roger: "The day wears and we shall by no
means reach harbour before dark night, even if we do our best: art thou
well used to the water, lord?" "Much as a mallard is," said Ralph.
Said Roger: "That is well, for though there is a ford some mile and a
half down stream, for that same reason it is the way whereby men mostly
cross the water into the wildwood; and here again we are more like to
meet foes than well-wishers; or at the least there will be question of
who we are, and whence and whither; and we may stumble in our answers."
Said Ralph: "There is no need to tarry, ride we down to the water."

So did they, and took the water, which was deep, but not swift. On the
further side they clomb up a hill somewhat steep; at the crown they
drew rein to give their horses breath, and Ralph turned in his saddle
and looked down on to the valley, and as aforesaid he was clear-sighted
and far-sighted; now he said: "Fellow-farer, I see the riding of folk
down below there, and meseems they be spurring toward the water; and
they have weapons: there! dost thou not see the gleam?"

"I will take thy word for it, fair sir," said Roger, "and will even
spur, since they be the first men whom we have seen since we left the
thickets." And therewith he went off at a hand gallop, and Ralph
followed him without more ado.

They rode up hill and down dale of a grassy downland, till at last they
saw a wood before them again, and soon drew rein under the boughs; for
now were their horses somewhat wearied. Then said Ralph: "Here have
we ridden a fair land, and seen neither house nor herd, neither
sheep-cote nor shepherd. I wonder thereat."

Said Roger: "Thou wouldst wonder the less didst thou know the story of
it." "What story?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger: "A story of war and
wasting." "Yea?" said Ralph, "yet surely some bold knight or baron hath
rights in the land, and might be free to build him a strong house and
gather men to him to guard the shepherds and husbandmen from burners
and lifters." "Sooth is that," said Roger; "but there are other things
in the tale." "What things?" said Ralph. Quoth Roger: "Ill hap and
sorrow and the Hand of Fate and great Sorcery." "And dastards withal?"
said Ralph. "Even so," said Roger, "yet mingled with valiant men.
Over long is the tale to tell as now, so low as the sun is; so now ride
we on with little fear of foemen. For look you, this wood, like the
thickets about the Burg of the Four Friths, hath an evil name, and few
folk ride it uncompelled; therefore it is the safer for us. And yet I
will say this to thee, that whereas awhile agone thou mightest have
departed from me with little peril of aught save the stumbling on some
of the riders of the Burg of the Four Friths, departing from me now
will be a hard matter to thee; for the saints in Heaven only know
whitherward thou shouldest come, if thou wert to guide thyself now.
This a rough word, but a true one, so help me God and Saint Michael!
What sayest thou; art thou content, or wilt thou cast hard words at me
again?"

So it was that for all that had come and gone Ralph was light-hearted
and happy; so he laughed and said: "Content were I, even if I were not
compelled thereto. For my heart tells me of new things, and marvellous
and joyous that I shall see ere long."

"And thine heart lieth not," said Roger, "for amidst of this wood is
the house where we shall have guesting to-night, which will be to thee,
belike, the door of life and many marvels. For thence have folk sought
ere now to the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph turned to him sharply and said: "Many times in these few days
have I heard that word. Dost thou know the meaning thereof? For as to
me I know it not." Said Roger: "Thou mayest well be as wise as I am
thereon: belike men seek to it for their much thriving, and oftenest
find it not. Yet have I heard that they be the likeliest with whom all
women are in love."

Ralph held his peace, but Roger noted that he reddened at the word.

Now they got on horseback again, for they had lighted down to breathe
their beasts, and they rode on and on, and never was Roger at fault:
long was the way and perforce they rested at whiles, so that night fell
upon them in the wood, but the moon rose withal. So night being fairly
come, they rested a good while, as it would be dawn before moonset.
Then they rode on again, till now the summer night grew old and waned,
but the wood hid the beginnings of dawn.

At last they came out of the close wood suddenly into an open plain,
and now, as the twilight of the dawn was passing into early day, they
saw that wide grassy meadows and tilled fields lay before them, with a
little river running through the plain; and amidst the meadows, on a
green mound, was a white castle, strong, and well built, though not of
the biggest.

Roger pointed to it, and said, "Now we are come home," and cried on his
wearied beast, who for his part seemed to see the end of his journey.
They splashed through a ford of the river and came to the gate of the
castle as day drew on apace; Roger blew a blast on a great horn that
hung on the gate, and Ralph looking round deemed he had never seen
fairer building than in the castle, what he could see of it, and yet it
was built from of old. They waited no long while before they were
answered; but whereas Ralph looked to see armed gatewards peer from the
battlements or the shot window, and a porter espying them through a
lattice, it happened in no such way, but without more ado the wicket
was opened to them by a tall old woman, gaunt and grey, who greeted
them courteously: Roger lighted down and Ralph did in likewise, and
they led their horses through the gate into the court of the castle;
the old woman going before them till they came to the hall door, which
she opened to them, and taking the reins of their horses led them away
to the stable, while those twain entered the hall, which was as goodly
as might be. Roger led Ralph up to a board on the dais, whereon there
was meat and drink enow, and Ralph made his way-leader sit down by him,
and they fell to. There was no serving-man to wait on them nor a carle
of any kind did they see; the old woman only, coming back from the
horses, served them at table. Ever as she went about she looked long
on Ralph, and seemed as if she would have spoken to him, but as often,
she glanced at Roger and forbore.

So when they were well nigh done with their meat Ralph spake to the
carline and said: "Belike the lord or the lady of this house are abed
and we shall not see them till the morrow?"

Ere the carline could speak Roger broke in and said: "There is neither
lord nor lady in the castle as now, nor belike will there be to-morrow
morning, or rather, before noon on this day; so now ye were better to
let this dame lead thee to bed, and let the next hours take care of
themselves."

"So be it," said Ralph, who was by this time heartily wearied, "shall
we two lie in the same chamber?"

"Nay," said the carline shortly, "lodging for the master and lodging
for the man are two different things."

Roger laughed and said nought, and Ralph gave him good night, and
followed the carline nothing loth, who led him to a fair chamber over
the solar, as if he had been the very master of the castle, and he lay
down in a very goodly bed, nor troubled himself as to where Roger lay,
nor indeed of aught else, nor did he dream of Burg, or wood, or castle,
or man, or woman; but lay still like the image of his father's father
on the painted tomb in the choir of St. Laurence of Upmeads.



CHAPTER 18

Of Ralph in the Castle of Abundance


Broad lay the sun upon the plain amidst the wildwood when he awoke and
sprang out of bed and looked out of the window (for the chamber was in
the gable of the hall and there was nought of the castle beyond it). It
was but little after noon of a fair June day, for Ralph had slumbered
as it behoved a young man. The light wind bore into the chamber the
sweet scents of the early summer, the chief of all of them being the
savour of the new-cut grass, for about the wide meadows the carles and
queens were awork at the beginning of hay harvest; and late as it was
in the day, more than one blackbird was singing from the bushes of the
castle pleasance. Ralph sighed for very pleasure of life before he had
yet well remembered where he was or what had befallen of late; but as
he stood at the window and gazed over the meadows, and the memory of
all came back to him, he sighed once more for a lack of somewhat that
came into his heart, and he smiled shamefacedly, though there was no
one near, as his thought bade him wonder if amongst the haymaking women
yonder there were any as fair as those yellow-clad thrall-women of the
Burg; and as he turned from the window a new hope made his heart beat,
for he deemed that he had been brought to that house that he might meet
some one who should change his life and make him a new man.

So he did on his raiment and went his ways down to the hall, and looked
about for Roger, but found him not, nor any one else save the carline,
who presently came in from the buttery, and of whom he asked, where was
Roger. Quoth she: "He has been gone these six hours, but hath left a
word for thee, lord, to wit, that he beseeches thee to abide him here
for two days at the least, and thereafter thou art free to go if thou
wilt. But as for me" (and therewith she smiled on him as sweetly as
her wrinkled old face might compass) "I say to thee, abide beyond those
two days if Roger cometh not, and as long as thou art here I will make
thee all the cheer I may. And who knoweth but thou mayest meet worthy
adventures here. Such have ere now befallen good knights in this house
or anigh it."

"I thank thee, mother," quoth Ralph, "and it is like that I may abide
here beyond the two days if the adventure befall me not ere then. But
at least I will bide the eating of my dinner here to-day."

"Well is thee, fair lord," said the carline. "If thou wilt but walk in
the meadow but a little half hour all shall be ready for thee.
Forsooth it had been dight before now, but that I waited thy coming
forth from thy chamber, for I would not wake thee. And the saints be
praised for the long sweet sleep that hath painted thy goodly cheeks."
So saying she hurried off to the buttery, leaving Ralph laughing at her
outspoken flattering words.

Then he got him out of the hall and the castle, for no door was shut,
and there was no man to be seen within or about the house. So he
walked to and fro the meadow and saw the neat-herds in the pasture, and
the hay-making folk beyond them, and the sound of their voices came to
him on the little airs that were breathing. He thought he would talk
to some of these folk ere the world was much older, and also he noted
between the river and the wood many cots of the husbandmen trimly
builded and thatched, and amidst them a little church, white and
delicate of fashion; but as now his face was set toward the river
because of the hot day. He came to a pool a little below where a
wooden foot-bridge crossed the water, and about the pool were willows
growing, which had not been shrouded these eight years, and the water
was clear as glass with a bottom of fine sand. There then he bathed
him, and as he sported in the water he bethought him of the long smooth
reaches of Upmeads Water, and the swimming low down amidst the long
swinging weeds between the chuckle of the reed sparrows, when the sun
was new risen in the July morning. When he stood on the grass again,
what with the bright weather and fair little land, what with the
freshness of the water, and his good rest, and the hope of adventure to
come, he felt as if he had never been merrier in his life-days. Withal
it was a weight off his heart that he had escaped from the turmoil of
the wars of the Burg of the Four Friths, and the men of the Dry Tree,
and the Wheat-wearers, with the thralldom and stripes and fire-raising,
and the hard life of strife and gain of the walled town and strong
place.

When he came back to the castle gate there was the carline in the
wicket peering out to right and left, seeking him to bring him in to
dinner. And when she saw him so joyous, with his lips smiling and his
eyes dancing for mirth, she also became joyous, and said: "Verily, it
is a pity of thee that there is never a fair damsel or so to look on
thee and love thee here to-day. Far would many a maiden run to kiss thy
mouth, fair lad. But now come to thy meat, that thou mayest grow the
fairer and last the longer."

He laughed gaily and went into the hall with her, and now was it well
dight with bankers and dorsars of goodly figured cloth, and on the
walls a goodly halling of arras of the Story of Alexander. So he sat
to table, and the meat and drink was of the best, and the carline
served him, praising him ever with fulsome words as he ate, till he
wished her away.

After dinner he rested awhile, and called to the carline and bade her
bring him his sword and his basnet. "Wherefore?" said she. "Whither
wilt thou?"

Said he, "I would walk abroad to drink the air."

"Wilt thou into the wildwood?" said she.

"Nay, mother," he said, "I will but walk about the meadow and look on
the hay-making folk."

"For that," said the carline, "thou needest neither sword nor helm. I
was afeard that thou wert about departing, and thy departure would be a
grief to my heart: in the deep wood thou mightest be so bestead as to
need a sword in thy fist; but what shouldst thou do with it in this
Plain of Abundance, where are nought but peaceful husbandmen and frank
and kind maidens? and all these are as if they had drunk a draught of
the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph started as she said the word, but held his peace awhile. Then
he said: "And who is lord of this fair land?" "There is no lord, but a
lady," said the carline. "How hight she?" said Ralph. "We call her
the Lady of Abundance," said the old woman. Said Ralph: "Is she a
good lady?" "She is my lady," said the carline, "and doeth good to me,
and there is not a carle in the land but speaketh well of her--it may
be over well." "Is she fair to look on?" said Ralph. "Of women-folk
there is none fairer," said the carline; "as to men, that is another
thing."

Ralph was silent awhile, then he said: "What is the Well at the
World's End?"

"They talk of it here," said she, "many things too long to tell of now:
but there is a book in this house that telleth of it; I know it well by
the look of it though I may not read in it. I will seek it for thee
to-morrow if thou wilt."

"Have thou thanks, dame," said he; "and I pray thee forget it not; but
now I will go forth."

"Yea," said the carline, "but abide a little."

Therewith she went into the buttery, and came back bearing with her a
garland of roses of the garden, intermingled with green leaves, and she
said: "The sun is yet hot and over hot, do this on thine head to shade
thee from the burning. I knew that thou wouldst go abroad to-day, so I
made this for thee in the morning; and when I was young I was called
the garland-maker. It is better summer wear than thy basnet."

He thanked her and did it on smiling, but somewhat ruefully; for he
said to himself: "This is over old a dame that I should wear a
love-token from her." But when it was on his head, the old dame
clapped her hands and cried: "O there, there! Now art thou like the
image of St. Michael in the Choir of Our Lady of the Thorn: there is
none so lovely as thou. I would my Lady could see thee thus; surely
the sight of thee should gladden her heart. And withal thou art not
ill clad otherwise."

Indeed his raiment was goodly, for his surcoat was new, and it was of
fine green cloth, and the coat-armour of Upmead was beaten on it, to
wit, on a gold ground an apple-tree fruited, standing by a river-side.

Now he laughed somewhat uneasily at her words, and so went forth from
the castle again, and made straight for the hay-making folk on the
other side of the water; for all this side was being fed by beasts and
sheep; but at the point where he crossed, the winding of the stream
brought it near to the castle gate. So he came up with the country
folk and greeted them, and they did as much by him in courteous words:
they were goodly and well-shapen, both men and women, gay and joyous
of demeanour and well clad as for folk who work afield. So Ralph went
from one to another and gave them a word or two, and was well pleased
to watch them at their work awhile; but yet he would fain speak
somewhat more with one or other of them. At last under the shade of a
tall elm-tree he saw an old man sitting heeding the outer raiment of
the haymakers and their victual and bottles of drink; and he came up to
him and gave him the sele of the day; and the old man blessed him and
said: "Art thou dwelling in my lady's castle, fair lord?" "A while at
least," said Ralph. Said the old man: "We thank thee for coming to see
us; and meseemeth from the look of thee thou art worthy to dwell in my
Lady's House."

"What sayest thou?" said Ralph. "Is she a good lady and a gracious?"
"O yea, yea," said the carle. Said Ralph: "Thou meanest, I suppose,
that she is fair to look on, and soft-spoken when she is pleased?"

"I mean far more than that," said the carle; "surely is she most
heavenly fair, and her voice is like the music of heaven: but withal
her deeds, and the kindness of her to us poor men and husbandmen, are
no worse than should flow forth from that loveliness."

"Will you be her servants?" said Ralph, "or what are ye?" Said the
carle: "We be yeomen and her vavassors; there is no thralldom in our
land." "Do ye live in good peace for the more part?" said Ralph. Said
the carle: "Time has been when cruel battles were fought in these
wood-lawns, and many poor people were destroyed therein: but that was
before the coming of the Lady of Abundance."

"And when was that?" said Ralph. "I wot not," said the old carle; "I
was born in peace and suckled in peace; and in peace I fell to the
loving of maidens, and I wedded in peace, and begat children in peace,
and in peace they dwell about me, and in peace shall I depart."

"What then," said Ralph (and a grievous fear was born in his heart),
"is not the Lady of Abundance young?" Said the carle: "I have seen her
when I was young and also since I have been old, and ever was she fair
and lovely, and slender handed, as straight as a spear, and as sweet as
white clover, and gentle-voiced and kind, and dear to our souls."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and she doth not dwell in this castle always; where
else then doth she dwell?" "I wot not," said the carle, "but it should
be in heaven: for when she cometh to us all our joys increase in us by
the half."

"Look you, father," said Ralph, "May it not have been more than one
Lady of Abundance that thou hast seen in thy life-days; and that this
one that now is, is the daughter's daughter of the one whom thou first
sawest--how sayest thou?" The carle laughed: "Nay, nay," said he,
"It is not so: never has there been another like to her in all ways, in
body and voice, and heart and soul. It is as I say, she is the same as
she was always." "And when," said Ralph, with a beating heart, "does
she come hither? Is it at some set season?" "Nay, from time to time,
at all seasons," said the carle; "and as fair she is when she goeth
over the snow, as when her feet are set amidst the June daisies."

Now was Ralph so full of wonder that he scarce knew what to say; but
he bethought him of that fair waste on the other side of the forest, the
country through which that wide river flowed, so he said: "And that
land north-away beyond the wildwood, canst thou tell me the tale of its
wars, and if it were wasted in the same wars that tormented this land?"
The carle shook his head: "As to the land beyond this wood," quoth he,
"I know nought of it, for beyond the wood go we never: nay, most often
we go but a little way into it, no further than we can see the glimmer
of the open daylight through its trees,--the daylight of the land of
Abundance--that is enough for us."

"Well," said Ralph, "I thank thee for the tale thou hast told me, and
wish thee more years of peace."

"And to thee, young man," said the carle, "I wish a good wish indeed,
to wit that thou mayest see the Lady of Abundance here before thou
departest."

His words once more made Ralph's heart beat and his cheek flush, and he
went back to the castle somewhat speedily; for he said to himself,
after the folly of lovers, "Maybe she will be come even now, and I not
there to meet her." Yet when he came to the castle-gate his heart
misgave him, and he would not enter at once, but turned about to go
round the wall by the north and west. In the castle he saw no soul
save the old dame looking out of the window and nodding to him, but in
the pasture all about were neatherds and shepherds, both men and women;
and at the north-west corner, whereas the river drew quite close to the
wall, he came upon two damsels of the field-folk fishing with an angle
in a quiet pool of the stream. He greeted them, and they, who were
young and goodly, returned his greeting, but were shamefaced at his
gallant presence, as indeed was he at the thoughts of his heart mingled
with the sight of their fairness. So he passed on at first without
more words than his greeting. Yet presently he turned back again, for
he longed to hear some word more concerning the Lady whose coming he
abode. They stood smiling and blushing as he came up to them again,
and heeded their angles little.

Said Ralph: "Fair maidens, do ye know at all when the Lady of the
castle may be looked for?" They were slow to answer, but at last one
said: "No, fair sir, such as we know nothing of the comings and goings
of great folk."

Said Ralph, smiling on her for kindness, and pleasure of her fairness:
"Is it not so that ye will be glad of her coming?"

But she answered never a word, only looked at him steadily, with her
great grey eyes fixed in wonderment, while the other one looked down as
if intent on her angling tools.

Ralph knew not how to ask another question, so he turned about with a
greeting word again, and this time went on steadily round about the
wall.

And now in his heart waxed the desire of that Lady, once seen, as he
deemed, in such strange wise; but he wondered within himself if the
devil had not sown that longing within him: whereas it might be that
this woman on whom he had set his heart was herself no real woman but a
devil, and one of the goddesses of the ancient world, and his heart was
sore and troubled by many doubts and hopes and fears; but he said to
himself that when he saw her then could he judge between the good and
the evil, and could do or forbear, and that the sight of her would cure
all.

Thus thinking he walked swiftly, and was soon round at the castle gate
again, and entered, and went into the hall, where was the old dame,
busied about some household matter. Ralph nodded to her and hastened
away, lest she should fall to talk with him; and he set himself now to
go from chamber to chamber, that he might learn the castle, what it
was. He came into the guard-chamber and found the walls thereof all
hung with armour and weapons, clean and in good order, though there was
never a man-at-arms there, nor any soul except the old woman. He went
up a stair therefrom on to the battlements, and went into the towers of
the wall, and found weapons both for hand, and for cast and shot in
each one of them, and all ready as if for present battle; then he came
down into the court again and went into a very goodly ambulatory over
against the hall, and he entered a door therefrom, which was but on
the latch, and went up a little stair into a chamber, which was the
goodliest and the richest of all. Its roof was all done with gold and
blue from over sea, and its pavement wrought delicately in Alexandrine
work. On the dais was a throne of carven ivory, and above it a canopy
of baudekin of the goodliest fashion, and there was a foot-carpet
before it, wrought with beasts and the hunting of the deer. As for the
walls of that chamber, they were hung with a marvellous halling of
arras, wherein was wrought the greenwood, and there amidst in one place
a pot-herb garden, and a green garth with goats therein, and in that
garth a little thatched house. And amidst all this greenery were
figured over and over again two women, whereof one old and the other
young; and the old one was clad in grand attire, with gold chains and
brooches and rings, and sat with her hands before her by the house
door, or stood looking on as the young one worked, spinning or digging
in the garth, or milking the goats outside of it, or what not; and this
one was clad in sorry and scanty raiment.

What all this might mean Ralph knew not; but when he had looked long at
the greenery and its images, he said to himself that if he who wrought
that cloth had not done the young woman after the likeness of the Lady
whom he had helped in the wildwood, then it must have been done from
her twin sister.

Long he abode in that chamber looking at the arras, and wondering
whether the sitter in the ivory throne would be any other than the
thrall in the greenwood cot. He abode there so long that the dusk
began to gather in the house, and he could see the images no more; for
he was filled with the sweetness of desire when he looked on them.

Then he went back slowly to the hall, and found the carline, who had
lighted the waxlights and made meat ready for him; and when she saw him
she cried out joyously: "Ah, I knew that thou wouldst come back. Art
thou well content with our little land?"

"I like it well, dame," said he; "but tell me, if thou canst, what is
the meaning of the halling in the chamber with the ivory throne?"

Said the carline: "Thereof shall another tell thee, who can tell of it
better than I; but it is nought to hide that yonder chamber is the
chamber of estate of our Lady, and she sitteth there to hear the cases
of folk and to give dooms."

The old woman crossed herself as she spoke, and Ralph wondered thereat,
but asked no more questions, for he was scarce sorry that the carline
would not tell him thereof, lest she should spoil the tale.

So passed the evening, and he went to bed and slept as a young man
should, and the next day he was up betimes and went abroad and mingled
with the carles and queens afield; but this time he spake not of the
Lady, and heard nought to heed from any of that folk. So he went back
to the castle and gat him a bow and arrows, and entered the thicket of
the wood nigh where he and Roger first came out of it. He had prayed a
young man of the folk to go with him, but he was not over willing to
go, though he would not say wherefore. So Ralph went himself by
himself and wandered some way into the wood, and saw nought worse than
himself. As he came back, making a circuit toward the open meadows, he
happened on a herd of deer in a lonely place, half wood half meadow,
and there he slew a hart with one shaft, for he was a deft bowman.
Then he went and fetched a leash of carles, who went with him somewhat
less than half willingly, and between them they broke up the hart and
carried him home to the castle, where the carline met them. She smiled
on Ralph and praised the venison, and said withal that the hunting was
well done; "For, as fond and as fair as thou mayst be, it is not good
that young men should have their minds set on one thing only."
Therewith she led him in to his meat, and set him down and served him;
and all the while of his dinner he was longing to ask her if she deemed
that the Lady would come that day, since it was the last day of those
which Roger had bidden him wait; but the words would not out of his
mouth.

She looked at him and smiled, as though she had a guess of his thought,
and at last she said to him: "Thy tongue is tied to-day. Hast thou,
after all, seen something strange in the wood?" He shook his head for
naysay. Said she: "Why, then, dost thou not ask more concerning the
Well at the World's End?"

He laughed, and said: "Maybe because I think that thou canst not tell
me thereof." "Well," she said, "if I cannot, yet the book may, and
this evening, when the sun is down, thou shalt have it."

"I thank thee, mother," said he; "but this is now the last day that
Roger bade me wait. Dost thou think that he will come back to-night?"
and he reddened therewith. "Nay," she said, "I know not, and thou
carest not whether he will come or not. Yet I know that thou wilt
abide here till some one else come, whether that be early or late."
Again he reddened, and said, in a coaxing way: "And wilt thou give me
guesting, mother, for a few more summer days?"

"Yea," she said, "and till summer is over, if need be, and the corn is
cut and carried, and till the winter is come and the latter end of
winter is gone." He smiled faintly, though his heart fell, and he
said: "Nay, mother, and can it by any chance be so long a-coming?"

"O, fair boy," she said, "thou wilt make it long, howsoever short it
be. And now I will give thee a rede, lest thou vex thyself sick and
fret thy very heart. To-morrow go see if thou canst meet thy fate
instead of abiding it. Do on thy war-gear and take thy sword and try
the adventure of the wildwood; but go not over deep into it." Said he:
"But how if the Lady come while I am away from this house?"

"Sooth to say," said the carline, "I deem not that she will, for the
way is long betwixt us and her."

"Dost thou mean," said Ralph, standing up from the board, "that she
will not come ever? I adjure thee not to beguile me with soft words,
but tell me the very sooth." "There, there!" said she, "sit down,
king's son; eat thy meat and drink thy wine; for to-morrow is a new
day. She will come soon or late, if she be yet in the world. And now
I will say no more to thee concerning this matter."

Therewith she went her ways from the hall, and when she came back
with hand-basin and towel, she said no word to him, but only smiled
kindly. He went out presently into the meadow (for it was yet but early
afternoon) and came among the haymaking folk and spake with them,
hoping that perchance some of them might speak again of the Lady of
Abundance; but none of them did so, though the old carle he had spoken
with was there, and there also were the two maidens whom he had seen
fishing; and as for him, he was over faint-hearted to ask them any more
questions concerning her.

Yet he abode with them long, and ate and drank amidst the hay with them
till the moon shone brightly. Then he went back to the castle and
found the carline in the hall, and she had the book with her and gave
it to him, and he sat down in the shot-window under the waxlights and
fell to reading of it.



CHAPTER 19

Ralph Readeth in a Book Concerning the Well at the World's End


Fairly written was that book, with many pictures therein, the meaning
of which Ralph knew not; but amongst them was the image of the fair
woman whom he had holpen at the want-ways of the wood, and but four
days ago was that, yet it seemed long and long to him. The book told
not much about the Well at the World's End, but much it told of a
certain woman whom no man that saw her could forbear to love: of her
it told that erewhile she dwelt lonely in the wildwood (though how she
came there was not said) and how a king's son found her there and
brought her to his father's kingdom and wedded her, whether others
were lief or loth: and in a little while, when the fame of her had spread,
he was put out of his kingdom and his father's house for the love of
her, because other kings and lords hankered after her; whereof befel
long and grievous war which she abode not to the end, but sought to her
old place in the wildwood; and how she found there another woman a
sorceress, who made her her thrall; and tormented her grievously with
toil and stripes. And how again there came a knight to that place who
was seeking the Well at the World's End, and bore her away with him;
and how the said knight was slain on the way, and she was taken by
tyrants and robbers of the folk: but these being entangled in her love
fought amongst themselves and she escaped, and went seeking that Well,
and found it at the long last, and drank thereof, and throve ever
after: and how she liveth yet, and is become the servant of the Well to
entangle the seekers in her love and keep them from drinking thereof;
because there was no man that beheld her, but anon he was the thrall of
her love, and might not pluck his heart away from her to do any of the
deeds whereby men thrive and win the praise of the people.

Ralph read on and on till the short night waned, and the wax-lights
failed one after the other, and the windows of the hall grew grey and
daylight came, and the throstles burst out a-singing at once in the
castle pleasaunce, and the sun came up over the wood, and the sound
of men-folk bestirring themselves a-field came to his ears through the
open windows; and at last he was done with the tale, and the carline
came not near him though the sun had clomb high up the heavens. As for
Ralph, what he had read was sweet poison to him; for if before he was
somewhat tormented by love, now was his heart sick and sore with it.
Though he knew not for certain whether this tale had to do with the
Lady of the Forest, and though he knew not if the Lady who should come
to the castle were even she, yet he needs must deem that so it was, and
his heart was weary with love, and his manhood seemed changed.



CHAPTER 20

Ralph Meeteth a Man in the Wood


But the morning began to wear as he sat deep in these thoughts and
still the Carline came not to him; and he thought: "She leaveth me
alone that I may do her bidding: so will I without tarrying." And he
arose and did on his hauberk and basnet, and girt his sword to his
side, and went forth, a-foot as before. He crossed the river by a wide
ford and stepping stones somewhat below the pool wherein he had bathed
on that first day; and already by then he had got so far, what with the
fresh air of the beauteous morning, what with the cheerful tinkling of
his sword and hauberk, he was somewhat amended of his trouble and
heaviness of spirit. A little way across the river, but nigher to the
wood, was a house or cot of that country-folk, and an old woman sat
spinning in the door. So Ralph went up thither, and greeted her, and
craved of her a draught of milk; so the goody turned about and cried
out to one within, and there came forth one of the maidens whom Ralph
had met fishing that other day, and the old woman bade her bring forth
milk and bread. Then the carline looked hard at Ralph, and said: "Ah!
I have heard tell of thee: thou art abiding the turn of the days up at
the castle yonder, as others have done before thee. Well, well, belike
thou shalt have thy wish, though whether it shall be to thy profit, who
shall say?"

Thereat Ralph's heart fell again, and he said: "Sayest thou, mother,
that there have been others abiding like me in the tower? I know not
what thy words mean."

The carline laughed. "Well," said she, "here comes thy morning's bait
borne by shapely hands enough; eat and drink first; and then will I
tell thee my meaning."

Therewith came the maiden forth with the bowl and the loaf; and indeed
she was fair enough, and shy and kind; but Ralph heeded her little, nor
was his heart moved by her at all. She set a stool for him beside the
door and he sat down and ate and drank, though his heart was troubled;
and the maiden hung about, and seemed to find it no easy matter to keep
her eyes off him.

Presently the carline, who had been watching the two, said: "Thou
askest of the meaning of my words; well, deemest thou that I have had
more men than one to love me?" "I know not, mother," said Ralph, who
could scarce hold himself patient. "There now!" quoth the carline,
"look at my damsel! (she is not my daughter, but my brother's,) there
is a man, and a brisk lad too, whom she calleth her batchelor, and is
as I verily deem well-pleased with him: yet lo you how she eyeth thee,
thou fair man, and doth so with her raiment that thou mayst best see
how shapely she is of limb and foot, and toyeth her right hand with her
left wrist, and the like.--Well, as for me, I have had more lovers than
one or two. And why have I had just so many and no more? Nay, thou
needest not make any long answer to me. I am old now, and even before
I was old I was not young: I am now foul of favour, and even before I
became foul, I was not so fair--well then?"

"Yea, what then?" said Ralph. "This then, fair young fool," said she:
"the one whom thou lovest, long hath she lived, but she is not old to
look on, nor foul; but fair--O how fair!"

Then Ralph forgot his fear, and his heart grew greedy and his eyes
glistened, and he said, yet he spoke faintly: "Yea, is she fair?"
"What! hast thou not seen her?" said the carline. Ralph called to mind
the guise in which he had seen her and flushed bright red, as he
answered: "Yea, I deem that I have: surely it was she." The carline
laughed: "Well," said she; "however thou hast seen her, thou hast
scarce seen her as I have." Said Ralph, "How was that?" Said she: "It
is her way here in the summer-tide to bathe her in yonder pool up the
water:" (and it was the same pool wherein Ralph had bathed) "And she
hath me and my niece and two other women to hold up the silken cloth
betwixt her body and the world; so that I have seen her as God made
her; and I shall tell thee that when he was about that work he was
minded to be a craftsmaster; for there is no blemish about her that she
should hide her at all or anywhere. Her sides are sleek, and her
thighs no rougher than her face, and her feet as dainty as her hands:
yea, she is a pearl all over, withal she is as strong as a knight, and
I warrant her hardier of heart than most knights. A happy man shalt
thou be; for surely I deem thou hast not come hither to abide her
without some token or warrant of her."

Ralph held down his head, and he could not meet the old woman's eyes as
she spake thus; and the maiden took herself out of earshot at the first
words of the carline hereof, and was halfway down to the river by now.

Ralph spake after a while and said: "Tell me, is she good, and a good
woman?" The dame laughed scornfully and said: "Surely, surely; she is
the saint of the Forest Land, and the guardian of all poor folk. Ask
the carles else!"

Ralph held his peace, and rose to be gone and turning saw the damsel
wading the shallow ford, and looking over her shoulder at him. He gave
the dame good day, and departed light-foot but heavy hearted. Yet as
he went, he kept saying to himself: "Did she not send that Roger to
turn my ways hither? yet she cometh not. Surely she hath changed in
these last days, or it may be in these last hours: yea, or this very
hour."

Amidst such thoughts he came into the wood, and made his way by the
paths and open places, going south and east of the House: whereas the
last day he had gone west and north. He went a soft pace, but wandered
on without any stay till it was noon, and he had seen nought but the
wild things of the wood, nor many of them. But at last he heard the
tinkle of a little bell coming towards him: so he stood still and got
the hilt of his sword ready to his hand; and the tinkle drew nearer,
and he heard withal the trample of some riding-beast; so he went toward
the sound, and presently in a clearer place of the wood came upon a
man of religion, a clerk, riding on a hackney, to whose neck hung a
horse-bell: the priest had saddle bags beside him and carried in his
right hand a book in a bag. When he met Ralph he blessed him, and
Ralph gave him the sele of the day, and asked him whither he would.
Said the Priest: "I am for the Little Plain and the Land of Abundance;
whence art thou, my son, and whither wilt thou?" "From that very land I
come," said Ralph, "and as to whither, I seek adventures; but unless I
see more than I have this forenoon, or thou canst tell me of them, back
will I whence I came: yet to say sooth, I shall not be sorry for a
fellow to help me back, for these woodland ways are some-what blind."

Said the Priest: "I will bear thee company with a good will; and I
know the road right well; for I am the Vicar appointed by the fathers
of the Thorn to serve the church of the Little Plain, and the chapel of
St. Anthony yonder in the wood, and to-day I go to the church of the
good folk there."

So Ralph turned, and went along with him, walking by his bridle-rein.
And as they went the priest said to him: "Art thou one of my lady's
lords?" Ralph reddened as he sighed, and said: "I am no captain of
hers." Then smiled the priest and said: "Then will I not ask thee of
thine errand; for belike thou wouldest not tell me thereof."

Ralph said nought, but waxed shamefaced as he deemed that the priest
eyed him curiously. At last he said: "I will ask thee a question in
turn, father." "Yea," said the priest. Said Ralph: "This lady of the
land, the Lady of Abundance, is she a very woman?" "Holy Saints!"
quoth the priest, blessing himself, "what meanest thou?" Said Ralph:
"I mean, is she of those who outwardly have a woman's semblance, but
within are of the race of the ancient devils, the gods of the Gentiles?"

Then the priest crossed himself again, and spake as solemnly as a judge
on the bench: "Son, I pray that if thou art not in thy right mind,
thou will come thereinto anon. Know this, that whatever else she may
be, she is a right holy woman. Or hast thou perchance heard any evil
tales concerning her?"

Now Ralph was confused at his word, and knew not what to say; for
though in his mind he had been piecing together all that he had heard
of the lady both for good and for evil, he had no clear tale to tell
even to himself: so he answered nothing.

But the priest went on: "Son, I shall tell thee that such tales I have
heard, but from whose mouth forsooth? I will tell thee; from a sort of
idle jades, young women who would be thought fairer than they be, who
are afraid of everything save a naked man, and who can lie easier than
they can say their paternoster: from such as these come the stories; or
from old crones who live in sour anger with themselves and all else,
because they have lived no goodly life in their youth, and have not
learned the loveliness of holy church. Now, son, shall the tales of
such women, old and young, weigh in thy mind beside the word I tell
thee of what I have seen and know concerning this most excellent of
ladies? I trow not. And for my part I tell thee, that though she is
verily as fair as Venus (God save us) yet is she as chaste as Agnes, as
wise as Katherine, and as humble and meek as Dorothy. She bestoweth
her goods plentifully to the church, and is merciful to poor men
therewith; and so far as occasion may serve her she is constant at the
Holy Office; neither doth she spare to confess her sins, and to do all
penance which is bidden her, yea and more. For though I cannot say to
my knowledge that she weareth a hair; yet once and again have I seen
her wending this woodland toward the chapel of her friend St. Anthony
by night and cloud, so that few might see her, obedient to the
Scripture which sayeth, 'Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand
doeth,' and she barefoot in her smock amidst the rugged wood, and so
arrayed fairer than any queen in a golden gown. Yea, as fair as the
woodwives of the ancient heathen."


Therewith the priest stayed his words, and seemed as if he were fallen
into a dream; and he sighed heavily. But Ralph walked on by his
bridle-rein dreamy no less; for the words that he had heard he heeded
not, save as they made pictures for him of the ways of that woman of
the forest.

So they went on soberly till the priest lifted up his head and looked
about like one come out of slumber, and said in a firm voice: "I tell
thee, my son, that thou mayest set thy love upon her without sin." And
therewith suddenly he fell a-weeping; and Ralph was ill at ease of his
weeping, and went along by him saying nought; till the priest plucked
up heart again, and said, turning to Ralph, but not meeting his eye:
"My son, I weep because men and women are so evil, and mis-say each
other so sorely, even as they do by this holy woman." As he spake his
tears brake out again, and Ralph strode on fast, so as to outgo him,
thinking it unmannerly to seem as if he noted not his sorrow; yet
withal unable to say aught to him thereof. Moreover it irked him to
hear a grown man weeping for grief, even though it were but a priest.

Within a while the priest caught up with him, his tears all staunched,
and fell to talk with him cheerfully concerning the wood, and the
Little Land and the dwellers therein and the conditions of them, and he
praised them much, save the women. Ralph answered him with good cheer
in likewise; and thus they came to the cot of the old woman, and both
she and the maiden were without the house, the old carline hithering
and thithering on some errand, the maiden leaning against a tree as if
pondering some matter. As they passed by, the priest blessed them in
words, but his eyes scowled on them, whereat the carline grinned, but
the damsel heeded him not, but looked wistfully on Ralph. The priest
muttered somewhat as he passed, which Ralph caught not the meaning
of, and fell moody again; and when he was a little past the ford he drew
rein and said: "Now, son, I must to my cell hard by the church yonder:
but yet I will say one word to thee ere we sunder; to wit, that to my
mind the Holy Lady will love no one but the saints of heaven, save it
be some man with whom all women are in love."

Therewith he turned away suddenly, and rode smartly towards his church;
and Ralph deemed that he was weeping once more. As for Ralph, he went
quietly home toward the castle, for the sun was setting now, and as he
went he pondered all these things in his heart.



CHAPTER 21

Ralph Weareth Away Three Days Uneasily


He read again in the book that night, till he had gotten the whole tale
into his head, and he specially noted this of it, that it told not
whence that Lady came, nor what she was, nor aught else save that there
she was in the wood by herself, and was found therein by the king's
son: neither told the tale in what year of the world she was found
there, though it told concerning all the war and miseries which she had
bred, and which long endured. Again, he could not gather from that
book why she had gone back to the lone place in the woods, whereas she
might have wedded one of those warring barons who sorely desired her:
nor why she had yielded herself to the witch of that place and endured
with patience her thralldom, with stripes and torments of her body,
like the worst of the thralls of the ancient heathen men. Lastly, he
might not learn from the book where in the world was that lone place,
or aught of the road to the Well at the World's End. But amidst all
his thinking his heart came back to this: "When I meet her, she will
tell me of it all; I need be no wiser than to learn how to meet her and
to make her love me; then shall she show me the way to the Well at the
World's End, and I shall drink thereof and never grow old, even as she
endureth in youth, and she shall love me for ever, and I her for ever."

So he thought; but yet amidst these happy thoughts came in this evil
one, that whereas all the men-folk spoke well of her and worshipped
her, the women-folk feared her or hated her; even to the lecherous old
woman who had praised the beauty of her body for his torment. So he
thought till his head grew heavy, and he went and lay down in his bed
and slept, and dreamed of the days of Upmead; and things forgotten in
his waking time came between him and any memories of his present
longing and the days thereof.

He awoke and arose betimes in the morning, and when he had breakfasted
he bade the carline bring him his weapons. "Wilt thou again to the
wood?" said she. "Didst thou not bid me fare thither yesterday?" said
he. "Yea," she said; "but to-day I fear lest thou depart and come not
back." He laughed and said: "Seest thou not, mother, that I go afoot,
and I in hauberk and helm? I cannot run far or fast from thee. Also"
(and here he broke off his speech a little) "where should I be but
here?"

"Ah," she said, "but who knows what may happen?" Nevertheless she went
and fetched his war-gear and looked at him fondly as he did it on, and
went his ways from the hall.

Now he entered the wood more to the south than he had done yesterday,
and went softly as before, and still was he turning over in his mind
the thoughts of last night, and ever they came back. "Might I but see
her! Would she but love me! O for a draught of the Well at the
World's End, that the love might last long and long!"

So he went on a while betwixt the trees and the thickets, till it was a
little past noon. But all on a sudden a panic fear took him, lest she
should indeed come to the castle while he was away, and not finding
him, depart again, who knows whither; and when this thought came upon
him, he cried aloud, and hastened at his swiftest back again to the
castle, and came there breathless and wearied, and ran to the old
woman, and cried out to her; "Is she come? is she come?"

The carline laughed and said, "Nay, she is not, but thou art come:
praise be to the saints! But what aileth thee? Nay, fear not, she
shall come at last."

Then grew Ralph shamefaced and turned away from her, and miscalled
himself for a fool and a dastard that could not abide the pleasure of
his lady at the very place whereto she had let lead him. So he wore
through the remnant of the day howso he might, without going out-adoors
again; and the carline came and spake with him; but whatever he asked
her about the lady, she would not tell aught of any import, so he
refrained him from that talk, and made a show of hearkening when she
spake of other matters; as tales concerning the folk of the land, and
the Fathers of the Thorn, and so forth.

On the next morning he arose and said to himself, that whatever betid,
he would bide in the castle and the Plain of Abundance till the lady
came; and he went amongst the haymaking folk in the morning and ate his
dinner with them, and strove to be of good cheer, and belike the carles
and queens thought him merry company; but he was now wearying his heart
with longing, and might not abide any great while in one place; so
when, dinner over, they turned to their work again, he went back to the
Castle, and read in that book, and looked at the pictures thereof, and
kept turning his wonder and hope and fear over and over again in his
mind, and making to himself stories of how he should meet the Lady and
what she would say to him, and how he should answer her, till at last
the night came, and he went to his bed, and slept for the very
weariness of his longing.

When the new day came he arose and went into the hall, and found the
carline there, who said to him, "Fair sir, will thou to the wood again
to-day?" "Nay," said Ralph, "I must not, I dare not." "Well," she said,
"thou mayest if thou wilt; why shouldst thou not go?" Said Ralph,
reddening and stammering: "Because I fear to; thrice have I been away
long from the castle and all has gone well; but the fourth time she
will come and find me gone."

The carline laughed: "Well," she said, "I shall be here if thou goest;
for I promise thee not to stir out of the house whiles thou art away."
Said Ralph: "Nay, I will abide here." "Yea," she said, "I see: thou
trustest me not. Well, no matter; and to-day it will be handy if thou
abidest. For I have an errand to my brother in the flesh, who is one
of the brethren of the Thorn over yonder. If thou wilt give me leave,
it will be to my pleasure and gain."

Ralph was glad when he heard this, deeming that if she left him alone
there, he would be the less tempted to stray into the wood again.
Besides, he deemed that the Lady might come that day when he was alone
in the Castle, and that himseemed would make the meeting sweeter yet.
So he yea-said the carline's asking joyously, and in an hour's time she
went her ways and left him alone there.

Ralph said to himself, when he saw her depart, that he would have the
more joy in the castle of his Lady if he were alone, and would wear
away the day in better patience therefor. But in sooth the hours of
that day were worse to wear than any day there had yet been. He went
not without the house at all that day, for he deemed that the folk
abroad would note of him that he was so changed and restless.

Whiles he read in that book, or turned the leaves over, not reading it;
whiles he went into the Chamber of Estate, and pored over the woven
pictures there wherein the Lady was figured. Whiles he wandered from
chamber to chamber, not knowing what to do.

At last, a little after dark, back comes the carline again, and he met
her at the door of the hall, for he was weary of his own company, and
the ceaseless turning over and over of the same thoughts.

As for her, she was so joyous of him that she fairly threw her arms
about him and kissed and clipped him, as though she had been his very
mother. Whereof he had some shame, but not much, for he deemed that
her goodwill to him was abundant, which indeed it was.

Now she looks on him and says: "Truly it does my heart good to see
thee: but thou poor boy, thou art wearing thyself with thy longing, and
thy doubting, and if thou wilt do after my rede, thou wilt certainly go
into the wood to-morrow and see what may befall; and indeed and in
sooth thou wilt leave behind thee a trusty friend."

He looked on her kindly, and smiled, and said, "In sooth, mother, I
deem thou art but right; though it be hard for me to leave this house,
to which in a way my Lady hath bidden me. Yet I will do thy bidding
herein." She thanked him, and he went to his bed and slept; for now
that he had made up his mind to go, he was somewhat more at rest.



CHAPTER 22

An Adventure in the Wood


Ralph arrayed himself for departure next morning without more words;
and when he was ready the carline said to him: "When thou wentest
forth before, I was troubled at thy going and feared for thy returning:
but now I fear not; for I know that thou wilt return; though it may be
leading a fair woman by the hand. So go, and all luck go with thee."
Ralph smiled at her words and went his ways, and came into the wood
that lay due south from the Castle, and he went on and on and had no
thought of turning back. He rested twice and still went on, till the
fashion of the thickets and the woods changed about him; and at last
when the sun was getting low, he saw light gleaming through a great
wood of pines, which had long been dark before him against the tall
boles, and soon he came to the very edge of the wood, and going
heedfully, saw between the great stems of the outermost trees, a green
strand, and beyond it a long smooth water, a little lake between green
banks on either side. He came out of the pinewood on to the grass; but
there were thornbushes a few about, so that moving warily from one to
the other, he might perchance see without being seen. Warily he went
forsooth, going along the green strand to the east and the head of that
water, and saw how the bank sloped up gently from its ending toward the
pine-wood, in front of whose close-set trees stood three great-boled
tall oak-trees on a smooth piece of green sward. And now he saw that
there were folk come before him on this green place, and keen-sighted
as he was, could make out that three men were on the hither side of the
oak-trees, and on the further side of them was a white horse.
Thitherward then he made, stealing from bush to bush, since he deemed
that he needed not be seen of men who might be foes, for at the first
sight he had noted the gleam of weapons there. And now he had gone no
long way before he saw the westering sun shine brightly from a naked
sword, and then another sprang up to meet it, and he heard faintly the
clash of steel, and saw withal that the third of the folk had long and
light raiment and was a woman belike. Then he bettered his pace, and
in a minute or two came so near that he could see the men clearly, that
they were clad in knightly war-gear, and were laying on great strokes
so that the still place rang with the clatter. As for the woman, he
could see but little of her, because of the fighting men before her;
and the shadow of the oak boughs fell on her withal.

Now as he went, hidden by the bushes, they hid the men also from him,
and when he was come to the last bush, some fifty paces from them, and
peered out from it, in that very nick of time the two knights were
breathing them somewhat, and Ralph saw that one of them, the furthest
from him, was a very big man with a blue surcoat whereon was beaten a
great golden sun, and the other, whose back was towards Ralph, was clad
in black over his armour. Even as he looked and doubted whether to
show himself or not, he of the sun raised his sword aloft, and giving
forth a great roar as of wrath and grief mingled together, rushed on
his foe and smote so fiercely that he fell to the earth before him, and
the big man fell upon him as he fell, and let knee and sword-pommel and
fist follow the stroke, and there they wallowed on the earth together.

Straightway Ralph came forth from the bushes with his drawn sword in
his hand, and even therewith what with the two knights being both low
upon the earth, what with the woman herself coming from out the shadow
of the oak boughs, and turning her toward Ralph, he saw her clearly,
and stood staring and amazed--for lo! it was the Lady whom he had
delivered at the want-ways. His heart well nigh stood still with joy,
yet was he shamefaced also: for though now she was no longer clad in
that scanty raiment, yet did he seem to see her body through that which
covered it. But now her attire was but simple; a green gown, thin and
short, and thereover a cote-hardy of black cloth with orphreys of gold
and colours: but on her neck was a collar that seemed to him like to
that which Dame Katherine had given him; and the long tresses of her
hair, which he had erst seen floating loose about her, were wound as a
garland around her head. She looked with a flushed and joyous face on
Ralph, and seemed as if she heeded nought the battle of the knights,
but saw him only: but he feared her, and his love for her and stood
still, and durst not move forward to go to her.

Thus they abode for about the space of one minute: and meanwhile the
big man rose up on one knee and steadied him with his sword for a
moment of time, and the blade was bloody from the point half way up
to the hilt; but the black knight lay still and made no sign of life.
Then the Knight of the Sun rose up slowly and stood on his feet and
faced the Lady and seemed not to see Ralph, for his back was towards
him. He came slowly toward the Lady, scowling, and his face white as
chalk; then he spake to her coldly and sternly, stretching out his
bloody sword before her.

"I have done thy bidding, and slain my very earthly friend of friends
for thy sake. Wherewith wilt thou reward me?"

Then once more Ralph heard the voice, which he remembered so sweet
amidst peril and battle aforetime, as she said as coldly as the Knight:
"I bade thee not: thine own heart bade thee to strive with him because
thou deemedst that he loved me. Be content! thou hast slain him who
stood in thy way, as thou deemedst. Thinkest thou that I rejoice at
his slaying? O no! I grieve at it, for all that I had such good cause
to hate him."

He said: "My own heart! my own heart! Half of my heart biddeth me
slay thee, who hast made me slay him. What wilt thou give me?" She
knit her brow and spake angrily: "Leave to depart," she said. Then
after a while, and in a kinder voice: "And thus much of my love, that
I pray thee not to sorrow for me, but to have a good heart, and live as
a true knight should." He frowned: "Wilt thou not go with me?" said
he. "Not uncompelled," she said: "if thou biddest me go with threats
of hewing and mangling the body which thou sayest thou lovest, needs
must I go then. Yet scarce wilt thou do this."

"I have a mind to try it," said he; "If I set thee on thine horse and
bound thine hands for thee, and linked thy feet together under the
beast's belly; belike thou wouldest come. Shall I have slain my
brother-in-arms for nought?"

"Thou hast the mind," said she, "hast thou the might?" "So I deem,"
said he, smiling grimly.

She looked at him proudly and said: "Yea, but I misdoubt me thereof."
He still had his back to Ralph and was staring at the lady; she turned
her head a little and made a sign to Ralph, just as the Knight of the
Sun said: "Thou misdoubtest thee? Who shall help thee in the desert?"

"Look over thy left shoulder," she said. He turned, and saw Ralph
drawing near, sword in hand, smiling, but somewhat pale. He drew aback
from the Lady and, spinning round on his heel, faced Ralph, and cried
out: "Hah! Hast thou raised up a devil against me, thou sorceress, to
take from me my grief and my lust, and my life? Fair will the game be
to fight with thy devil as I have fought with my friend! Yet now I
know not whether I shall slay him or thee."

She spake not, but stood quietly looking on him, not unkindly, while a
wind came up from the water and played with a few light locks of hair
that hung down from that ruddy crown, and blew her raiment from her
feet and wrapped it close round her limbs; and Ralph beheld her, and
close as was the very death to him (for huge and most warrior-like was
his foeman) yet longing for her melted the heart within him, and he
felt the sweetness of life in his inmost soul as he had never felt it
before.

Suddenly the Knight of the Sun turned about to the Lady again, and fell
down on his knees before her, and clasped his hands as one praying, and
said: "Now pardon me all my words, I pray thee; and let this young man
depart unhurt, whether thou madest him, or hast but led him away from
country and friends and all. Then do thou come with me, and make some
semblance of loving me, and suffer me to love thee. And then shall all
be well, for in a few days we will go back to thy people, and there
will I be their lord or thy servant, or my brother's man, or what thou
wilt. O wilt thou not let the summer days be sweet?"

But she spake, holding up her head proudly and speaking in a clear
ringing voice: "I have said it, that uncompelled I will not go with
thee at all." And therewithal she turned her face toward Ralph, as she
might do on any chance-met courteous man, and he saw her smiling, but
she said nought to him, and gave no token of knowing him. Then the
Knight of the Sun sprang to his feet, and shook his sword above his
head and ran furiously on Ralph, who leapt nimbly on one side (else had
he been slain at once) and fetched a blow at the Sun-Knight, and smote
him, and brake the mails on his left shoulder, so that the blood
sprang, and fell on fiercely enough, smiting to right and left as the
other gave back at his first onset. But all was for nought, for the
Knight of the Sun, after his giving aback under that first stroke drew
himself up stark and stiff, and pressing on through all Ralph's
strokes, though they rent his mail here and there, ran within his
sword, and smote him furiously with the sword-pommel on the side of the
head, so that the young man of Upmeads could not stand up under the
weight of the blow, but fell to the earth swooning, and the Knight of
the Sun knelt on him, and drew out an anlace, short, thick and sharp,
and cried out: "Now, Devil, let see whether thou wilt bleed black."
Therewith he raised up his hand: but the weapon was stayed or ever it
fell, for the Lady had glided up to them when she saw that Ralph was
overcome, and now she stretched out her arm and caught hold of the
Knight's hand and the anlace withal, and he groaned and cried out:
"What now! thou art strong-armed as well as white-armed;" (for she had
rent the sleeve back from her right arm) and he laughed in the
extremity of his wrath. But she was pale and her lips quivered as she
said softly and sweetly: "Wilt thou verily slay this young man?"

"And why not?" said he, "since I have just slain the best friend that I
ever had, though he was nought willing to fight with me, and only for
this, that I saw thee toying with him; though forsooth thou hast said
truly that thou hadst more reason to hate him than love him. Well,
since thou wilt not have this youngling slain, I may deem at least that
he is no devil of thy making, else wouldst thou be glad of his slaying,
so that he might be out of the path of thee; so a man he is, and a
well-favoured one, and young; and valiant, as it seemeth: so I suppose
that he is thy lover, or will be one day--well then--"

And he lifted his hand again, but again she stayed him, and said: "Look
thou, I will buy him of thee: and, indeed, I owe him a life." "How is
that?" said he. "Why wouldst thou know?" she said; "thou who, if thou
hadst me in thine hands again, wouldst keep me away from all men. Yea,
I know what thou wouldst say, thou wouldst keep me from sinning again."
And she smiled, but bitterly. "Well, the tale is no long one: five
days ago I was taken by them of the Burg: and thou wottest what they
would do with me; yea, even if they deemed me less than they do deem
me: well, as two of their men-at-arms were leading me along by a
halter, as a calf is led to the butcher, we fell in with this goodly
lad, who slew them both in manly fashion, and I escaped for that time:
though, forsooth, I must needs put my neck in the noose again in
delivering four of our people, who would else have been tormented to
death by the Burgers."

"Well," said the knight, "perchance thou hast more mercy than I looked
for of thee; though I misdoubt thee that thou mayst yet pray me or some
other to slay him for thee. Thou art merciful, my Queen, though not to
me, and a churl were I if I were less merciful than thou. Therefore
will I give his life to him, yet not to thee will I give him if I may
help it--Lo you, Sweet! he is just opening his eyes."

Therewith he rose up from Ralph, who raised himself a little, and sat
up dazed and feeble. The Knight of the Sun stood up over him beside
the lady with his hands clasped on his sword-hilt, and said to Ralph:
"Young man, canst thou hear my words?" Ralph smiled feebly and nodded
a yea-say. "Dost thou love thy life then?" said the Knight. Ralph
found speech and said faintly, "Yea." Said the Knight: "Where dost
thou come from, where is thine home?" Said Ralph, "Upmeads." "Well
then," quoth the big knight, "go back to Upmeads, and live." Ralph
shook his head and knit his brows and said, "I will not." "Yea," said
the Knight, "thou wilt not live? Then must I shape me to thy humour.
Stand on thy feet and fight it out; for now I am cool I will not slay a
swordless man."

Ralph staggered up to his feet, but was so feeble still, that he sank
down again, and muttered: "I may not; I am sick and faint;" and
therewith swooned away again. But the Knight stood a while leaning on
his sword, and looking down on him not unkindly. Then he turned about
to the Lady, but lo! she had left his side. She had glided away, and
got to her horse, which was tethered on the other side of the oak-tree,
and had loosed him and mounted him, and so sat in the saddle there, the
reins gathered in her hands. She smiled on the knight as he stood
astonished, and cried to him; "Now, lord, I warn thee, draw not a
single foot nigher to me; for thou seest that I have Silverfax between
my knees, and thou knowest how swift he is, and if I see thee move, he
shall spring away with me. Thou wottest how well I know all the ways
of the woodland, and I tell thee that the ways behind me to the Dry
Tree be all safe and open, and that beyond the Gliding River I shall
come on Roger of the Ropewalk and his men. And if thou thinkest to
ride after me, and overtake me, cast the thought out of thy mind. For
thy horse is strong but heavy, as is meet for so big a knight, and
moreover he is many yards away from me and Silverfax: so before thou
art in the saddle, where shall I be? Yea," (for the Knight was
handling his anlace) "thou mayst cast it, and peradventure mayst hit
Silverfax and not me, and peradventure not; and I deem that it is my
body alive that thou wouldest have back with thee. So now, wilt thou
hearken?"

"Yea," quoth the knight, though for wrath he could scarce bring the
word from his mouth.

"Hearken," she said, "this is the bargain to be struck between us: even
now thou wouldst not refrain from slaying this young man, unless
perchance he should swear to depart from us; and as for me, I would not
go back with thee to Sunhome, where erst thou shamedst me. Now will I
buy thy nay-say with mine, and if thou give the youngling his life, and
suffer him to come his ways with us, then will I go home with thee and
will ride with thee in all the love and duty that I owe thee; or if
thou like this fashion of words better, I will give thee my body for
his life. But if thou likest not the bargain, there is not another
piece of goods for thee in the market, for then I will ride my ways to
the Dry Tree, and thou shalt slay the poor youth, or make of him thy
sworn friend, like as was Walter--which thou wilt."

So she spake, and Ralph yet lay on the grass and heard nought. But the
Knight's face was dark and swollen with anger as he answered: "My sworn
friend! yea, I understand thy gibe. I need not thy words to bring to
my mind how I have slain one sworn friend for thy sake."

"Nay," she said, "not for my sake, for thine own folly's sake." He
heeded her not, but went on: "And as for this one, I say again of him,
if he be not thy devil, then thou meanest him for thy lover. And now I
deem that I will verily slay him, ere he wake again; belike it were his
better luck."

She said: "I wot not why thou hagglest over the price of that thou
wouldest have. If thou have him along with thee, shall he not be in
thy power--as I shall be? and thou mayst slay him--or me--when thou
wilt."

"Yea," he said, grimly, "when thou art weary of him. O art thou not
shameless amongst women! Yet must I needs pay thy price, though my
honour and the welfare of my life go with it. Yet how if he have no
will to fare with us?" She laughed and said: "Then shalt thou have him
with thee as thy captive and thrall. Hast thou not conquered him in
battle?" He stood silent a moment and then he said: "Thou sayest it;
he shall come with me, will he, nill he, unarmed, and as a prisoner,
and the spoil of my valiancy." And he laughed, not altogether in
bitterness, but as if some joy were rising in his heart. "Now, my
Queen," said he, "the bargain is struck betwixt us, and thou mayest
light down off Silverfax; as for me, I will go fetch water from the
lake, that we may wake up this valiant and mighty youth, this newfound
jewel, and bring him to his wits again."

She answered nought, but rode her horse close to him and lighted down
nimbly, while his greedy eyes devoured her beauty. Then he took her
hand and drew her to him, and kissed her cheek, and she suffered it,
but kissed him not again. Then he took off his helm, and went down to
the lake to fetch up water therein.



CHAPTER 23

The Leechcraft of the Lady


Meanwhile she went to Ralph and stood by him, who now began to stir
again; and she knelt down by him and kissed his face gently, and rose
up hastily and stood a little aloof again.

Now Ralph sat up and looked about him, and when he saw the Lady
he first blushed red, and then turned very pale; for the full life was
in him again, and he knew her, and love drew strongly at his
heart-strings. But she looked on him kindly and said to him: "How
fares it with thee? I am sorry of thy hurt which thou hast had for
me." He said: "Forsooth, Lady, a chance knock or two is no great
matter for a lad of Upmeads. But oh! I have seen thee before." "Yea,"
she said, "twice before, fair knight." "How is that?" he said; "once I
saw thee, the fairest thing in the world, and evil men would have led
thee to slaughter; but not twice."

She smiled on him still more kindly, as if he were a dear friend, and
said simply: "I was that lad in the cloak that ye saw in the Flower de
Luce; and afterwards when ye, thou and Roger, fled away from the Burg
of the Four Friths. I had come into the Burg with my captain of war at
the peril of our lives to deliver four faithful friends of mine who
were else doomed to an evil death."

He said nought, but gazed at her face, wondering at her valiancy and
goodness. She took him by the hand now, and held it without speaking
for a little while, and he sat there still looking up into her face,
wondering at her sweetness and his happiness. Then she said, as she
drew her hand away and spake in such a voice, and so looking at him,
that every word was as a caress to him: "Thy soul is coming back to
thee, my friend, and thou art well at ease: is it not so?"

"O yea," he said, "and I woke up happily e'en now; for me-dreamed that
my gossip came to me and kissed me kindly; and she is a fair woman, but
not a young woman."

As he spoke the knight, who had come nearly noiselessly over the grass,
stood by them, holding his helm full of water, and looking grimly upon
them; but the Lady looked up at him with wide eyes wonderingly, and
Ralph, beholding her, deemed that all he had heard of her goodness was
but the very sooth. But the knight spake: "Young man, thou hast
fought with me, thou knowest not wherefore, and grim was my mood when
thou madest thine onset, and still is, so that never but once wilt thou
be nigher thy death than thou hast been this hour. But now I have
given thee life because of the asking of this lady; and therewith I
give thee leave to come thy ways with us: nay, rather I command thee to
come, for thou art my prisoner, to be kept or ransomed, or set free as
I will. But my will is that thou shalt not have thine armour and
weapons; and there is a cause for this, which mayhappen I will tell
thee hereafter. But now I bid thee drink of this water, and then do
off thine helm and hauberk and give me thy sword and dagger, and go
with us peaceably; and be not overmuch ashamed, for I have overcome
men who boasted themselves to be great warriors."

So Ralph drank of the water, and did off his helm, and cast water on
his face, and arose, and said smiling: "Nay, my master, I am nought
ashamed of my mishaps: and as to my going with thee and the Lady, thou
hast heard me say under thy dagger that I would not forbear to follow
her; so I scarce need thy command thereto." The knight scowled on him
and said: "Hold thy peace, fool! Thou wert best not stir my wrath
again." "Nay," said Ralph, "thou hast my sword, and mayst slay me if
thou wilt; therefore be not word-valiant with me."

Said the Knight of the Sun: "Well, well, thou hast the right of it
there. Only beware lest thou try me overmuch. But now must we set
forth on our road; and here is work for thee to do: a hundred yards
within the thick wood in a straight line from the oak-tree thou shalt
find two horses, mine and the knight's who fell before me; go thou and
bring them hither; for I will not leave thee with my lady, lest I have
to slay thee in the end, and maybe her also."

Ralph nodded cheerfully, and set off on his task, and was the readier
therein because the Lady looked on him kindly and compassionately as he
went by her. He found the horses speedily, a black horse that was of
the Black Knight, and a bay of the Knight of the Sun, and he came back
with them lightly.

But when he came to the oak-tree again, lo, the knight and the Lady
both kneeling over the body of the Black Knight, and Ralph saw that the
Knight of the Sun was sobbing and weeping sorely, so that he deemed
that he was taking leave of his friend that lay dead there: but when
Ralph had tied up those other two steeds by Silverfax and drawn rear to
those twain, the Knight of the Sun looked up at him, and spake in a
cheerful voice: "Thou seemest to be no ill man, though thou hast come
across my lady; so now I bid thee rejoice that there is a good knight
more in the world than we deemed e'en now; for this my friend Walter
the Black is alive still." "Yea," said the Lady, "and belike he shall
live a long while yet."

So Ralph looked, and saw that they had stripped the knight of his
hauberk and helm, and bared his body, and that the Lady was dressing a
great and sore wound in his side; neither was he come to himself again:
he was a young man, and very goodly to look on, dark haired and
straight of feature, fair of face; and Ralph felt a grief at his heart
as he beheld the Lady's hands dealing with his bare flesh, though
nought the man knew of it belike.

As for the Knight of the Sun, he was no more grim and moody, but
smiling and joyous, and he spake and said: "Young man, this shall
stand thee in good stead that I have not slain my friend this bout.
Sooth to say, it might else have gone hard with thee on the way to my
house, or still more in my house. But now be of good heart, for unless
of thine own folly thou run on the sword's point, thou mayst yet live
and do well." Then he turned to the Lady and said: "Dame, for as good
a leech as ye be, ye may not heal this man so that he may sit in his
saddle within these ten days; and now what is to do in this matter?"

She looked on him with smiling lips and a strange light in her eyes,
and said: "Yea, forsooth, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou abide here by
Walter thyself alone, and let me bring the imp of Upmeads home to our
house? Or wilt thou ride home and send folk with a litter to us? Or
shall this youngling ride at all adventure, and seek to Sunway through
the blind woodland? Which shall it be?"

The knight laughed outright, and said: "Yea, fair one, this is much
like to the tale of the carle at the ferry with the fox, and the goat,
and the cabbage."

There was scarce a smile on her face as she said gently: "One thing is
to be thought of, that Walter's soul is not yet so fast in his body
that either thou or some rough-handed leech may be sure of healing him;
it must be this hand, and the learning which it hath learned which must
deal with him for a while." And she stretched out her arm over the
wounded man, with the fingers pointing down the water, and reddened
withal, as if she felt the hearts' greediness of the two men who were
looking on her beauty.

The big knight sighed, and said: "Well, unless I am to kill him over
again, there is nothing for it but our abiding with him for the next
few hours at least. To-morrow is a new day, and fair is the
woodland-hall of summer-tide; neither shall water fail us. But as to
victual, I wot not save that we have none."

The Lady laughed, and said to Ralph; "Who knoweth what thou mayst find
if thou go to the black horse and look into the saddle-bags which I saw
upon him awhile agone? For indeed we need somewhat, if it were but to
keep the life in the body of this wounded man."

Ralph sprang up and turned to the horse, and found the saddle-bags on
him, and took from them bread and flesh, and a flask of good wine, and
brought them to the Lady, who laughed and said: "Thou art a good
seeker and no ill finder." Then she gave the wounded man to drink of
the wine, so that he stirred somewhat, and the colour came into his
face a little. Then she bade gather store of bracken for a bed for the
Black Knight, and Ralph bestirred himself therein, but the Knight of
the Sun sat looking at the Lady as she busied herself with his friend,
and gloom seemed gathering on him again.

But when the bracken was enough, the Lady made a bed deftly and
speedily; and between the three they laid the wounded man thereon, who
seemed coming to himself somewhat, and spake a few words, but those
nothing to the point. Then the Lady took her gay embroidered cloak,
which lay at the foot of the oak tree, and cast it over him and, as
Ralph deemed, eyed him lovingly, and belike the Knight of the Sun
thought in likewise, for he scowled upon her; and for awhile but little
was the joyance by the ancient oak, unless it were with the Lady.



CHAPTER 24

Supper and Slumber in the Woodland Hall


But when all was done to make the wounded knight as easy as might be,
the Lady turned to the other twain, and said kindly: "Now, lords, it
were good to get to table, since here is wherewithal." And she looked
on them both full kindly as she spake the words, but nowise wantonly;
even as the lady of a fair house might do by honoured guests. So the
hearts of both were cheered, and nothing loth they sat down by her on
the grass and fell to meat. Yet was the Knight of the Sun a little
moody for a while, but when he had eaten and drunken somewhat, he said:
"It were well if someone might come hereby, some hermit or holy man, to
whom we might give the care of Walter: then might we home to Sunway,
and send folk with a litter to fetch him home softly when the due time
were."

"Yea," said the Lady, "that might happen forsooth, and perchance it
will; and if it were before nightfall it were better."

Ralph saw that as she spake she took hold of the two fingers of her
left hand with her right forefinger, and let the thumb meet it, so that
it made a circle about them, and she spake something therewith in a low
voice, but he heeded it little, save as he did all ways that her body
moved. As for the Knight of the Sun, he was looking down on the grass
as one pondering matters, and noted this not. But he said presently:
"What hast thou to say of Walter now? Shall he live?" "Yea," she
said, "maybe as long as either of you twain." The knight looked hard at
Ralph, but said nothing, and Ralph heeded not his looks, for his eyes
were busy devouring the Lady.

So they abode a little, and the more part of what talk there was came
from the Lady, and she was chiefly asking Ralph of his home in Upmeads,
and his brethren and kindred, and he told her all openly, and hid
naught, while her voice ravished his very soul from him, and it seemed
strange to him, that such an one should hold him in talk concerning
these simple matters and familiar haps, and look on him so kindly and
simply. Ever and anon would she go and look to the welfare of the
wounded man, and come back from him (for they sat a little way aloof),
and tell them how he did. And still the Knight of the Sun took little
heed, and once again gloom settled down on him.

Amidst all this the sun was set, and the long water lay beneath the
heavens like a sheet of bright, fair-hued metal, and naught stirred it:
till at last the Lady leaned forward to Ralph, and touched his shoulder
(for he was sitting over against her, with his back to the water), and
she said: "Sir Knight, Sir Knight, his wish is coming about, I believe
verily." He turned his head to look over his shoulder, and, as if by
chance-hap, his cheek met the outstretched hand she was pointing with:
she drew it not away very speedily, and as sweet to him was the touch
of it as if his face had been brushed past by a summer lily.

"Nay, look! something cometh," she cried; and he looked and saw a
little boat making down the water toward the end anigh them. Then the
Knight of the Sun seemed to awake at her word, and he leapt to his
feet, and stood looking at the new comer.

It was but a little while ere the boat touched the shore, and a man
stepped out of it on to the grass and made it fast to the bank, and
then stood and looked about him as if seeking something; and lo, it was
a holy man, a hermit in the habit of the Blackfriars.

Then the Knight of the Sun hastened down to the strand to meet him, and
when Ralph was thus left alone with the Lady, though it were but for a
little, his heart beat and he longed sore to touch her with his hand,
but durst not, and did but hope that her hand would stray his way as it
had e'en now. But she arose and stood a little way from him, and spake
to him sweetly of the fairness of the evening, and the wounded man, and
the good hap of the friar's coming before nightfall; and his heart was
wrung sore with the love of her.

So came the knight up from the strand, and the holy man with him, who
greeted Ralph and the Lady and blessed them, and said: "Now, daughter,
show me thy sick man; for I am somewhat of a leech, and this thy baron
would have me heal him, and I have a right good will thereto."

So he went to the Black Knight, and when he had looked to his hurts, he
turned to them and said: "Have ye perchance any meat in the
wilderness?" "Yea," quoth the Knight of the Sun; "there is enough for a
day or more, and if we must needs abide here longer, I or this young
man may well make shift to slay some deer, great or little, for our
sustenance and the healing of my friend."

"It is well," said the Friar; "my hermitage is no great way hence, in
the thicket at the end of this water. But now is the fever on this
knight, and we may not move him ere morning at soonest; but to-morrow
we may make a shift to bear him hence by boat: or, if not, then may I
go and fetch from my cell bread and other meat, and milk of my goats;
and thus shall we do well till we may bring him to my cell, and then
shall ye leave him there; and afterwards I will lead him home to Sunway
where thou dwellest, baron, when he is well enough healed; or, if he
will not go thither, let him go his ways, and I myself will come to
Sunway and let thee wot of his welfare."

The knight yeasaid all this, and thereafter the Friar and the Lady
together tended the wounded knight, and gave him water to drink, and
wine. And meanwhile Ralph and the Knight of the Sun lay down on the
grass and watched the eve darkening, and Ralph marvelled at his
happiness, and wondered what the morrow would bring forth.

But amidst his happy thoughts the Knight of the Sun spake to him and
said: "Young knight, I have struck a bargain with her that thou shalt
follow us home, if thou wilt: but to say sooth, I think when the
bargain was struck I was minded when I had thee at Sunway to cast thee
into my prison. But now I will do otherwise, and if thou must needs
follow after thine own perdition, as I have, thou shalt do so freely;
therefore take again thine armour and weapons, and do what thou wilt
with them. But if thou wilt do after my rede, get thee away to-morrow,
or better, to-night, and desire our fellowship no more."

Ralph heard him, and the heart within him was divided. It was in his
mind to speak debonnairely to the knight; but again he felt as if he
hated him, and the blythe words would not come, and he answered
doggedly: "I will not leave my Lady since she biddeth me go with her.
If thou wilt then, make the most of it that thou art stronger than I,
and a warrior more proven; set me before thy sword, and fight with me
and slay me."

Then rose the wrath to the knight's lips, and he brake forth: "Then is
there one other thing for thee to do, and that is that thou take thy
sword, which I have just given back to thee, and thrust her through
therewith. That were better for thee and for me, and for him who lieth
yonder."

Therewith he arose and strode up and down in the dusk, and Ralph
wondered at him, yet hated him now not so much, since he deemed that
the Lady would not love him, and that he was angered thereby. Yet
about Ralph's heart there hung a certain fear of what should be.

But presently the knight came and sat down by him again, and again fell
to speech with him, and said: "Thou knowest that I may not slay thee,
and yet thou sayest, fight with me; is this well done?" "Is it ill
done?" said Ralph, "I wot not why."

The knight was silent awhile, and then he said: "With what words shall
I beseech thee to depart while it is yet time? It may well be that in
days to come I shall be good to thee, and help thee."

But Ralph said never a word. Then said the knight, and sighed withal:
"I now see this of thee, that thou mayst not depart; well, so let it
be!" and he sighed heavily again. Then Ralph strove with himself, and
said courteously: "Sir, I am sorry that I am a burden irksome to thee;
and that, why I know not, thou mayst not rid thyself of me by the
strong hand, and that otherwise thou mayst not be rid of me. What then
is this woman to thee, that thou wouldst have me slay her, and yet art
so fierce in thy love for her?" The Knight of the Sun laughed
wrathfully thereat, and was on the point of answering him, when up came
those two from the wounded man, and the Friar said: "The knight shall
do well; but well it is for him that the Lady of Abundance was here for
his helping; for from her hands goeth all healing, as it was with the
holy men of old time. May the saints keep her from all harm; for meek
and holy indeed she is, as oft we have heard it."

The Lady put her hand on his shoulder, as if to bid him silence, and
then set herself down on the grass beside the Knight of the Sun, and
fell to talking sweetly and blithely to the three men. The Friar
answered her with many words, and told her of the deer and fowl of the
wood and the water that he was wont to see nigh to his hermitage; for
of such things she asked him, and at last he said: "Good sooth, I
should be shy to say in all places and before all men of all my
dealings with God's creatures which live about me there. Wot ye what?
E'en now I had no thought of coming hitherward; but I was sitting
amongst the trees pondering many things, when I began to drowse, and
drowsing I heard the thornbushes speaking to me like men, and they bade
me take my boat and go up the water to help a man who was in need; and
that is how I came hither; benedicite."

So he spake; but the Knight of the Sun did but put in a word here and
there, and that most often a sour and snappish word. As for Ralph, he
also spake but little, and strayed somewhat in his answers; for he
could not but deem that she spake softlier and kinder to him than to
the others; and he was dreamy with love and desire, and scarce knew
what he was saying.

Thus they wore away some two hours, the Friar or the Lady turning away
at whiles to heed the wounded man, who was now talking wildly in his
fever.

But at last the night was grown as dark as it would be, since cloud and
storm came not, for the moon had sunk down: so the Lady said: "Now,
lords, our candle hath gone out, and I for my part will to bed; so let
us each find a meet chamber in the woodland hall; and I will lie near
to thee, father, and the wounded friend, lest I be needed to help thee
in the night; and thou, Baron of Sunway, lie thou betwixt me and the
wood, to ward me from the wild deer and the wood-wights. But thou,
Swain of Upmeads, wilt thou deem it hard to lie anear the horses, to
watch them if they be scared by aught?"

"Yea," said the Knight of the Sun, "thou art Lady here forsooth; even
as men say of thee, that thou swayest man and beast in the wildwood.
But this time at least it is not so ill-marshalled of thee: I myself
would have shown folk to chamber here in likewise."

Therewith he rose up, and walked to and fro for a little, and then
went, and sat down on a root of the oak-tree, clasping his knees with
his hands, but lay not down awhile. But the Lady made herself a bed of
the bracken which was over from those that Ralph had gathered for the
bed of the wounded Knight; and the Friar lay down on the grass nigh to
her, and both were presently asleep.

Then Ralph got up quietly; and, shamefacedly for very love, passed
close beside the sleeping woman as he went to his place by the horses,
taking his weapons and wargear with him: and he said to himself as he
laid him down, that it was good for him to be quite alone, that he
might lie awake and think at his ease of all the loveliness and
kindness of his Lady. Howbeit, he was a young man, and a sturdy, used
to lying abroad in the fields or the woods, and it was his custom to
sleep at once and sweetly when he lay down after the day's work had
wearied him, and even so he did now, and was troubled by no dreams of
what was past or to come.




BOOK TWO: The Road Unto Trouble



CHAPTER 1

Ralph Meets With Love in the Wilderness


He woke up while it was yet night, and knew that he had been awakened
by a touch; but, like a good hunter and warrior, he forebore to start
up or cry out till sleep had so much run off him that he could tell
somewhat of what was toward. So now he saw the Lady bending over him,
and she said in a kind and very low voice: "Rise up, young man, rise
up, Ralph, and say no word, but come with me a little way into the wood
ere dawn come, for I have a word for thee."

So he stood up and was ready to go with her, his heart beating hard for
joy and wonder. "Nay," she whispered, "take thy sword and war-gear
lest ill befall: do on thine hauberk; I will be thy squire." And she
held his war-coat out for him to do on. "Now," she said, still softly,
"hide thy curly hair with the helm, gird thy sword to thee, and come
without a word."

Even so he did, and therewithal felt her hand take his (for it was dark
as they stepped amidst the trees), and she led him into the Seventh
Heaven, for he heard her voice, though it were but a whisper, as it
were a caress and a laugh of joy in each word.

She led him along swiftly, fumbling nought with the paths betwixt the
pine-tree boles, where it was as dark as dark might be. Every minute
he looked to hear her say a word of why she had brought him thither,
and that then she would depart from him; so he prayed that the silence
and the holding of his hand might last a long while--for he might
think of naught save her--and long it lasted forsooth, and still she
spake no word, though whiles a little sweet chuckle, as of the garden
warbler at his softest, came from her lips, and the ripple of her
raiment as her swift feet drave it, sounded loud to his eager ears in
the dark, windless wood.

At last, and it was more than half-an-hour of their walking thus, it
grew lighter, and he could see the shape of her alongside of him; and
still she held his hand and glided on swifter and swifter, as he
thought; and soon he knew that outside the wood dawn was giving place
to day, and even there, in the wood, it was scarce darker than twilight.

Yet a little further, and it grew lighter still, and he heard the
throstles singing a little way off, and knew that they were on the edge
of the pine-wood, and still her swift feet sped on till they came to a
little grassy wood-lawn, with nought anear it on the side away from the
wood save maples and thorn-bushes: it was broad daylight there, though
the sun had not yet arisen.

There she let fall his hand and turned about to him and faced him
flushed and eager, with her eyes exceeding bright and her lips half
open and quivering. He stood beholding her, trembling, what for
eagerness, what for fear of her words when he had told her of his
desire. For he had now made up his mind to do no less. He put his
helm from off his head and laid it down on the grass, and he noted
therewith that she had come in her green gown only, and had left mantle
and cote hardie behind.

Now he stood up again and was just going to speak, when lo! she put
both her palms to her face, and her bosom heaved, and her shoulders
were shaken with sobs, and she burst out a weeping, so that the tears
ran through her fingers. Then he cast himself on the ground before
her, and kissed her feet, and clasped her about the knees, and laid his
cheek to her raiment, and fawned upon her, and cried out many an idle
word of love, and still she wept a while and spake not. At last she
reached her hand down to his face and fondled it, and he let his lips
lie on the hand, and she suffered it a while, and then took him by the
arm and raised him up and led him on swiftly as before; and he knew not
what to do or say, and durst by no means stay her, and could frame no
word to ask her wherefore.

So they sped across a waste not much beset with trees, he silent, she
never wearying or slacking her pace or faltering as to the way, till
they came into the thick wood again, and ever when he would have spoken
she hushed him, with "Not yet! Not yet!" Until at last when the sun
had been up for some three hours, she led him through a hazel copse,
like a deep hedge, into a cleared grassy place where were great grey
stones lying about, as if it had been the broken doom-ring of a
forgotten folk. There she threw herself down on the grass and buried
her face amidst the flowers, and was weeping and sobbing again and he
bending over her, till she turned to him and drew him down to her and
put her hands to his face, and laid her cheeks all wet with tears to
his, and fell to kissing him long and sweetly, so that in his turn he
was like to weep for the very sweetness of love.

Then at last she spake: "This is the first word, that now I have
brought thee away from death; and so sweet it is to me that I can
scarce bear it."

"Oh, sweet to me," he said, "for I have waited for thee many days." And
he fell to kissing and clipping her, as one who might not be satisfied.
At last she drew herself from him a little, and, turning on him a face
smiling with love, she said: "Forbear it a little, till we talk
together." "Yea," quoth he, "but may I hold thine hand awhile?" "No
harm in that," she said, laughing, and she gave him her hand and spake:

"I spake it that I have brought thee from death, and thou hast asked me
no word concerning what and how." "I will ask it now, then," said he,
"since thou wilt have it so." She said: "Dost thou think that he would
have let thee live?"

"Who," said he, "since thou lettest me live?"

"He, thy foeman, the Knight of the Sun," she said. "Why didst thou not
flee from him before? For he did not so much desire to slay thee, but
that he would have had thee depart; but if thou wert once at his house,
he would thrust a sword through thee, or at the least cast thee into
his prison and let thee lie there till thy youth be gone--or so it
seemed to me," she said, faltering as she looked on him.

Said Ralph: "How could I depart when thou wert with him? Didst thou
not see me there? I was deeming that thou wouldst have me abide."

She looked upon him with such tender love that he made as if he would
cast himself upon her; but she refrained him, and smiled and said: "Ah,
yes, I saw thee, and thought not that thou wouldst sunder thyself from
me; therefore had I care of thee." And she touched his cheek with her
other hand; and he sighed and knit his brows somewhat, and said: "But
who is this man that he should slay me? And why is he thy tyrant, that
thou must flee from him?"

She laughed and said: "Fair creature, he is my husband."

Then Ralph flushed red, and his visage clouded, and he opened his mouth
to speak; but she stayed him and said: "Yet is he not so much my
husband but that or ever we were bedded he must needs curse me and
drive me away from his house." And she smiled, but her face reddened so
deeply that her grey eyes looked strange and light therein.

But Ralph leapt up, and half drew his sword, and cried out loud: "Would
God I had slain him! Wherefore could I not slay him?" And he strode up
and down the sward before her in his wrath. But she leaned forward to
him and laughed and said: "Yet, O Champion, we will not go back to him,
for he is stronger than thou, and hath vanquished thee. This is a
desert place, but thou art loud, and maybe over loud. Come rest by me."

So he came and sat down by her, and took her hand again and kissed the
wrist thereof and fondled it and said: "Yea, but he desireth thee
sorely; that was easy to see. It was my ill-luck that I slew him not."

She stroked his face again and said: "Long were the tale if I told
thee all. After he had driven me out, and I had fled from him, he fell
in with me again divers times, as was like to be; for his brother is
the Captain of the Dry Tree; the tall man whom thou hast seen with me:
and every time this baron hath come on me he has prayed my love, as one
who would die despaired if I granted it not, but O my love with the
bright sword" (and she kissed his cheek therewith, and fondled his hand
with both her hands), "each time I said him nay, I said him nay." And
again her face burned with blushes.

"And his brother," said Ralph, "the big captain that I have come across
these four times, doth he desire thee also?" She laughed and said:
"But as others have, no more: he will not slay any man for my sake."

Said Ralph: "Didst thou wot that I was abiding thy coming at the
Castle of Abundance?" "Yea," she said, "have I not told thee that I
bade Roger lead thee thither?" Then she said softly: "That was after
that first time we met; after I had ridden away on the horse of that
butcher whom thou slayedst."

"But why camest thou so late?" said he; "Wouldst thou have come if
I had abided there yet?" She said: "What else did I desire but to be
with thee? But I set out alone looking not for any peril, since our
riders had gone to the north against them of the Burg: but as I drew
near to the Water of the Oak, I fell in with my husband and that other
man; and this time all my naysays were of no avail, and whatsoever I
might say he constrained me to go with them; but straightway they fell
out together, and fought, even as thou sawest." And she looked at him
sweetly, and as frankly as if he had been naught but her dearest
brother.

But he said: "It was concerning thee that they fought: hast thou known
the Black Knight for long?"

"Yea," she said, "I may not hide that he hath loved me: but he hath
also betrayed me. It was through him that the Knight of the Sun drave
me from him. Hearken, for this concerneth thee: he made a tale of me
of true and false mingled, that I was a wise-wife and an enchantress,
and my lord trowed in him, so that I was put to shame before all the
house, and driven forth wrung with anguish, barefoot and bleeding."

He looked and saw pain and grief in her face, as it had been the shadow
of that past time, and the fierceness of love in him so changed his
face, that she arose and drew a little way from him, and stood there
gazing at him. But he also rose and knelt before her, and reached up
for her hands and took them in his and said: "Tell me truly, and
beguile me not; for I am a young man, and without guile, and I love
thee, and would have thee for my speech-friend, what woman soever may
be in the world. Whatever thou hast been, what art thou now? Art thou
good or evil? Wilt thou bless me or ban me? For it is the truth that
I have heard tales and tales of thee: many were good, though it maybe
strange; but some, they seemed to warn me of evil in thee. O look at
me, and see if I love thee or not! and I may not help it. Say once for
all, shall that be for my ruin or my bliss? If thou hast been evil,
then be good this one time and tell me."

She neither reddened now, nor paled at his words, but her eyes filled
with tears, and ran over, and she looked down on him as a woman looks
on a man that she loves from the heart's root, and she said: "O my
lord and love, may it be that thou shalt find me no worse to thee than
the best of all those tales. Forsooth how shall I tell thee of myself,
when, whatever I say, thou shalt believe every word I tell thee? But O
my heart, how shouldest thou, so sweet and fair and good, be taken with
the love of an evil thing? At the least I will say this, that
whatsoever I have been, I am good to thee--I am good to thee, and will
be true to thee."

He drew her down to him as he knelt there, and took his arms about her,
and though she yet shrank from him a little and the eager flame of his
love, he might not be gainsayed, and she gave herself to him and let
her body glide into his arms, and loved him no less than he loved her.
And there between them in the wilderness was all the joy of love that
might be.



CHAPTER 2

They Break Their Fast in the Wildwood


Now when it was hard on noon, and they had lain long in that grassy
place, Ralph rose up and stood upon his feet, and made as one
listening. But the Lady looked on him and said: "It is naught save a
hart and his hind running in the wood; yet mayhappen we were best on
the road, for it is yet long." "Yea," said Ralph, "and it may be that
my master will gather folk and pursue us." "Nay, nay," she said, "that
were to wrong him, to deem that he would gather folk to follow one man;
if he come, he will be by himself alone. When he found us gone he
doubtless cast himself on Silverfax, my horse, in trust of the beast
following after my feet."

"Well," said Ralph, "and if he come alone, there is yet a sword betwixt
him and thee."

She was standing up by him now with her hand on his shoulder, "Hear now
the darling, the champion! how he trusteth well in his heart and his
right hand. But nay, I have cared for thee well. Hearken, if thou
wilt not take it amiss that I tell thee all I do, good or evil. I said
a word in the ear of Silverfax or ever I departed, and now the good
beast knows my mind, and will lead the fierce lord a little astray, but
not too much, lest he follow us with his eager heart and be led by his
own keen woodcraft. Indeed, I left the horse behind to that end, else
hadst thou ridden the woodland ways with me, instead of my wearying
thee by our going afoot; and thou with thy weapons and wargear."

He looked upon her tenderly, and said smiling: "And thou, my dear, art
thou not a little wearied by what should weary a knight and one bred
afield?" "Nay," she said, "seest thou not how I walk lightly clad,
whereas I have left behind my mantle and cote-hardie?" Thereat she
gathered up her gown into her girdle ready for the way, and smiled as
she saw his eyes embrace the loveliness of her feet; and she spake as
she moved them daintily on the flowery grass: "Sooth to say, Knight, I
am no weakling dame, who cannot move her limbs save in the dance, or to
back the white palfrey and ride the meadows, goshawk on wrist; I am
both well-knit and light-foot as the Wood-wife and Goddess of yore
agone. Many a toil hath gone to that, whereof I may tell thee
presently; but now we were best on our way. Yet before we go, I will
at least tell thee this, that in my knowing of these woods, there is no
sorcery at all; for in the woods, though not in these woods, was I
bred; and here also I am at home, as I may say."

Hand in hand then they went lightly through the hazel copse, and soon
was the wood thick about them, but, as before, the Lady led
unfalteringly through the thicket paths. Now Ralph spake and said: "It
is good that thou lead me whither thou wilt; but this I may say, that
it is clear to me that we are not on the way to the Castle of
Abundance." "Even so," said she; "indeed had I come to thee there, as I
was minded, I should presently have brought thee on the way which we
are wending now, or one nigh to it; and that is that which leadeth to
Hampton under Scaur, and the Fellowship of Champions who dwell on the
rock."

Said Ralph: "It is well; yet will I tell thee the truth, that a little
sojourn in that fair house had liked me better. Fain had I been to see
thee sitting in thine ivory chair in thy chamber of dais with the walls
hung round with thee woven in pictures--wilt thou not tell me in words
the story of those pictures? and also concerning the book which I read,
which was also of thee?"

"Ah," she said, "thou hast read in the book--well, I will tell thee the
story very soon, and that the more since there are matters written
wrong in the book." Therewith she hurried him on, and her feet seemed
never tired, though now, to say sooth, he began to go somewhat heavily.

Then she stayed him, and laughed sweetly in his face, and said: "It is
a long while now since the beginning of the June day, and meseems I
know thy lack, and the slaking of it lieth somewhat nearer than Hampton
under Scaur, which we shall not reach these two days if we go afoot all
the way."

"My lack?" said he; "I lack nought now, that I may not have when I
will." And he put his arms about her shoulders and strained her to
his bosom. But she strove with him, and freed herself and laughed
outright, and said: "Thou art a bold man, and rash, my knight, even
unto me. Yet must I see to it that thou die not of hunger." He said
merrily: "Yea, by St. Nicholas, true it is: a while ago I felt no
hunger, and had forgotten that men eat; for I was troubled with much
longing, and in doubt concerning my life; but now am I free and happy,
and hungry therewithal."

"Look," she said, pointing up to the heavens, "it is now past two hours
after noon; that is nigh two hours since we left the lawn amidst the
hazels, and thou longest to eat, as is but right, so lovely as thou art
and young; and I withal long to tell thee something of that whereof
thou hast asked me; and lastly, it is the hottest of the day, yea, so
hot, that even Diana, the Wood-wife of yore agone, might have fainted
somewhat, if she had been going afoot as we twain have been, and little
is the risk of our resting awhile. And hereby is a place where rest is
good as regards the place, whatever the resters may be; it is a little
aside the straightest way, but meseems we may borrow an hour or so of
our journey, and hope to pay it back ere nightfall. Come, champion!"

Therewith she led north through a thicket of mingled trees till Ralph
heard water running, and anon they came to a little space about a
brook, grassy and clear of trees save a few big thorn-bushes, with a
green ridge or bank on the other side. There she stayed him and said:
"Do off thy war-gear, knight. There is naught to fear here, less than
there was amidst the hazels." So did he, and she kneeled down and drank
of the clear water, and washed her face and hands therein, and then
came and kissed him and said: "Lovely imp of Upmeads, I have some
bread of last night's meal in my scrip here, and under the bank I shall
find some woodland meat withal; abide a little and the tale and the
food shall come back to thee together." Therewith she stepped lightly
into the stream, and stood therein a minute to let her naked feet feel
the cold ripple (for she had stripped off her foot-gear as she first
came to the water), and then went hither and thither gathering
strawberries about the bank, while he watched her, blessing her, till
he well nigh wept at the thought of his happiness.

Back she came in a little while with good store of strawberries in the
lap of her gown, and they sat down on the green lip of the brook, and
she drew the bread from her scrip and they ate together, and she made
him drink from the hollow of her hands, and kissed him and wept over
him for joy, and the eagerness of her love. So at last she sat down
quietly beside him, and fell to speaking to him, as a tale is told in
the ingle nook on an even of Yule-tide.



CHAPTER 3

The Lady Telleth Ralph of the Past Days of Her Life


"Now shalt thou hear of me somewhat more than the arras and the book
could tell thee; and yet not all, for time would fail us therefor--and
moreover my heart would fail me. I cannot tell where I was born nor of
what lineage, nor of who were my father and mother; for this I have
known not of myself, nor has any told me. But when I first remember
anything, I was playing about a garden, wherein was a little house
built of timber and thatched with reed, and the great trees of the
forest were all about the garden save for a little croft which was
grown over with high grass and another somewhat bigger, wherein were
goats. There was a woman at the door of the house and she spinning,
yet clad in glittering raiment, and with jewels on her neck and
fingers; this was the first thing that I remember, but all as it were a
matter of every day, and use and wont, as it goes with the memories of
children. Of such matters I will not tell thee at large, for thou
knowest how it will be. Now the woman, who as I came to know was
neither old nor young in those days, but of middle age, I called
mother; but now I know that she was not my mother. She was hard and
stern with me, but never beat me in those days, save to make me do what
I would not have done unbeaten; and as to meat I ate and drank what I
could get, as she did, and indeed was well-fed with simple meats as
thou mayest suppose from the aspect of me to-day. But as she was not
fierce but rather sour to me in her daily wont in my youngest days so
also she was never tender, or ever kissed me or caressed me, for as
little as I was. And I loved her naught, nor did it ever come into my
mind that I should love her, though I loved a white goat of ours and
deemed it dear and lovely; and afterwards other things also that came
to me from time to time, as a squirrel that I saved from a weasel, and
a jackdaw that fell from a tall ash-tree nigh our house before he had
learned how to fly, and a house-mouse that would run up and down my
hand and arm, and other such-like things; and shortly I may say that
the wild things, even to the conies and fawns loved me, and had but
little fear of me, and made me happy, and I loved them.

"Further, as I grew up, the woman set me to do such work as I had
strength for as needs was; for there was no man dwelt anigh us and
seldom did I ever see man or woman there, and held no converse with
any, save as I shall tell thee presently: though now and again a man or
a woman passed by; what they were I knew not, nor their whence and
whither, but by seeing them I came to know that there were other folk
in the world besides us two. Nought else I knew save how to spin, and
to tend our goats and milk them, and to set snares for birds and small
deer: though when I had caught them, it irked me sore to kill them, and
I had let them go again had I not feared the carline. Every day early
I was put forth from the house and garth, and forbidden to go back
thither till dusk. While the days were long and the grass was growing,
I had to lead our goats to pasture in the wood-lawns, and must take
with me rock and spindle, and spin so much of flax or hair as the woman
gave me, or be beaten. But when the winter came and the snow was on
the ground, then that watching and snaring of wild things was my
business.

"At last one day of late summer when I, now of some fifteen summers,
was pasturing the goats not far from the house, the sky darkened, and
there came up so great a storm of thunder and lightning, and huge drift
of rain, that I was afraid, and being so near to the house, I hastened
thither, driving the goats, and when I had tethered them in the shed of
the croft, I crept trembling up to the house, and when I was at the
door, heard the clack of the loom in the weaving-chamber, and deemed
that the woman was weaving there, but when I looked, behold there was
no one on the bench, though the shuttle was flying from side to side,
and the shed opening and changing, and the sley coming home in due
order. Therewithal I heard a sound as of one singing a song in a low
voice, but the words I could not understand: then terror seized on my
heart, but I stepped over the threshold, and as the door of the chamber
was open, I looked aside and saw therein the woman sitting stark naked
on the floor with a great open book before her, and it was from her
mouth that the song was coming: grim she looked, and awful, for she
was a big woman, black-haired and stern of aspect in her daily wont,
speaking to me as few words as might be, and those harsh enough, yea
harsher than when I was but little. I stood for one moment afraid
beyond measure, though the woman did not look at me, and I hoped she
had not seen me; then I ran back into the storm, though it was now
wilder than ever, and ran and hid myself in the thicket of the wood,
half-dead with fear, and wondering what would become of me. But
finding that no one followed after me, I grew calmer, and the storm
also drew off, and the sun shone out a little before his setting: so I
sat and spun, with fear in my heart, till I had finished my tale of
thread, and when dusk came, stole back again to the house, though my
legs would scarce bear me over the threshold into the chamber.

"There sat the woman in her rich attire no otherwise than her wont, nor
did she say aught to me; but looked at the yarn that I had spun, to see
that I had done my task, and nodded sternly to me as her wont was, and
I went to bed amongst my goats as I was used to do, but slept not till
towards morning, and then images of dreadful things, and of miseries
that I may not tell thee of, mingled with my sleep for long.

"So I awoke and ate my meat and drank of the goats' milk with a heavy
heart, and then went into the house; and when I came into the chamber
the woman looked at me, and contrary to her wont spoke to me, and I
shook with terror at her voice; though she said naught but this: 'Go
fetch thy white goat and come back to me therewith.' I did so, and
followed after her, sick with fear; and she led me through the wood
into a lawn which I knew well, round which was a wall, as it were, of
great yew trees, and amidst, a table of stone, made of four uprights
and a great stone plank on the top of them; and this was the only thing
in all the wood wherein I was used to wander which was of man's
handiwork, save and except our house, and the sheds and fences about it.

"The woman stayed and leaned against this stonework and said to me:
'Go about now and gather dry sticks for a fire.' I durst do naught else,
and said to myself that I should be whipped if I were tardy, though,
forsooth, I thought she was going to kill me; and I brought her a
bundle, and she said, 'Fetch more.' And when I had brought her seven
bundles, she said: 'It is enough: stand over against me and hearken.'
So I stood there quaking; for my fear, which had somewhat abated while
I went to and fro after the wood, now came back upon me tenfold.

"She said: 'It were thy due that I should slay thee here and now, as
thou slayest the partridges which thou takest in thy springes: but for
certain causes I will not slay thee. Again, it were no more than thy
earnings were I to torment thee till thou shouldst cry out for death to
deliver thee from the anguish; and if thou wert a woman grown, even so
would I deal with thee. But thou art yet but a child, therefore I will
keep thee to see what shall befall betwixt us. Yet must I do somewhat
to grieve thee, and moreover something must be slain and offered up
here on this altar, lest all come to naught, both thou and I, and that
which we have to do. Hold thy white goat now, which thou lovest more
than aught else, that I may redden thee and me and this altar with the
blood thereof.'

"I durst do naught but obey her, and I held the poor beast, that licked
my hands and bleated for love of me: and now since my terror and the
fear of death was lessened at her words, I wept sore for my dear friend.

"But the woman drew a strong sharp knife from her girdle and cut the
beast's throat, and dipped her fingers in the blood and reddened both
herself and me on the breast, and the hands, and the feet; and then she
turned to the altar and smote blood upon the uprights, and the face of
the stone plank. Then she bade me help her, and we laid the seven
faggots on the alter, and laid the carcase of the goat upon them: and
she made fire, but I saw not how, and set it to the wood, and when it
began to blaze she stood before it with her arms outspread, and sang
loud and hoarse to a strange tune; and though I knew not the words of
her song, it filled me with dread, so that I cast myself down on the
ground and hid my face in the grass.

"So she went on till the beast was all burned up and the fire became
naught but red embers, and then she ceased her song and sank down upon
the grass, and laid her head back and so fell asleep; but I durst not
move from the place, but cowered in the grass there, I know not how
long, till she arose and came to me, and smote me with her foot and
cried: 'Rise up, fool! what harm hast thou? Go milk thy goats and
lead them to pasture.' And therewith she strode away home, not heeding
me.

"As for me, I arose and dealt with my goats as she bade me; and
presently I was glad that I had not been slain, yet thenceforth was the
joy of my life that I had had amongst my goats marred with fear, and
the sounds of the woodland came to me mingled with terror; and I was
sore afraid when I entered the house in the morning and the evening,
and when I looked on the face of the woman; though she was no harder
to me than heretofore, but maybe somewhat softer.

"So wore the autumn, and winter came, and I fared as I was wont,
setting springes for fowl and small-deer. And for all the roughness of
the season, at that time it pleased me better than the leafy days,
because I had less memory then of the sharpness of my fear on that day
of the altar. Now one day as I went under the snow-laden trees, I saw
something bright and big lying on the ground, and drawing nearer I saw
that it was some child of man: so I stopped and cried out, 'Awake and
arise, lest death come on thee in this bitter cold,' But it stirred
not; so I plucked up heart and came up to it, and lo! a woman clad in
fair raiment of scarlet and fur, and I knelt down by her to see if I
might help her; but when I touched her I found her cold and stiff, and
dead, though she had not been dead long, for no snow had fallen on her.
It still wanted more than an hour of twilight, and I by no means durst
go home till nightfall; so I sat on there and watched her, and put the
hood from her face and the gloves from her hands, and I deemed her
a goodly and lovely thing, and was sorry that she was not alive, and I
wept for her, and for myself also, that I had lost her fellowship. So
when I came back to the house at dark with the venison, I knew not
whether to tell my mistress and tyrant concerning this matter; but she
looked on me and said at once: 'Wert thou going to tell me of something
that thou hast seen?' So I told her all, even as it was, and she said
to me: 'Hast thou taken aught from the corpse?' 'Nay,' said I. 'Then
must I hasten,' she said, 'and be before the wolves.' Therewith she
took a brand from the fire, and bade me bear one also and lead her: so
did I easily enough, for the moon was up, and what with moon and snow,
it was well nigh as bright as the day. So when we came to the dead
woman, my mistress kneeled down by her and undid the collar of her
cloak, which I had not touched, and took something from her neck
swiftly, and yet I, who was holding the torch, saw that it was a
necklace of blue stones and green, with gold between--Yea, dear
Champion, like unto thine as one peascod is to another," quoth she.

And therewith the distressfulness of her face which had worn Ralph's
heart while she had been telling her tale changed, and she came, as it
were, into her new life and the love of him again, and she kissed him
and laid her cheek to his and he kissed her mouth. And then she
fetched a sigh, and began with her story again.

"My mistress took the necklace and put it in her pouch, and said as to
herself: 'Here, then, is another seeker who hath not found, unless one
should dig a pit for her here when the thaw comes, and call it the Well
at the World's End: belike it will be for her as helpful as the real
one.' Then she turned to me and said: 'Do thou with the rest what thou
wilt,' and therewith she went back hastily to the house. But as for
me, I went back also, and found a pick and a mattock in the goat-house,
and came back in the moonlight and scraped the snow away, and dug a
pit, and buried the poor damsel there with all her gear.

"Wore the winter thence with naught that I need tell of, only I thought
much of the words that my mistress had spoken. Spring came and went,
and summer also, well nigh tidingless. But one day as I drave the goats
from our house there came from the wood four men, a-horseback and
weaponed, but so covered with their armour that I might see little of
their faces. They rode past me to our house, and spake not to me,
though they looked hard at me; but as they went past I heard one say:
'If she might but be our guide to the Well at the World's End!' I durst
not tarry to speak with them, but as I looked over my shoulder I saw
them talking to my mistress in the door; but meseemed she was clad
but in poor homespun cloth instead of her rich apparel, and I am
far-sighted and clear-sighted. After this the autumn and winter that
followed it passed away tidingless."



CHAPTER 4

The Lady Tells of Her Deliverance


"Now I had outgrown my old fear, and not much befell to quicken it: and
ever I was as much out of the house as I could be. But about this time
my mistress, from being kinder to me than before, began to grow harder,
and ofttimes used me cruelly: but of her deeds to me, my friend, thou
shalt ask me no more than I tell thee. On a day of May-tide I fared
abroad with my goats, and went far with them, further from the house
than I had been as yet. The day was the fairest of the year, and I
rejoiced in it, and felt as if some exceeding great good were about to
befall me; and the burden of fears seemed to have fallen from me. So I
went till I came to a little flowery dell, beset with blossoming
whitethorns and with a fair stream running through it; a place somewhat
like to this, save that the stream there was bigger. And the sun was
hot about noontide, so I did off my raiment, which was rough and poor,
and more meet for winter than May-tide, and I entered a pool of the
clear water, and bathed me and sported therein, smelling the sweet
scent of the whitethorns and hearkening to the song of the many birds;
and when I came forth from the water, the air was so soft and sweet to
me, and the flowery grass so kind to my feet, and the May-blooms fell
upon my shoulders, that I was loth to do on my rough raiment hastily,
and withal I looked to see no child of man in that wilderness: so I
sported myself there a long while, and milked a goat and drank of the
milk, and crowned myself with white-thorn and hare-bells; and held the
blossoms in my hand, and felt that I also had some might in me, and
that I should not be a thrall of that sorceress for ever. And that
day, my friend, belike was the spring-tide of the life and the love
that thou holdest in thy kind arms.

"But as I abode thus in that fair place, and had just taken my rock and
spindle in hand that I might go on with my task and give as little
occasion as I might for my mistress to chastise me, I looked up and saw
a child of man coming down the side of the little dale towards me, so I
sprang up, and ran to my raiment and cast them on me hastily, for I was
ashamed; and when I saw that it was a woman, I thought at first that it
was my mistress coming to seek me; and I thought within myself that if
she smote me I would bear it no more, but let it be seen which of the
twain was the mightier. But I looked again and saw that it was not she
but a woman smaller and older. So I stood where I was and abode her
coming, smiling and unafraid, and half-clad.

"She drew near and I saw that it was an old woman grey haired, uncomely
of raiment, but with shining bright eyes in her wrinkled face. And she
made an obeisance to me and said: 'I was passing through this lonely
wilderness and I looked down into the little valley and saw these goats
there and the lovely lady lying naked amongst them, and I said I am too
old to be afraid of aught; for if she be a goddess come back again from
yore agone, she can but make an end of a poor old carline, a gangrel
body, who hath no joy of her life now. And if she be of the daughters
of men, she will belike methink her of her mother, and be kind to me
for her sake, and give me a piece of bread and a draught of her goats'
milk.'

"I spake hastily, for I was ashamed of her words, though I only half
understood them: 'I hear thee and deem that thou mockest me: I have
never known a mother; I am but a poor thrall, a goatherd dwelling with
a mistress in a nook of this wildwood: I have never a piece of bread;
but as to the goats' milk, that thou shalt have at once.' So I called
one of my goats to me, for I knew them all, and milked her into a
wooden bowl that I carried slung about me, and gave the old woman to
drink: and she kissed my hand and drank and spake again, but no longer
in a whining voice, like a beggar bidding alms in the street, but frank
and free.

"'Damsel,' she said, 'now I see that thy soul goes with thy body, and
that thou art kind and proud at once. And whatever thou art, it is no
mock to say of thee, that thou art as fair as the fairest; and I think
that this will follow thee, that henceforth no man who seeth thee once
will forget thee ever, or cease to long for thee: of a surety this is
thy weird. Now I see that thou knowest no more of the world and its
ways than one of the hinds that run in these woods. So if thou wilt, I
will sit down by thee and tell thee much that shall avail thee; and
thou in thy turn shalt tell me all the tale concerning thy dwelling and
thy service, and the like.'

"I said, 'I may not, I durst not; I serve a mighty mistress, and she
would slay me if she knew that I had spoken to thee; and woe's me! I
fear that even now she will not fail to know it. Depart in peace.'

"'Nay,' she said, 'thou needest not tell me, for I have an inkling of
her and her ways: but I will give thee wisdom, and not sell it thee at
a price. Sit down then, fair child, on this flowery grass, and I will
sit beside thee and tell thee of many things worth thine heeding.' So
there we sat awhile, and in good sooth she told me much of the world
which I had not yet seen, of its fairness and its foulness; of life and
death, and desire and disappointment, and despair; so that when she had
done, if I were wiser than erst, I was perchance little more joyous;
and yet I said to myself that come what would I would be a part of all
that.

"But at last she said: 'Lo the day is waning, and thou hast two things
to do; either to go home to thy mistress at once, or flee away from her
by the way that I shall show thee; and if thou wilt be ruled by me, and
canst bear thy thralldom yet a little while thou wilt not flee at once,
but abide till thou hast seen me again. And since it is here that thou
hast met me, here mayst thou meet me again; for the days are long now,
and thou mayst easily win thy way hither before noon on any day.'

"So I tied my goatskin shoes to my feet, and drave my goats together,
and we went up together out of the dale, and were in the wide-spreading
plain of the waste; and the carline said: 'Dost thou know the quarters
of the heaven by the sun?' 'Yea,' said I. 'Then,' quoth she, 'whenso
thou desirest to depart and come into the world of folk that I have
told thee of, set thy face a little north of west, and thou shalt fall
in with something or somebody before long; but be speedy on that day as
thou art light-footed, and make all the way thou canst before thy
mistress comes to know of thy departure; for not lightly will any one
let loose such a thrall as thou.'

"I thanked her, and she went her ways over the waste, I wotted not
whither, and I drave my goats home as speedily as I might; the mistress
meddled not with me by word or deed, though I was short of my due tale
of yarn. The next day I longed sore to go to the dale and meet the
carline but durst not, and the next day I fared in likeways; but the
third day I longed so to go, that my feet must needs take me there,
whatsoever might befall. And when I had been in the dale a little,
thither came the carline, and sat down by me and fell to teaching me
wisdom, and showed me letters and told me what they were, and I learned
like a little lad in the chorister's school.

"Thereafter I mastered my fear of my mistress and went to that dale day
by day, and learned of the carline; though at whiles I wondered when my
mistress would let loose her fury upon me; for I called to mind the
threat she had made to me on the day when she offered up my white goat.
And I made up my mind to this, that if she fell upon me with deadly
intent I would do my best to slay her before she should slay me. But
so it was, that now again she held her hand from my body, and scarce
cast a word at me ever, but gloomed at me, and fared as if hatred of me
had grown great in her heart.

"So the days went by, and my feet had worn a path through the
wilderness to the Dale of Lore, and May had melted into June, and the
latter days of June were come. And on Midsummer Day I went my ways
to the dale according to my wont, when, as I was driving on my goats
hastily I saw a bright thing coming over the heath toward me, and I
went on my way to meet it, for I had no fear now, except what fear of
my mistress lingered in my heart; nay, I looked that everything I saw
of new should add some joy to my heart. So presently I saw that it was
a weaponed man riding a white horse, and anon he had come up to me and
drawn rein before me. I wondered exceedingly at beholding him and the
heart leaped within me at his beauty; for though the carline had told
me of the loveliness of the sons of men, that was but words and I knew
not what they meant; and the others that I had seen were not young men
or goodly, and those last, as I told thee, I could scarce see their
faces.

"And this one was even fairer than the dead woman that I had buried,
whose face was worn with toil and trouble, as now I called to mind. He
was clad in bright shining armour with a gay surcoat of green,
embroidered with flowers over it; he had a light sallet on his head,
and the yellow locks of his hair flowed down from under, and fell on
his shoulders: his face was as beardless as thine, dear friend, but
not clear brown like to thine but white and red like a blossom."

Ralph spake and said: "Belike it was a woman;" and his voice sounded
loud in the quiet place. She smiled on him and kissed his cheek, and
said: "Nay, nay, dear Champion, it is not so. God rest his soul! many
a year he has been dead."

Said Ralph: "Many a year! what meanest thou?" "Ah!" she said, "fear
not! as I am now, so shall I be for thee many a year. Was not thy fear
that I should vanish away or change into something unsightly and
gruesome? Fear not, I say; am I not a woman, and thine own?" And again
she flushed bright red, and her grey eyes lightened, and she looked at
him all confused and shamefaced.

He took her face between his hands and kissed her over and over; then
he let her go, and said: "I have no fear: go on with thy tale, for the
words thereof are as thy kisses to me, and the embracing of thine hands
and thy body: tell on, I pray thee." She took his hand in hers and
spake, telling her tale as before.

"Friend, well-beloved for ever! This fair young knight looked on me,
and as he looked, his face flushed as red as mine did even now. And I
tell thee that my heart danced with joy as I looked on him, and he
spake not for a little while, and then he said: 'Fair maiden, canst
thou tell me of any who will tell me a word of the way to the Well at
the World's End?' I said to him, 'Nay, I have heard the word once and
no more, I know not the way: and I am sorry that I cannot do for thee
that which thou wouldest.' And then I spake again, and told him that he
should by no means stop at our house, and I told him what it was like,
so that he might give it the go by. I said, 'Even if thou hast to turn
back again, and fail to find the thing thou seekest, yet I beseech thee
ride not into that trap.'

"He sat still on his saddle a while, staring at me and I at him; and
then he thanked me, but with so bad a grace, that I wondered of him if
he were angry; and then he shook his rein, and rode off briskly, and I
looked after him a while, and then went on my way; but I had gone but
a short while, when I heard horse-hoofs behind me, and I turned and
looked, and lo! it was the knight coming back again. So I stayed and
abided him; and when he came up to me, he leapt from his horse and
stood before me and said: 'I must needs see thee once again.'

"I stood and trembled before him, and longed to touch him. And again
he spake, breathlessly, as one who has been running: 'I must depart,
for I have a thing to do that I must do; but I long sorely to touch
thee, and kiss thee; yet unless thou freely willest it, I will refrain
me.' Then I looked at him and said, 'I will it freely.' Then he came
close up to me, and put his hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek;
but I kissed his lips, and then he took me in his arms, and kissed me
and embraced me; and there in that place, and in a little while, we
loved each other sorely.

"But in a while he said to me: 'I must depart, for I am as one whom
the Avenger of Blood followeth; and now I will give thee this, not so
much as a gift, but as a token that we have met in the wilderness, thou
and I.' Therewith he put his hand to his neck, and took from it this
necklace which thou seest here, and I saw that it was like that which
my mistress took from the neck of the dead woman. And no less is it
like to the one that thou wearest, Ralph.

"I took it in my hand and wept that I might not help him. And he said:
'It is little likely that we shall meet again; but by the token of this
collar thou mayest wot that I ever long for thee till I die: for
though I am a king's son, this is the dearest of my possessions.' I
said: 'Thou art young, and I am young; mayhappen we shall meet again:
but thou shalt know that I am but a thrall, a goatherd.' For I knew by
what the old woman told me of somewhat of the mightiness of the kings
of the world. 'Yea,' he said, and smiled most sweetly, 'that is easy
to be seen: yet if I live, as I think not to do, thou shalt sit where
great men shall kneel to thee; not as I kneel now for love, and that I
may kiss thy knees and thy feet, but because they needs must worship
thee.'

"Therewith he arose to his feet and leapt on his horse, and rode his
ways speedily: and I went upon my way with my goats, and came down
into the Dale of Lore, and found the old woman abiding me; and she came
to me, and took me by the hands, and touched the collar (for I had done
it about my neck), and said:

"'Dear child, thou needest not to tell me thy tale, for I have seen
him. But if thou must needs wear this necklace, I must give thee a
gift to go with it. But first sit down by the old carline awhile and
talk with her; for meseemeth it will be but a few days ere thou shalt
depart from this uttermost wilderness, and the woods before the
mountains.'

"So I sat down by her, and in spite of her word I told her all that had
befallen betwixt me and the king's son: for my heart was too full that
I might refrain me. She nodded her head from time to time, but said
naught, till I had made an end: and then fell to telling me of many
matters for my avail; but yet arose earlier than her wont was; and when
we were about sundering on the path which I had trodden above the Dale,
she said: 'Now must I give thee that gift to go along with the gift of
the lover, the King's son; and I think thou wilt find it of avail
before many days are gone by.' Therewith she took from her pouch a
strong sharp knife, and drew it from the sheath, and flashed it in the
afternoon sun, and gave it to me; and I took it and laid it in my bosom
and thanked her; for I thought that I understood her meaning, and how
it would avail me. Then I went driving my goats home speedily, so that
the sun was barely set when I came to the garth; and a great horror
rather than a fear of my mistress was on me; and lo! she stood in the
door of the house gazing down the garth and the woodland beyond, as
though she were looking for my coming: and when her eyes lighted on me,
she scowled, and drew her lips back from her teeth and clenched her
hands with fury, though there was nought in them; and she was a tall
and strong woman, though now growing somewhat old: but as for me, I had
unsheathed the carline's gift before I came to the garth, and now I
held it behind my back in my left hand.

"I had stayed my feet some six paces from the threshold, and my heart
beat quick, but the sick fear and cowering had left me, though the
horror of her grew in my heart. My goats had all gone off quietly to
their house, and there was nothing betwixt me and her. In clearing
from my sleeve the arm of me which held the knife, the rough clasp
which fastened my raiment together at the shoulder had given way, and
the cloth had fallen and left my bosom bare, so that I knew that the
collar was clearly to be seen. So we stood a moment, and I had no
words, but she spake at last in a hard, snarling voice, such as she
oftenest used to me, but worse.

"'Now at last the time has come when thou art of no more use to me; for
I can see thee what thou hast got for thyself. But know now that thou
hast not yet drunk of the Well at the World's End, and that it will not
avail thee to flee out of this wood; for as long as I live thou wilt
not be able to get out of reach of my hand; and I shall live long: I
shall live long. Come, then, and give thyself up to me, that I may
deal with thee as I threatened when I slew thy friend the white goat;
for, indeed, I knew then that it would come to this.'

"She had but twice or thrice spoken to me so many words together as
this; but I answered never a word, but stood watching her warily. And
of a sudden she gave forth a dreadful screaming roar, wherewith all the
wood rang again, and rushed at me; but my hand came from behind my
back, and how it was I know not, but she touched me not till the blade
had sunk into her breast, and she fell across my feet, her right hand
clutching my raiment. So I loosed her fingers from the cloth,
shuddering with horror the while, and drew myself away from her and
stood a little aloof, wondering what should happen next. And indeed I
scarce believed but she would presently rise up from the ground and
clutch me in her hands, and begin the tormenting of me. But she moved
no more, and the grass all about her was reddened with her blood; and
at last I gathered heart to kneel down beside her, and found that she
no more breathed than one of those conies or partridges which I had
been used to slay for her.

"Then I stood and considered what I should do, and indeed I had been
pondering this all the way from the Dale thereto, in case I should
escape my mistress. So I soon made up my mind that I would not dwell
in that house even for one night; lest my mistress should come to me
though dead, and torment me. I went into the house while it was yet
light, and looked about the chamber, and saw three great books there
laid on the lectern, but durst not have taken them even had I been able
to carry them; nor durst I even to look into them, for fear that some
spell might get to work in them if they were opened; but I found a rye
loaf whereof I had eaten somewhat in the morning, and another
untouched, and hanging to a horn of the lectern I found the necklace
which my mistress had taken from the dead woman. These I put into my
scrip, and as to the necklace, I will tell thee how I bestowed it later
on. Then I stepped out into the twilight which was fair and golden,
and full fain I was of it. Then I drove the goats out of their house
and went my way towards the Dale of Lore, and said to myself that the
carline would teach me what further to do, and I came there before the
summer dark had quite prevailed, and slept sweetly and softly amongst
my goats after I had tethered them in the best of the pasture."



CHAPTER 5

Yet More of the Lady's Story


"Lo thou, beloved," she said, "thou hast seen me in the wildwood with
little good quickened in me: doth not thine heart sink at the thought
of thy love and thy life given over to the keeping of such an one?" He
smiled in her face, and said: "Belike thou hast done worse than all
thou hast told me: and these days past I have wondered often what there
was in the stories which they of the Burg had against thee: yet sooth
to say, they told little of what thou hast done: no more belike than
being their foe." She sighed and said: "Well, hearken; yet shall I not
tell thee every deed that I have been partaker in.

"I sat in the Dale that next day and was happy, though I longed to see
that fair man again: sooth to say, since my mistress was dead,
everything seemed fairer to me, yea even mine own face, as I saw it in
the pools of the stream, though whiles I wondered when I should have
another mistress, and how she would deal with me; and ever I said I
would ask the carline when she came again to me. But all that day she
came not: nor did I marvel thereat. But when seven days passed and
still she came not, I fell to wondering what I should do: for my bread
was all gone, and I durst not go back to the house to fetch meal;
though there was store of it there. Howbeit, I drank of the milk of
the goats, and made curds thereof with the woodland roots, and ate of
the wood-berries like as thou hast done, friend, e'en now. And it was
easier for me to find a livelihood in the woods than it had been for
most folk, so well as I knew them. So wore the days, and she came not,
and I began to think that I should see the wise carline no more, as
indeed fell out at that time; and the days began to hang heavy on my
hands, and I fell to thinking of that way to the west and the peopled
parts, whereof the carline had told me; and whiles I went out of the
Dale and went away hither and thither through the woods, and so far,
that thrice I slept away out of the Dale: but I knew that the peopled
parts would be strange to me and I feared to face them all alone.

"Thus wore the days till July was on the wane, and on a morning early I
awoke with unwonted sounds in mine ears; and when my eyes were fairly
open I saw a man standing over me and a white horse cropping the grass
hard by. And my heart was full and fain, and I sprang to my feet and
showed him a smiling happy face, for I saw at once that it was that
fair man come back again. But lo! his face was pale and worn, though
he looked kindly on me, and he said: 'O my beloved, I have found thee,
but I am faint with hunger and can speak but little.' And even
therewith he sank down on the grass. But I bestirred myself, and gave
him milk of my goats, and curds and berries, and the life came into him
again, and I sat down by him and laid his head in my lap, and he slept
a long while; and when he awoke (and it was towards sunset) he kissed
my hands and my arms, and said to me: 'Fair child, perhaps thou wilt
come with me now; and even if thou art a thrall thou mayest flee with
me; for my horse is strong and fat, though I am weak, for he can make
his dinner on the grass.'

"Then he laughed and I no less; but I fed him with my poor victual
again, and as he ate I said: 'I am no mistress's thrall now; for the
evening of the day whereon I saw thee I slew her, else had she slain
me.' 'The saints be praised,' said he: 'Thou wilt come with me, then?'
'O yea,' said I. Then I felt shamefaced and I reddened; but I said: 'I
have abided here many days for a wise woman who hath taught me many
things; but withal I hoped that thou wouldst come also.'

"Then he put his arms about my shoulders and loved me much; but at
last he said: 'Yet is it now another thing than that which I looked for,
when I talked of setting thee by me on the golden throne. For now am
I a beaten man; I have failed of that I sought, and suffered shame and
hunger and many ills. Yet ever I thought that I might find thee here
or hereby.' Then a thought came into my mind, and I said: 'Else maybe
thou hadst found what thou soughtest, and overcome the evil things.'
'Maybe,' he said; 'it is now but a little matter.'"

"As for me, I could have no guess at what were the better things he had
meant for me, and my heart was full of joy, and all seemed better than
well. And we talked together long till the day was gone. Then we
kissed and embraced each other in the Dale of Lore, and the darkness of
summer seemed but short for our delight."



CHAPTER 6

The Lady Tells Somewhat of Her Doings After She Left the Wilderness


Ralph stayed her speech now, and said: "When I asked of thee in the
Land of Abundance, there were some who seemed to say that thou hast let
more men love thee than one: and it was a torment to me to think that
even so it might be. But now when thine own mouth telleth me of one of
them it irks me little. Dost thou think it little-hearted in me?"

"O friend," she said, "I see that so it is with thee that thou wouldst
find due cause for loving me, whatever thou foundest true of me. Or
dost thou deem that I was another woman in those days? Nay, I was not:
I can see myself still myself all along the way I have gone." She was
silent a little, and then she said: "Fear not, I will give thee much
cause to love me. But now I know thy mind the better, I shall tell
thee less of what befell me after I left the wilderness; for whatever I
did and whatever I endured, still it was always I myself that was
there, and it is me that thou lovest. Moreover, my life in the
wilderness is a stranger thing to tell thee of than my dealings with
the folk, and with Kings and Barons and Knights. But thereafter thou
shalt hear of me what tales thou wilt of these matters, as the days and
the years pass over our heads.

"Now on the morrow we would not depart at once, because there we had
some victual, and the king's son was not yet so well fed as he should
be; so we abode in that fair place another day, and then we went our
ways westward, according to the rede of the carline; and it was many
days before we gat us out of the wilderness, and we were often hard put
to it for victual; whiles I sat behind my knight a-horseback, whiles he
led the beast while I rode alone, and not seldom I went afoot, and that
nowise slowly, while he rode the white horse, for I was as light-foot
then as now.

"And of the way we went I will tell thee nought as now, because sure it
is that if we both live, thou and I shall tread that road together, but
with our faces turned the other way; for it is the road from the Well
at the World's End, where I myself have been, or else never had thine
eyes fallen on me."

Ralph said, "Even so much I deemed by reading in the book; yet it was
not told clearly that thou hadst been there." "Yea," she said, because
the said book was made not by my friends but my foes, and they would
have men deem that my length of days and the endurance of my beauty
and never-dying youth of my heart came from evil and devilish sources;
and if thou wilt trust my word it is not so, for in the Well at the World's
End is no evil, but only the Quenching of Sorrow, and Clearing of the
Eyes that they may behold. And how good it is that they look on thee
now. And moreover, the history of that book is partly false of intention
and ill-will, and partly a confused medley of true and false, which has
come of mere chance-hap.

"Hearken now," she said, "till I tell thee in few words what befell me
before I came to drink the Water of the Well. After we had passed long
deserts of wood and heath, and gone through lands exceeding evil and
perilous, and despaired of life for the horror of those places, and
seen no men, we came at last amongst a simple folk who dealt kindly
with us, yea, and more. These folk seemed to me happy and of good
wealth, though to my lord they seemed poor and lacking of the goods of
the world. Forsooth, by that time we lacked more than they, for we
were worn with cold and hunger, and hard life: though for me, indeed,
happy had been the days of my wayfaring, but my lord remembered the
days of his riches and the kingdom of his father, and the worship of
mighty men, and all that he had promised me on the happy day when I
first beheld him: so belike he was scarce so happy as I was.

"It was springtime when we came to that folk; for we had worn through
the autumn and winter in getting clear of the wilderness. Not that the
way was long, as I found out afterwards, but that we went astray in the
woodland, and at last came out of it into a dreadful stony waste which
we strove to cross thrice, and thrice were driven back into the
greenwood by thirst and hunger; but the fourth time, having gotten us
store of victual by my woodcraft, we overpassed it and reached the
peopled country.

"Yea, spring was on the earth, as we, my lord and I, came down from the
desolate stony heaths, and went hand and hand across the plain, where
men and women of that folk were feasting round about the simple roofs
and woodland halls which they had raised there. Then they left their
games and sports and ran to us, and we walked on quietly, though we
knew not whether the meeting was to be for death or life. But that
kind folk gathered round us, and asked us no story till they had fed
us, and bathed us, and clad us after their fashion. And then, despite
the nakedness and poverty wherein they had first seen us, they would
have it that we were gods sent down to them from the world beyond the
mountains by their fathers of old time; for of Holy Church, and the
Blessed Trinity, and the Mother of God they knew no more than did I at
that time, but were heathen, as the Gentiles of yore agone. And even
when we put all that Godhood from us, and told them as we might and
could what we were (for we had no heart to lie to such simple folk),
their kindness abated nothing, and they bade us abide there, and were
our loving friends and brethren.

"There in sooth had I been content to abide till eld came upon me, but
my lord would not have it so, but longed for greater things for me.
Though in sooth to me it seemed as if his promise of worship of me by
the folk had been already fulfilled; for when we had abided there some
while, and our beauty, which had been marred by the travail of our
way-faring, had come back to us in full, or it maybe increased
somewhat, they did indeed deal with us with more love than would most
men with the saints, were they to come back on the earth again; and
their children would gather round about me and make me a partaker of
their sports, and be loth to leave me; and the faces of their old folk
would quicken and gladden when I drew nigh: and as for their young men,
it seemed of them that they loved the very ground that my feet trod on,
though it grieved me that I could not pleasure some of them in such
wise as they desired. And all this was soft and full of delight for my
soul: and I, whose body a little while ago had been driven to daily
toil with evil words and stripes, and who had known not what words of
thanks and praise might mean!

"But so it must be that we should depart, and the kind folk showed us
how sore their hearts were of our departure, but they gainsaid us in
nowise, but rather furthered us all they might, and we went our ways
from them riding on horned neat (for they knew not of horses), and
driving one for a sumpter beast before us; and they had given us bows
and arrows for our defence, and that we might get us venison.

"It is not to be said that we did not encounter perils; but thereof I
will tell thee naught as now. We came to other peoples, richer and
mightier than these, and I saw castles, and abbies, and churches, and
walled towns, and wondered at them exceedingly. And in these places
folk knew of the kingdom of my lord and his father, and whereas they
were not of his foes (who lay for the more part on the other side of
his land), and my lord could give sure tokens of what he was, we were
treated with honour and worship, and my lord began to be himself again,
and to bear him as a mighty man. And here to me was some gain in that
poverty and nakedness wherewith we came out of the mountains and the
raiment of the simple folk; for had I been clad in my poor cloth and
goat-skins of the House of the Sorcerer, and he in his brave attire and
bright armour, they would have said, it is a thrall that he is assotted
of, and would have made some story and pretence of taking me from him;
but they deemed me a great lady indeed, and a king's daughter,
according to the tale that he told them. Forsooth many men that saw me
desired me beyond measure, and assuredly some great proud man or other
would have taken me from my lord, but that they feared the wrath of his
father, who was a mighty man indeed.

"Yea, one while as we sojourned by a certain town but a little outside
the walls, a certain young man, a great champion and exceeding
masterful, came upon me with his squires as I was walking in the
meadows, and bore me off, and would have taken me to his castle, but
that my lord followed with a few of the burghers, and there was a
battle fought, wherein my lord was hurt; but the young champion he
slew; and I cannot say but I was sorry of his death, though glad of my
deliverance.

"Again, on a time we guested in a great baron's house, who dealt so
foully by us that he gave my lord a sleeping potion in his good-night
cup, and came to me in the dead night and required me of my love; and I
would not, and he threatened me sorely, and called me a thrall and a
castaway that my lord had picked up off the road: but I gat a knife in
my hand and was for warding myself when I saw that my lord might not
wake: so the felon went away for that time. But on the morrow came
two evil men into the hall whom he had suborned, and bore false witness
that I was a thrall and a runaway. So that the baron would have held
me there (being a mighty man) despite my lord and his wrath and his
grief, had not a young knight of his house been, who swore that he
would slay him unless he let us go; and whereas there were other
knights and squires there present who murmured, the baron was in a way
compelled. So we departed, and divers of the said knights and squires
went with us to see us safe on the way.

"But this was nigh to the kingdom of my lord's father, and that felon
baron I came across again, and he was ever after one of my worst foes.

"Moreover, that young champion who had first stood up in the hall rode
with us still, when the others had turned back; and I soon saw of him
that he found it hard to keep his eyes off me; and that also saw my
lord, and it was a near thing that they did not draw sword thereover:
yet was that knight no evil man, but good and true, and I was exceed-
ingly sorry for him; but I could not help him in the only way he would
take help of me.

"Lo you, my friend, the beginnings of evil in those long past days, and
the seeds of ill-hap sown in the field of my new life even before the
furrow was turned.

"Well, we came soon into my lord's country, and fair and rich and
lovely was it in those days; free from trouble and unpeace, a happy
abode for the tillers of the soil, and the fashioners of wares. The
tidings had gone to the king that my lord was come back, and he came to
meet him with a great company of knights and barons, arrayed in the
noblest fashion that such folk use; so that I was bewildered with their
glory, and besought my lord to let me fall back out of the way, and
perchance he might find me again. But he bade me ride on his right
hand, for that I was the half of his life and his soul, and that my
friends were his friends and my foes his foes.

"Then there came to me an inkling of the things that should befall, and
I saw that the sweet and clean happiness of my new days was marred,
and had grown into something else, and I began to know the pain of
strife and the grief of confusion: but whereas I had not been bred
delicately, but had endured woes and griefs from my youngest days, I
was not abashed, but hardened my heart to face all things, even as my
lord strove to harden his heart: for, indeed, I said to myself that if
I was to him as the half of his life, he was to me little less than the
whole of my life.

"It is as if it had befallen yesterday, my friend, that I call to mind
how we stood beside our horses in the midst of the ring of great men
clad in gold and gleaming with steel, in the meadow without the gates,
the peace and lowly goodliness whereof with its flocks and herds
feeding, and husbandmen tending the earth and its increase, that great
and noble array had changed so utterly. There we stood, and I knew
that the eyes of all those lords and warriors were set upon me
wondering. But the love of my lord and the late-learned knowledge of
my beauty sustained me. Then the ring of men opened, and the king came
forth towards us; a tall man and big, of fifty-five winters, goodly of
body and like to my lord to look upon. He cast his arms about my lord,
and kissed him and embraced him, and then stood a little aloof from him
and said: 'Well, son, hast thou found it, the Well at the World's End?'

"'Yea,' said my lord, and therewith lifted my hand to his lips and
kissed it, and I looked the king in his face, and his eyes were turned
to me, but it was as if he were looking through me at something behind
me.

"Then he said: 'It is good, son: come home now to thy mother and thy
kindred.' Then my lord turned to me while the king took no heed, and
no man in the ring of knights moved from his place, and he set me in
the saddle, and turned about to mount, and there came a lord from the
ring of men gloriously bedight, and he bowed lowly before my lord, and
held his stirrup for him: but lightly he leapt up into the saddle, and
took my reins and led me along with him, so that he and the king and I
went on together, and all the baronage and their folk shouted and
tossed sword and spear aloft and followed after us. And we left the
meadow quiet and simple again, and rode through the gate of the king's
chief city, wherein was his high house and his castle, the dwelling-
place of his kindred from of old."




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