CHAPTER 7

The Lady Tells of the Strife and Trouble That Befell After Her Coming
to the Country of the King's Son


"When we came to the King's House, my lord followed his father into the
hall, where sat his mother amongst her damsels: she was a fair woman,
and looked rather meek than high-hearted; my lord led me up to her, and
she embraced and kissed him and caressed him long; then she turned
about to me and would have spoken to me, but the king, who stood behind
us, scowled on her, and she forebore; but she looked me on somewhat
kindly, and yet as one who is afeard.

"Thus it went for the rest of the day, and my lord had me to sit beside
him in the great hall when the banquet was holden, and I ate and drank
with him and beheld all the pageants by his side, and none meddled with
me either to help or to hinder, because they feared the king. Yet many
eyes I saw that desired my beauty. And so when night came, he took me
to his chamber and his bed, as if I were his bride new wedded, even as
it had been with us on the grass of the wilderness and the bracken of
the wildwood. And then, at last, he spake to me of our case, and bade
me fear not, for that a band of his friends, all-armed, was keeping
watch and ward in the cloister without. And when I left the chamber
on the morrow's morn, there were they yet, all in bright armour, and
amongst them the young knight who had delivered me from the felon
baron, and he looked mournfully at me, so that I was sorry for his
sorrow.

"And I knew now that the king was minded to slay me, else had he bidden
thrust me from my lord's side.

"So wore certain days; and on the seventh night, when we were come into
our chamber, which was as fair as any house outside of heaven, my lord
spake to me in a soft voice, and bade me not do off my raiment. 'For,'
said he, 'this night we must flee the town, or we shall be taken and
cast into prison to-morrow; for thus hath my father determined.' I
kissed him and clung to him, and he no less was good to me. And when
it was the dead of night we escaped out of our window by a knotted rope
which he had made ready, and beneath was the city wall; and that
company of knights, amongst whom was the young knight abovesaid, had
taken a postern thereby, and were abiding us armed and with good
horses. So we came into the open country, and rode our ways with the
mind to reach a hill-castle of one of those young barons, and to hold
ourselves there in despite of the king. But the king had been as wary
as we were privy, and no less speedy than we; and he was a mighty and
deft warrior, and he himself followed us on the spur with certain of
his best men-at-arms. And they came upon us as we rested in a wood-
side not far from our house of refuge: and the king stood by to see the
battle with his sword in his sheath, but soon was it at an end, for
though our friends fought valiantly, they were everyone slain or hurt,
and but few escaped with bare life; but that young man who loved me
so sorely crept up to me grievously hurt, and I did not forbear to kiss
him once on the face, for I deemed I should soon die also, and his
blood stained my sleeve and my wrist, but he died not as then, but
lived to be a dear friend to me for long.

"So we, my lord and I, were led back to the city, and he was held in
ward and I was cast into prison with chains and hunger and stripes.
And the king would have had me lie there till I perished, that I might
be forgotten utterly; but there were many of the king's knights who
murmured at this, and would not forget me; so the king being
constrained, had me brought forth to be judged by his bishops of
sorcery for the beguiling of my lord. Long was the tale to me then,
but I will not make it long for thee; as was like to be, I was brought
in guilty of sorcery, and doomed to be burned in the Great Square in
three days time.

"Nay, my friend, thou hast no need to look so troubled; for thou seest
that I was not burned. This is the selfsame body that was tied to the
stake in the market place of the king's city many a year ago.

"For the friends of my lord, young men for the most part, and many who
had been fain to be my friends also, put on their armour, and took my
lord out of the courteous prison wherein he was, and came to the Great
Square whenas I stood naked in my smock bound amid the faggots; and I
saw the sheriffs' men give back, and great noise and rumour rise up
around me: and then all about me was a clear space for a moment and I
heard the tramp of the many horse-hoofs, and the space was full of
weaponed men shouting, and crying out, 'Life for our Lord's Lady!'
Then a minute, and I was loose and in my lord's arms, and they brought
me a horse and I mounted, lest the worst should come and we might have
to flee. So I could see much of what went on; and I saw that all the
unarmed folk and lookers-on were gone, but at our backs was a great
crowd of folk with staves and bows who cried out, 'Life for the Lady!'
But before us was naught but the sheriffs' sergeants and a company of
knights and men-at-arms, about as many as we were, and the king in
front of them, fully armed, his face hidden by his helm, and a royal
surcoat over his hauberk beaten with his bearing, to wit, a silver
tower on a blue sky bestarred with gold.

"And now I could see that despite the bills and bows behind us the
king was going to fall on with his folk; and to say sooth I feared but
little and my heart rose high within me, and I wished I had a sword in
my hand to strike once for life and love. But lo! just as the king was
raising his sword, and his trumpet was lifting the brass to his lips, came
a sound of singing, and there was come the Bishop and the Abbot of
St. Peter's and his monks with him, and cross bearers and readers and
others of the religious: and the Bishop bore in his hand the Blessed
Host (as now I know it was) under a golden canopy, and he stood between
the two companies and faced the king, while his folk sang loud and
sweet about him.

"Then the spears went up and from the rest, and swords were sheathed,
and there went forth three ancient knights from out of the king's host
and came up to him and spake with him. Then he gat him away unto his
High House; and the three old knights came to our folk, and spake with
the chiefs; but not with my lord, and I heard not what they said. But
my lord came to me in all loving-kindness and brought me into the house
of one of the Lineage, and into a fair chamber there, and kissed me,
and made much of me; and brought me fair raiment and did it on me
with his own hands, even as his wont was to be for my tire-maiden.

"Then in a little while came those chiefs of ours and said that truce
had been hanselled them for this time, but on these terms, that my lord
and I and all those who had been in arms, and whosoever would, that
feared the king's wrath, should have leave to depart from his city so
that they went and abode no nearer than fifty miles thereof till they
should know his further pleasure. Albeit that whosoever would go home
peaceably might abide in the city still and need not fear the king's
wrath if he stirred no further: but that in any case the Sorceress
should get her gone from those walls.

"So we rode out of the gates that very day before sunset; for it was
now midsummer again, and it was three hours before noon that I was to
have been burned; and we were a gallant company of men-at-arms and
knights; yet did I be-think me of those who were slain on that other
day when we were taken, and fain had I been that they were riding with
us; but at least that fair young man was in our company, though still
weak with his hurts: for the prison and the process had worn away
wellnigh two months. True it is that I rejoiced to see him, for I had
deemed him dead.

"Dear friend, I pray thy pardon if I weary thee with making so long a
tale of my friends of the past days; but needs must I tell thee
somewhat of them, lest thou love that which is not. Since truly it is
myself that I would have thee to love, and none other.

"Many folk gathered to us as we rode our ways to a town which was my
lord's own, and where all men were his friends, so that we came there
with a great host and sat down there in no fear of what the king might
do against us. There was I duly wedded to my lord by a Bishop of Holy
Church, and made his Lady and Queen; for even so he would have it.

"And now began the sore troubles of that land, which had been once so
peaceful and happy; the tale whereof I may one day tell thee; or rather
many tales of what befell me therein; but not now; for the day weareth;
and I still have certain things that I must needs tell thee.

"We waged war against each other, my lord and the king, and whiles one,
and whiles the other overcame. Either side belike deemed that one
battle or two would end the strife; but so it was not, but it endured
year after year, till fighting became the chief business of all in the
land.

"As for me, I had many tribulations. Thrice I fled from the stricken
field with my lord to hide in some stronghold of the mountains. Once
was I taken of the foemen in the town where I abode when my lord was
away from me, and a huge slaughter of innocent folk was made, and I was
cast into prison and chains, after I had seen my son that I had borne
to my lord slain before mine eyes. At last we were driven clean out of
the Kingdom of the Tower, and abode a long while, some two years, in
the wilderness, living like outlaws and wolves' heads, and lifting the
spoil for our livelihood. Forsooth of all the years that I abode about
the Land of Tower those were the happiest. For we robbed no poor folk
and needy, but rewarded them rather, and drave the spoil from rich men
and lords, and hard-hearted chapmen-folk: we ravished no maid of the
tillers, we burned no cot, and taxed no husbandman's croft or acre, but
defended them from their tyrants. Nevertheless we gat an ill name wide
about through the kingdoms and cities; and were devils and witches to
the boot of thieves and robbers in the mouths of these men; for when
the rich man is hurt his wail goeth heavens high, and none may say he
heareth not.

"Now it was at this time that I first fell in with the Champions of the
Dry Tree; for they became our fellows and brothers in arms in the
wildwood: for they had not as yet builded their stronghold of the
Scaur, whereas thou and I shall be in two days time. Many a wild deed
did our folk in their company, and many that had been better undone.
Whiles indeed they went on journeys wherein we were not partakers, as
when they went to the North and harried the lands of the Abbot of
Higham, and rode as far even as over the Downs to Bear Castle and
fought a battle there with the Captain of Higham: whereas we went never
out of the Wood Perilous to the northward; and lifted little save in
the lands of our own proper foemen, the friends of the king.

"Now I say not of the men of the Dry Tree that they were good and
peaceable men, nor would mercy hold their hands every while that they
were hard bestead and thrust into a corner. Yet I say now and once for
all that their fierceness was and is but kindness and pity when set
against the cruelty of the Burg of the Four Friths; men who have no
friend to love, no broken foe to forgive, and can scarce be kind even
to themselves: though forsooth they be wise men and cautelous and well
living before the world, and wealthy and holy."

She stayed her speech a while, and her eyes glittered in her flushed
face and she set her teeth; and she was as one beside herself till
Ralph kissed her feet, and caressed her, and she went on again.

"Dear friend, when thou knowest what these men are and have been
thou wilt bless thy friend Roger for leading thee forth from the Burg by
night and cloud, whatever else may happen to thee.

"Well, we abode in the wildwood, friends and good fellows from the
first; and that young man, though he loved me ever, was somewhat healed
of the fever of love, and was my faithful friend, in such wise that
neither I nor my lord had aught to find fault with in him. Meanwhile
we began to grow strong, for many joined us therein who had fled from
their tyrants of the good towns and the manors of the baronage, and at
last in the third year naught would please my lord but we must enter
into the Kingdom of the Tower, and raise his banner in the wealthy
land, and the fair cities.

"Moreover, his father, the King of the Tower, died in his bed in these
days, and no word of love or peace had passed between them since that
morning when I was led out to be burned in the Great Square.

"So we came forth from the forest, we, and the Champions of the Dry
Tree; and made the tale a short one. For the king, the mighty warrior
and wise man, was dead: and his captains of war, some of them were
dead, and some weary of strife; and those who had been eager in debate
were falling to ask themselves wherefore they had fought and what was
to do that they should still be fighting; and lo! when it came to be
looked into, it was all a matter of the life and death of one woman, to
wit me myself, and why should she not live, why should she not sit upon
the throne with the man who loved her?

"Therefore when at last we came out from the twilight of the woods into
the sunny fields of the Land of the Tower, there was no man to naysay
us; nay, the gates of the strong places flew open before the wind of
our banners, and the glittering of our spears drew the folk together
toward the places of rejoicing. We entered the master City in triumph,
with the houses hung with green boughs and the maidens casting flowers
before our feet, and I sat a crowned Queen upon the throne high raised
on the very place where erst I stood awaiting the coming of the torch
to the faggots which were to consume me.

"There then began the reign of the Woman of the Waste; for so it was,
that my lord left to my hands the real ruling of the kingdom, though he
wore the crown and set the seal to parchments. As to them of the Dry
Tree, though some few of them abode in the kingdom, and became great
there, the more part of them went back to the wildwood and lived the
old life of the Wood, as we had found them living it aforetime. But or
ever they went, the leaders of them came before me, and kissed my feet,
and with tears and prayers besought me, and bade me that if aught fell
amiss to me there, I should come back to them and be their Lady and
Queen; and whereas these wild men loved me well, and I deemed that I
owed much to their love and their helping, I promised them and swore to
them by the Water of the Well at the World's End that I would do no
less than they prayed me: albeit I set no term or year for the day that
I would come to them.

"And now my lord and I, we set ourselves to heal the wounds which war
had made in the land: and hard was the work, and late the harvest; so
used had men become to turmoil and trouble. Moreover, there were many,
and chiefly the women who had lost husband, lover, son or brother, who
laid all their griefs on my back; though forsooth how was I guilty of
the old king's wrath against me, which was the cause of all? About
this time my lord had the Castle of Abundance built up very fairly for
me and him to dwell in at whiles; and indeed we had before that dwelt
at a little manor house that was there, when we durst withdraw a little
from the strife; but now he had it done as fair as ye saw it, and had
those arras cloths made with the story of my sojourn in the wilderness,
even as ye saw them. But the days and the years wore, and wealth came
back to the mighty of the land, and fields flourished and the acres
bore increase, and fair houses were builded in the towns; and the land
was called happy again.

"But for me I was not so happy: and I looked back fondly to the days
of the greenwood and the fellowship of the Dry Tree, and the days
before that, of my flight with my lord. And moreover with the wearing
of the years those murmurs against me and the blind causeless hatred
began to grow again, and chiefly methinks because I was the king, and
my lord the king's cloak: but therewith tales concerning me began to
spring up, how that I was not only a sorceress, but even one foredoomed
from of old and sent by the lords of hell to wreck that fair Land of
the Tower and make it unhappy and desolate. And the tale grew and
gathered form, till now, when the bloom of my beauty was gone, I heard
hard and fierce words cried after me in the streets when I fared
abroad, and that still chiefly by the women: for yet most men looked
on me with pleasure. Also my counsellors and lords warned me often
that I must be wary and of great forbearance if trouble were to be kept
back.

"Now amidst these things as I was walking pensively in my garden one
summer day, it was told me that a woman desired to see me, so I bade
them bring her. And when she came I looked on her, and deemed that I
had seen her aforetime: she was not old, but of middle age, of dark
red hair, and brown eyes somewhat small: not a big woman, but well
fashioned of body, and looking as if she had once been exceeding dainty
and trim. She spake, and again I seemed to have heard her voice
before: 'Hail, Queen,' she said, 'it does my heart good to see thee
thus in thy glorious estate.' So I took her greeting; but those tales
of my being but a sending of the Devil for the ruin of that land came
into my mind, and I sent away the folk who were thereby before I said
more to her. Then she spake again: 'Even so I guessed it would be
that thou wouldst grow great amongst women.'

"But I said, 'What is this? and when have I known thee before-time?'
She smiled and said naught; and my mind went back to those old days,
and I trembled, and the flesh crept upon my bones, lest this should be
the coming back in a new shape of my mistress whom I had slain. But
the woman laughed, and said, as if she knew my thoughts: 'Nay, it is
not so: the dead are dead; fear not: but hast thou forgotten the Dale
of Lore?'

"'Nay,' said I, 'never; and art thou then the carline that learned me
lore? But if the dead come not back, how do the old grow young again?
for 'tis a score of years since we two sat in the Dale, and I longed
for many things.'

"Said the woman: 'The dead may not drink of the Well at the World's
End; yet the living may, even if they be old; and that blessed water
giveth them new might and changeth their blood, and they are as young
folk for a long while again after they have drunken.' 'And hast thou
drunken?' said I.

"'Yea,' she said; 'but I am minded for another draught.' I said: 'And
wherefore hast thou come to me, and what shall I give to thee?' She
said, 'I will take no gift of thee as now, for I need it not, though
hereafter I may ask a gift of thee. But I am to ask this of thee, if
thou wilt be my fellow-farer on the road thither?' 'Yea?' said I, 'and
leave my love and my lord, and my kingship which he hath given me? for
this I will tell thee, that all that here is done, is done by me.'

"'Great is thy Kingship, Lady,' said the woman, and smiled withal.
Then she sat silent a little, and said: 'When six months are worn, it
will be springtide; I will come to thee in the spring days, and know
what thy mind is then. But now I must depart.' Quoth I: 'Glad shall I
be to talk with thee again; for though thou hast learned me much of
wisdom, yet much more I need; yea, as much as the folk here deem I have
already.' 'Thou shalt have no less,' said the woman. Then she kissed
my hands and went her ways, and I sat musing still for a long while:
because for all my gains, and my love that I had been loved withal, and
the greatness that I had gotten, there was as it were a veil of
unhappiness wrapped round about my heart.

"So wore the months, and ere the winter had come befell an evil thing,
for my lord, who had loved me so, and taken me out of the wilderness,
died, and was gathered to the fathers, and there was I left alone; for
there was no fruit of my womb by him alive. My first-born had been
slain by those wretches, and a second son that I bore had died of a
pestilence that war and famine had brought upon the land. I will not
wear thy soul with words about my grief and sorrow: but it is to be
told that I sat now in a perilous place, and yet I might not step down
from it and abide in that land, for then it was a sure thing, that some
of my foes would have laid hand on me and brought me to judgment for
being but myself, and I should have ended miserably. So I gat to me
all the strength that I might, and whereas there were many who loved me
still, some for my own sake, and some for the sake of my lord that was,
I endured in good hope that all my days were not done. Yet I longed
for the coming of the Teacher of Lore; for now I made up my mind that I
would go with her, and seek to the Well at the World's End for weal and
woe.

"She came while April was yet young: and I need make no long tale of
how we gat us away: for whereas she was wise in hidden lore, it was no
hard matter for her to give me another semblance than mine own, so that
I might have walked about the streets of our city from end to end, and
none had known me. So I vanished away from my throne and my kingdom,
and that name and fame of a witch-wife clove to me once and for all,
and spread wide about the cities of folk and the kingdoms, and many are
the tales that have arisen concerning me, and belike some of these thou
hast heard told."

Ralph reddened and said: "My soul has been vexed by some inkling of
them; but now it is at rest from them for ever."

"May it be so!" she said: "and now my tale is wearing thin for the
present time.

"Back again went my feet over the ways they had trodden before, though
the Teacher shortened the road much for us by her wisdom. Once again
what need to tell thee of these ways when thine own eyes shall behold
them as thou wendest them beside me? Be it enough to say that once
again I came to that little house in the uttermost wilderness, and
there once more was the garth and the goat-house, and the trees of the
forest beyond it, and the wood-lawns and the streams and all the places
and things that erst I deemed I must dwell amongst for ever."

Said Ralph: "And did the carline keep troth with thee? Was she not
but luring thee thither to be her thrall? Or did the book that I read
in the Castle of Abundance but lie concerning thee?"

"She held her troth to me in all wise," said the Lady, "and I was no
thrall of hers, but as a sister, or it may be even as a daughter; for
ever to my eyes was she the old carline who learned me lore in the Dale
of the wildwood.

"But now a long while, years long, we abode in that House of the
Sorceress ere we durst seek further to the Well at the World's End.
And yet meseems though the years wore, they wore me no older; nay, in
the first days at least I waxed stronger of body and fairer than I had
been in the King's Palace in the Land of the Tower, as though some
foretaste of the Well was there for us in the loneliness of the desert;
although forsooth the abiding there amidst the scantiness of
livelihood, and the nakedness, and the toil, and the torment of wind
and weather were as a penance for the days and deeds of our past lives.
What more is to say concerning our lives here, saving this, that in
those days I learned yet more wisdom of the Teacher of Lore, and amidst
that wisdom was much of that which ye call sorcery: as the foreseeing
of things to come, and the sending of dreams or visions, and certain
other matters. And I may tell thee that the holy man who came to us
last even, I sent him the dream which came to him drowsing, and bade
him come to the helping of Walter the Black: for I knew that I should
take thy hand and flee with thee this morning e'en as I have done: and
I would fain have a good leech to Walter lest he should die, although I
owe him hatred rather than love. Now, my friend, tell me, is this an
evil deed, and dost thou shrink from the Sorceress?"

He strained her to his bosom and kissed her mouth, and then he said:
"Yet thou hast never sent a dream to me." She laughed and said: "What!
hast thou never dreamed of me since we met at the want-way of the Wood
Perilous?" "Never," said he. She stroked his cheek fondly, and said:
"Young art thou, sweet friend, and sleepest well a-nights. It was
enough that thou thoughtest of me in thy waking hours." Then she went
on with her tale.



CHAPTER 8

The Lady Maketh an End of Her Tale


"Well, my friend, after we had lived thus a long time, we set out one
day to seek to the Well at the World's End, each of us signed and
marked out for the quest by bearing such-like beads as thou and I both
bear upon our necks today. Once again of all that befell us on that
quest I will tell thee naught as now: because to that Well have I to
bring thee: though myself, belike, I need not its waters again."

Quoth Ralph: "And must thou lead me thy very self, mayest thou not
abide in some safe place my going and returning? So many and sore as
the toils and perils of the way may be." "What!" she said, "and how
shall I be sundered from thee now I have found thee? Yea, and who
shall lead thee, thou lovely boy? Shall it be a man to bewray thee, or
a woman to bewray me? Yet need we not go tomorrow, my beloved, nor for
many days: so sweet as we are to each other.

"But in those past days it was needs must we begin our quest before the
burden of years was over heavy upon us. Shortly to say it, we found
the Well, and drank of its waters after abundant toil and peril, as
thou mayst well deem. Then the life and the soul came back to us, and
the past years were as naught to us, and my youth was renewed in me,
and I became as thou seest me to-day. But my fellow was as a woman of
forty summers again, strong and fair as I had seen her when she came
into the garden in the days of my Queenhood, and thus we returned to
the House of the Sorceress, and rested there for a little from our
travel and our joy.

"At last, and that was but some five years ago, the Teacher said to me:
'Sister, I have learned thee all that thine heart can take of me, and
thou art strong in wisdom, and moreover again shall it be with thee, as
I told of thee long ago, that no man shall look on thee that shall not
love thee. Now I will not seek to see thy life that is coming, nor
what thine end shall be, for that should belike be grievous to both of
us; but this I see of thee, that thou wilt now guide thy life not as I
will, but as thou wilt; and since my way is not thy way, and that I see
thou shalt not long abide alone, now shall we sunder; for I am minded
to go to the most ancient parts of the world, and seek all the
innermost of wisdom whiles I yet live; but with kings and champions and
the cities of folk will I have no more to do: while thou shalt not be
able to refrain from these. So now I bid thee farewell.'

"I wept at her words, but gainsaid them naught, for I wotted that she
spake but the truth; so I kissed her, and we parted; she went her ways
through the wildwood, and I abode at the House of the Sorceress, and
waited on the wearing of the days.

"But scarce a month after her departure, as I stood by the threshold
one morning amidst of the goats, I saw men come riding from out the
wood; so I abode them, and they came to the gate of the garth and there
lighted down from their horses, and they were three in company; and no
one of them was young, and one was old, with white locks flowing down
from under his helm: for they were all armed in knightly fashion, but
they had naught but white gaberdines over their hauberks, with no
coat-armour or token upon them. So they came through the garth-gate
and I greeted them and asked them what they would; then the old man
knelt down on the grass before me and said: 'If I were as young as I am
old my heart would fail me in beholding thy beauty: but now I will ask
thee somewhat: far away beyond the forest we heard rumours of a woman
dwelling in the uttermost desert, who had drunk of the Well at the
World's End, and was wise beyond measure. Now we have set ourselves to
seek that woman, and if thou be she, we would ask a question of thy
wisdom.'

"I answered that I was even such as they had heard of, and bade them
ask.

"Said the old man:

"'Fifty years ago, when I was yet but a young man, there was a fair
woman who was Queen of the Land of the Tower and whom we loved sorely
because we had dwelt together with her amidst tribulation in the desert
and the wildwood: and we are not of her people, but a fellowship of
free men and champions hight the Men of the Dry Tree: and we hoped
that she would one day come back and dwell with us and be our Lady and
Queen: and indeed trouble seemed drawing anigh her, so that we might
help her and she might become our fellow again, when lo! she vanished
away from the folk and none knew where she was gone. Therefore a band
of us of the Dry Tree swore an oath together to seek her till we found
her, that we might live and die together: but of that band of one score
and one, am I the last one left that seeketh; for the rest are dead, or
sick, or departed: and indeed I was the youngest of them. But for
these two men, they are my sons whom I have bred in the knowledge of
these things and in the hope of finding tidings of our Lady and Queen,
if it were but the place where her body lieth. Thou art wise: knowest
thou the resting place of her bones?"

"When I had heard the tale of the old man I was moved to my inmost
heart, and I scarce knew what to say. But now this long while fear was
dead in me, so I thought I would tell the very sooth: but I said first:
'Sir, what I will tell, I will tell without beseeching, so I pray thee
stand up.' So did he, and I said: 'Geoffrey, what became of the white
hind after the banners had left the wildwood'? He stared wild at me,
and I deemed that tears began to come into his eyes; but I said again:
'What betid to dame Joyce's youngest born, the fair little maiden that
we left sick of a fever when we rode to Up-castle?' Still he said
naught but looked at me wondering: and said: 'Hast thou ever again
seen that great old oak nigh the clearing by the water, the half of
which fell away in the summer-storm of that last July?'

"Then verily the tears gushed out of his eyes, and he wept, for as old
as he was; and when he could master himself he said: 'Who art thou?
Who art thou? Art thou the daughter of my Lady, even as these are my
sons?' But I said: 'Now will I answer thy first question, and tell
thee that the Lady thou seekest is verily alive; and she has thriven,
for she has drunk of the Well at the World's End, and has put from her
the burden of the years. O Geoffrey, and dost thou not know me?' And
I held out my hand to him, and I also was weeping, because of my
thought of the years gone by; for this old man had been that swain who
had nigh died for me when I fled with my husband from the old king; and
he became one of the Dry Tree, and had followed me with kind service
about the woods in the days when I was at my happiest.

"But now he fell on his knees before me not like a vassal but like a
lover, and kissed my feet, and was beside himself for joy. And his
sons, who were men of some forty summers, tall and warrior-like, kissed
my hands and made obeisance before me.

"Now when we had come to ourselves again, old Geoffrey, who was now
naught but glad, spake and said: 'It is told amongst us that when our
host departed from the Land of the Tower, after thou hadst taken thy
due seat upon the throne, that thou didst promise our chieftains how
thou wouldst one day come back to the fellowship of the Dry Tree and
dwell amongst us. Wilt thou now hold to thy promise?' I said: 'O
Geoffrey, if thou art the last of those seekers, and thou wert but a
boy when I dwelt with you of old, who of the Dry Tree is left to
remember me?' He hung his head awhile then, and spake: 'Old are we
grown, yet art thou fittest to be amongst young folk: unless mine eyes
are beguiled by some semblance which will pass away presently.' 'Nay,'
quoth I, 'it is not so; as I am now, so shall I be for many and many a
day.' 'Well,' said Geoffrey, 'wherever thou mayst be, thou shalt be
Queen of men.'

"'I list not to be Queen again,' said I. He laughed and said: 'I wot
not how thou mayst help it.'

"I said: 'Tell me of the Dry Tree, how the champions have sped, and
have they grown greater or less.' Said he: 'They are warriors and
champions from father to son; therefore have they thriven not over
well; yet they have left the thick of the wood, and built them a great
castle above the little town hight Hampton; so that is now called
Hampton under Scaur, for upon the height of the said Scaur is our
castle builded: and there we hold us against the Burg of the Four
Friths which hath thriven greatly; there is none so great as the Burg
in all the lands about.'

"I said: 'And the Land of the Tower, thriveth the folk thereof at
all?' 'Nay,' he said, 'they have been rent to pieces by folly and war
and greediness: in the Great City are but few people, grass grows in
its streets; the merchants wend not the ways that lead thither. Naught
thriveth there since thou stolest thyself away from them.'

"'Nay,' I said, 'I fled from their malice, lest I should have been
brought out to be burned once more; and there would have been none to
rescue then.' 'Was it so?' said old Geoffrey; 'well it is all one now;
their day is done.'

"'Well,' I said, 'come into my house, and eat and drink therein and
sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I shall tell thee what I will do.'

"Even so they did; and on the morrow early I spake to Geoffrey and
said: 'What hath befallen the Land of Abundance, and the castle my lord
built for me there; which we held as our refuge all through the War of
the Tower, both before we joined us to you in the wildwood, and
afterwards?' He said: 'It is at peace still; no one hath laid hand on
it; there is a simple folk dwelling there in the clearing of the wood,
which forgetteth thee not; though forsooth strange tales are told of
thee there; and the old men deem that it is but a little since thou
hast ceased to come and go there; and they are ready to worship thee as
somewhat more than the Blessed Saints, were it not for the Fathers of
the Thorn who are their masters.'

"I pondered this a while, and then said: 'Geoffrey, ye shall bring me
hence away to the peopled parts, and on the way, or when we are come
amongst the cities and the kingdoms, we will settle it whither I shall
go. See thou! I were fain to be of the brotherhood of the Dry Tree;
yet I deem it will scarce be that I shall go and dwell there
straightway.'

"Therewith the old man seemed content; and indeed now that the first
joy of our meeting, when his youth sprang up in him once more, was
over, he found it hard to talk freely with me, and was downcast and shy
before me, as if something had come betwixt us, which had made our
lives cold to each other.

"So that day we left the House of the Sorceress, which I shall not see
again, till I come there hand in hand with thee, beloved. When we came
to the peopled parts, Geoffrey and his sons brought me to the Land of
Abundance, and I found it all as he had said to me: and I took up my
dwelling in the castle, and despised not those few folk of the land,
but was kind to them: but though they praised my gifts, and honoured
me as the saints are honoured, and though they loved me, yet it was
with fear, so that I had little part with them. There I dwelt then;
and the book which thou didst read there, part true and part false, and
altogether of malice against me, I bought of a monk who came our way,
and who at first was sore afeared when he found that he had come to my
castle. As to the halling of the Chamber of Dais, I have told thee
before how my lord, the King's Son, did do make it in memory of the
wilderness wherein he found me, and the life of thralldom from which he
brought me. There I dwelt till nigh upon these days in peace and
quiet: not did I go to the Dry Tree for a long while, though many of
them sought to me there at the Castle of Abundance; and, woe worth the
while! there was oftenest but one end to their guesting, that of all
gifts, they besought me but of one, which, alack! I might not give
them: and that is the love that I have given to thee, beloved.--And,
oh! my fear, that it will weigh too light with thee, to win me pardon
of thee for all that thou must needs pardon me, ere thou canst give me
all thy love, that I long for so sorely."



CHAPTER 9

They Go On Their Way Once More


"Look now," she said, "I have held thee so long in talk, that the
afternoon is waning; now is it time for us to be on the way again; not
because I misdoubt me of thy foeman, but because I would take thee to a
fairer dwelling of the desert, and one where I have erst abided; and
moreover, there thou shalt not altogether die of hunger. See, is it
not as if I had thought to meet thee here?"

"Yea, in good sooth," said he, "I wot that thou canst see the story of
things before they fall."

She laughed and said: "But all this that hath befallen since I set out
to meet thee at the Castle of Abundance I foresaw not, any more than I
can foresee to-morrow. Only I knew that we must needs pass by the place
whereto I shall now lead thee, and I made provision there. Lo! now the
marvel slain: and in such wise shall perish other marvels which have
been told of me; yet not all. Come now, let us to the way."

So they joined hands and left the pleasant place, and were again going
speedily amidst the close pine woods awhile, where it was smooth
underfoot and silent of noises withal.

Now Ralph said: "Beloved, thou hast told me of many things, but naught
concerning how thou camest to be wedded to the Knight of the Sun, and
of thy dealings with him."

Said she, reddening withal: "I will tell thee no more than this,
unless thou compel me: that he would have me wed him, as it were
against my will, till I ceased striving against him, and I went with
him to Sunway, which is no great way from the Castle of Abundance, and
there befell that treason of Walter the Black, who loved me and prayed
for my love, and when I gainsaid him, swore by all that was holy,
before my lord, that it was I who sought his love, and how I had told
and taught him ways of witchcraft, whereby we might fulfill our love,
so that the Baron should keep a wife for another man. And the Knight
of the Sun, whose heart had been filled with many tales of my wisdom,
true and false, believed his friend whom he loved, and still believeth
him, though he burneth for the love of me now; whereas in those first
days of the treason, he burned with love turned to hatred. So of this
came that shaming and casting-forth of me. Whereof I will tell thee
but this, that the brother of my lord, even the tall champion whom thou
hast seen, came upon me presently, when I was cast forth; because he
was coming to see the Knight of the Sun at his home; and he loved me,
but not after the fashion of his brother, but was kind and mild with
me. So then I went with him to Hampton and the Dry Tree, and great joy
made the folk thereof of my coming, whereas they remembered their
asking of aforetime that I would come to be a Queen over them, and
there have I dwelt ever since betwixt Hampton and the Castle of
Abundance; and that tall champion has been ever as a brother unto me."

Said Ralph, "And thou art their Queen there?" "Yea," she said, "in a
fashion; yet have they another who is mightier than I, and might, if
she durst, hang me over the battlements of the Scaur, for she is a
fierce and hard woman, and now no longer young in years."

"Is it not so then," said Ralph, "that some of the ill deeds that are
told of thee are of her doing?"

"It is even so," she said, "and whiles when she has spoken the word I
may not be against her openly, therefore I use my wisdom which I have
learned, to set free luckless wights from her anger and malice. More
by token the last time I did thus was the very night of the day we
parted, after thou hadst escaped from the Burg."

"In what wise was that?" said Ralph. She said: "When I rode away from
thee on that happy day of my deliverance by thee, my heart laughed for
joy of the life thou hadst given me, and of thee the giver, and I swore
to myself that I would set free the first captive or death-doomed
creature that I came across, in honour of my pleasure and delight: now
speedily I came to Hampton and the Scaur; for it is not very far from
the want-ways of the wood: and there I heard how four of our folk had
been led away by the men of the Burg, therefore it was clear to me that
I must set these men free if I could; besides, it pleased me to think
that I could walk about the streets of the foemen safely, who had been
but just led thitherward to the slaughter. Thou knowest how I sped
therein. But when I came back again to our people, after thou hadst
ridden away from us with Roger, I heard these tidings, that there was
one new-come into our prison, a woman to wit, who had been haled before
our old Queen for a spy and doomed by her, and should be taken forth
and slain, belike, in a day or two. So I said to myself that I was not
free of my vow as yet, because those friends of mine, I should in any
case have done my best to deliver them: therefore I deemed my oath
bound me to set that woman free. So in the night-tide when all was
quiet I went to the prison and brought her forth, and led her past all
the gates and wards, which was an easy thing to me, so much as I had
learned, and came with her into the fields betwixt the thorp of Hampton
and the wood, when it was more daylight than dawn, so that I could see
her clearly, and no word as yet had we spoken to each other. But then
she said to me: 'Am I to be slain here or led to a crueller prison?'
And I said: 'Neither one thing nor the other: for lo! I have set thee
free, and I shall look to it that there shall be no pursuit of thee
till thou hast had time to get clear away.' But she said: 'What thanks
wilt thou have for this? Wherefore hast thou done it?' And I said, 'It
is because of the gladness I have gotten.' Said she, 'And would that I
might get gladness!' So I asked her what was amiss now that she was
free. She said: 'I have lost one thing that I loved, and found another
and lost it also.' So I said: 'Mightest thou not seek for the lost?'
She said, 'It is in this wood, but when I shall find it I shall not
have it.' 'It is love that thou art seeking,' said I. 'In what
semblance is he?'

"What wilt thou, my friend? Straightway she fell to making a picture
of thee in words; so that I knew that she had met thee, and belike
after I had departed from thee, and my heart was sore thereat; for now
I will tell thee the very truth, that she was a young woman and
exceeding fair, as if she were of pearl all over, and as sweet as
eglantine; and I feared her lest she should meet thee again in these
wildwoods. And so I asked her what would she, and she said that she
had a mind to seek to the Well at the World's End, which quencheth all
sorrow; and I rejoiced thereat, thinking that she would be far away
from thee, not thinking that thou and I must even meet to seek to it
also. So I gave her the chaplet which my witch-mistress took from the
dead woman's neck; and went with her into the wildwood, and taught her
wisdom of the way and what she was to do. And again I say to thee that
she was so sweet and yet with a kind of pity in her both of soul and
body, and wise withal and quiet, that I feared her, though I loved her;
yea and still do: for I deem her better than me, and meeter for thee
and thy love than I be.--Dost thou know her?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "and fair and lovely she is in sooth. Yet hast thou
naught to do to fear her. And true it is that I saw her and spake with
her after thou hadst ridden away. For she came by the want-ways of the
Wood Perilous in the dawn of the day after I had delivered thee; and in
sooth she told me that she looked either for Death, or the Water of the
Well to end her sorrow."

Then he smiled and said; "As for that which thou sayest, that she had
been meeter for me than thou, I know not this word. For look you,
beloved, she came, and passed, and is gone, but thou art there and
shalt endure."

She stayed, and turned and faced him at that word; and love so consumed
her, that all sportive words failed her; yea and it was as if mirth and
light-heartedness were swallowed up in the fire of her love; and all
thought of other folk departed from him as he felt her tears of love
and joy upon his face, and she kissed and embraced him there in the
wilderness.



CHAPTER 10

Of the Desert-House and the Chamber of Love in the Wilderness


Then in a while they grew sober and went on their ways, and the sun was
westering behind them, and casting long shadows. And in a little while
they were come out of the thick woods and were in a country of steep
little valleys, grassy, besprinkled with trees and bushes, with hills
of sandstone going up from them, which were often broken into cliffs
rising sheer from the tree-beset bottoms: and they saw plenteous deer
both great and small, and the wild things seemed to fear them but
little. To Ralph it seemed an exceeding fair land, and he was as
joyous as it was fair; but the Lady was pensive, and at last she said:
"Thou deemest it fair, and so it is; yet is it the lonesomest of
deserts. I deem indeed that it was once one of the fairest of lands,
with castles and cots and homesteads all about, and fair people no few,
busy with many matters amongst them. But now it is all passed away,
and there is no token of a dwelling of man, save it might be that those
mounds we see, as yonder, and yonder again, are tofts of house-walls
long ago sunken into the earth of the valley. And now few even are the
hunters or way-farers that wend through it."

Quoth Ralph: "Thou speakest as if there had been once histories and
tales of this pleasant wilderness: tell me, has it anything to do with
that land about the wide river which we went through, Roger and I, as
we rode to the Castle of Abundance the other day? For he spoke of
tales of deeds and mishaps concerning it." "Yea," she said, "so it is,
and the little stream that runs yonder beneath those cliffs, is making
its way towards that big river aforesaid, which is called the Swelling
Flood. Now true it is also that there are many tales about of the wars
and miseries that turned this land into a desert, and these may be true
enough, and belike are true. But these said tales have become blended
with the story of those aforesaid wars of the Land of the Tower; of
which indeed this desert is verily a part, but was desert still in the
days when I was Queen of the Land; so thou mayst well think that they
who hold me to be the cause of all this loneliness (and belike Roger
thought it was so) have scarce got hold of the very sooth of the
matter."

"Even so I deemed," said Ralph: "and to-morrow we shall cross the big
river, thou and I. Is there a ferry or a ford there whereas we shall
come, or how shall we win over it?"

She was growing merrier again now, and laughed at this and said: "O
fair boy! the crossing will be to-morrow and not to-day; let to-morrow
cross its own rivers; for surely to-day is fair enough, and fairer
shall it be when thou hast been fed and art sitting by me in rest and
peace till to-morrow morning. So now hasten yet a little more; and we
will keep the said little stream in sight as well as we may for the
bushes."

So they sped on, till Ralph said: "Will thy feet never tire, beloved?"
"O child," she said, "thou hast heard my story, and mayst well deem
that they have wrought many a harder day's work than this day's. And
moreover they shall soon rest; for look! yonder is our house for this
even, and till to-morrow's sun is high: the house for me and thee and
none else with us." And therewith she pointed to a place where the
stream ran in a chain of pools and stickles, and a sheer cliff rose up
some fifty paces beyond it, but betwixt the stream and the cliff was a
smooth table of greensward, with three fair thorn bushes thereon, and
it went down at each end to the level of the river's lip by a green
slope, but amidmost, the little green plain was some ten feet above the
stream, and was broken by a little undercliff, which went down sheer
into the water. And Ralph saw in the face of the high cliff the mouth
of a cave, however deep it might be.

"Come," said the Lady, "tarry not, for I know that hunger hath hold of
thee, and look, how low the sun is growing!" Then she caught him by the
hand, and fell to running with him to the edge of the stream, where at
the end of the further slope it ran wide and shallow before it entered
into a deep pool overhung with boughs of alder and thorn. She stepped
daintily over a row of big stones laid in the rippling shallow; and
staying herself in mid-stream on the biggest of them, and gathering up
her gown, looked up stream with a happy face, and then looked over her
shoulder to Ralph and said: "The year has been good to me these
seasons, so that when I stayed here on my way to the Castle of
Abundance, I found but few stones washed away, and crossed wellnigh
dry-shod, but this stone my feet are standing on now, I brought down
from under the cliff, and set it amid-most, and I said that when I
brought thee hither I would stay thereon and talk with thee while I
stood above the freshness of the water, as I am doing now."

Ralph looked on her and strove to answer her, but no words would come
to his lips, because of the greatness of his longing; she looked on him
fondly, and then stooped to look at the ripples that bubbled up about
her shoes, and touched them at whiles; then she said: "See how they
long for the water, these feet that have worn the waste so long, and
know how kind it will run over them and lap about them: but ye must
abide a little, waste-wearers, till we have done a thing or two. Come,
love!" And she reached her hand out behind her to Ralph, not looking
back, but when she felt his hand touch it, she stepped lightly over the
other stones, and on to the grass with him, and led him quietly up the
slope that went up to the table of greensward before the cave. But
when they came on to the level grass she kissed him, and then turned
toward the valley and spake solemnly: "May all blessings light on this
House of the wilderness and this Hall of the Summer-tide, and the
Chamber of Love that here is!"

Then was she silent a while, and Ralph brake not the silence. Then she
turned to him with a face grown merry and smiling, and said: "Lo! how
the poor lad yearneth for meat, as well he may, so long as the day hath
been. Ah, beloved, thou must be patient a little. For belike our
servants have not yet heard of the wedding of us. So we twain must
feed each the other. Is that so much amiss?"

He laughed in her face for love, and took her by the wrist, but she
drew her hand away and went into the cave, and came forth anon holding
a copper kettle with an iron bow, and a bag of meal, which she laid at
his feet; then she went into the cave again, and brought forth a flask
of wine and a beaker; then she caught up the little cauldron, which was
well-beaten, and thin and light, and ran down to the stream therewith,
and came up thence presently, bearing it full of water on her head,
going as straight and stately as the spear is seen on a day of tourney,
moving over the barriers that hide the knight, before he lays it in the
rest. She came up to him and set the water-kettle before him, and put
her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek, and then stepped back
from him and smote her palms together, and said: "Yea, it is well! But
there are yet more things to do before we rest. There is the dighting
of the chamber, and the gathering of wood for the fire, and the mixing
of the meal, and the kneading and the baking of cakes; and all that is
my work, and there is the bringing of the quarry for the roast, and
that is thine."

Then she ran into the cave and brought forth a bow and a quiver of
arrows, and said: "Art thou somewhat of an archer?" Quoth he: "I
shoot not ill." "And I," she said, "shoot well, all woodcraft comes
handy to me. But this eve I must trust to thy skill for my supper. Go
swiftly and come back speedily. Do off thine hauberk, and beat the
bushes down in the valley, and bring me some small deer, as roe or hare
or coney. And wash thee in the pool below the stepping-stones, as I
shall do whiles thou art away, and by then thou comest back, all shall
be ready, save the roasting of the venison."

So he did off his wargear, but thereafter tarried a little, looking at
her, and she said: "What aileth thee not to go? the hunt's up." He
said: "I would first go see the rock-hall that is for our chamber
to-night; wilt thou not bring me in thither?" "Nay," she said, "for I
must be busy about many matters; but thou mayst go by thyself, if thou
wilt."

So he went and stooped down and entered the cave, and found it high and
wide within, and clean and fresh and well-smelling, and the floor of
fine white sand without a stain.

So he knelt down and kissed the floor, and said aloud: "God bless this
floor of the rock-hall whereon my love shall lie to-night!" Then he
arose and went out of the cave, and found the Lady at the entry
stooping down to see what he would do; and she looked on him fondly and
anxiously; but he turned a merry face to her, and caught her round the
middle and strained her to his bosom, and then took the bow and arrows
and ran down the slope and over the stream, into the thicket of the
valley.

He went further than he had looked for, ere he found a prey to his
mind, and then he smote a roe with a shaft and slew her, and broke up
the carcase and dight it duly, and so went his ways back. When he came
to the stream he looked up and saw a little fire glittering not far
from the cave, but had no clear sight of the Lady, though he thought he
saw her gown fluttering nigh one of the thorn-bushes. Then he did off
his raiment and entered that pool of the stream, and was glad to bathe
him in the same place where her body had been but of late; for he had
noted that the stones of the little shore were still wet with her feet
where she had gone up from the water.

But now, as he swam and sported in the sun-warmed pool he deemed he
heard the whinnying of a horse, but was not sure, so he held himself
still to listen, and heard no more. Then he laughed and bethought him
of Falcon his own steed, and dived down under the water; but as he came
up, laughing still and gasping, he heard a noise of the clatter of
horse hoofs, as if some one were riding swiftly up the further side of
the grassy table, where it was stony, as he had noted when they passed
by.

A deadly fear fell upon his heart as he thought of his love left all
alone; so he gat him at once out of the water and cast his shirt over
his head; but while his arms were yet entangled in the sleeves thereof,
came to his ears a great and awful sound of a man's voice roaring out,
though there were no shapen words in the roar. Then were his arms free
through the sleeves, and he took up the bow and fell to bending it, and
even therewith he heard a great wailing of a woman's voice, and she
cried out, piteously: "Help me, O help, lovely creature of God!"

Yet must he needs finish bending the bow howsoever his heart died
within him; or what help would there be of a naked and unarmed man? At
last it was bent and an arrow nocked on the string, as he leapt over
the river and up the slope.

But even as he came up to that pleasant place he saw all in a moment of
time; that there stood Silverfax anigh the Cave's mouth, and the Lady
lying on the earth anigh the horse; and betwixt her and him the Knight
of the Sun stood up stark, his shining helm on his head, the last rays
of the setting sun flashing in the broidered image of his armouries.

He turned at once upon Ralph, shaking his sword in the air (and there
was blood upon the blade) and he cried out in terrible voice: "The
witch is dead, the whore is dead! And thou, thief, who hast stolen her
from me, and lain by her in the wilderness, now shalt thou die, thou!"

Scarce had he spoken than Ralph drew his bow to the arrow-head and
loosed; there was but some twenty paces betwixt them, and the shaft,
sped by that fell archer, smote the huge man through the eye into the
brain, and he fell down along clattering, dead without a word more.

But Ralph gave forth a great wail of woe, and ran forward and knelt by
the Lady, who lay all huddled up face down upon the grass, and he
lifted her up and laid her gently on her back. The blood was flowing
fast from a great wound in her breast, and he tore off a piece of his
shirt to staunch it, but she without knowledge of him breathed forth
her last breath ere he could touch the hurt, and he still knelt by her,
staring on her as if he knew not what was toward.

She had dight her what she could to welcome his return from the
hunting, and had set a wreath of meadow-sweet on her red hair, and a
garland of eglantine about her girdlestead, and left her feet naked
after the pool of the stream, and had turned the bezels of her
finger-rings outward, for joy of that meeting.

After a while he rose up with a most bitter cry, and ran down the green
slope and over the water, and hither and thither amongst the bushes
like one mad, till he became so weary that he might scarce go or stand
for weariness. Then he crept back again to that Chamber of Love, and
sat down beside his new-won mate, calling to mind all the wasted words
of the day gone by; for the summer night was come now, most fair and
fragrant. But he withheld the sobbing passion of his heart and put
forth his hand, and touched her, and she was still, and his hand felt
her flesh that it was cold as marble. And he cried out aloud in the
night and the wilderness, where there was none to hear him, and arose
and went away from her, passing by Silverfax who was standing nearby,
stretching out his head, and whinnying at whiles. And he sat on the
edge of the green table, and there came into his mind despite himself
thoughts of the pleasant fields of Upmeads, and his sports and
pleasures there, and the even-song of the High House, and the folk of
his fellowship and his love. And therewith his breast arose and his
face was wryed, and he wept loud and long, and as if he should never
make an end of it. But so weary was he, that at last he lay back and
fell asleep, and woke not till the sun was high in the heavens. And so
it was, that his slumber had been so heavy, that he knew not at first
what had befallen; and one moment he felt glad, and the next as if he
should never be glad again, though why he wotted not. Then he turned
about and saw Silverfax cropping the grass nearby, and the Lady lying
there like an image that could move no whit, though the world awoke
about her. Then he remembered, yet scarce all, so that wild hopes
swelled his heart, and he rose to his knees and turned to her, and
called to mind that he should never see her alive again, and sobbing
and wailing broke out from him, for he was young and strong, and sorrow
dealt hardly with him.

But presently he arose to his feet and went hither and thither, and
came upon the quenched coals of the cooking-fire: she had baked cakes
for his eating, and he saw them lying thereby, and hunger constrained
him, so he took and ate of them while the tears ran down his face and
mingled with the bread he ate. And when he had eaten, he felt stronger
and therefore was life more grievous to him, and when he thought what
he should do, still one thing seemed more irksome than the other.

He went down to the water to drink, and passed by the body of the
Knight of the Sun, and wrath was fierce in his heart against him who
had overthrown his happiness. But when he had drunk and washed hands
and face he came back again, and hardened his heart to do what he must
needs do. He took up the body of the Lady and with grief that may not
be told of, he drew it into the cave, and cut boughs of trees and laid
them over her face and all her body, and then took great stones from
the scree at that other end of the little plain, and heaped them upon
her till she was utterly hidden by them. Then he came out on to the
green place and looked on the body of his foe, and said to himself that
all must be decent and in order about the place whereas lay his love.
And he came and stood over the body and said: "I have naught to do to
hate him now: if he hated me, it was but for a little while, and he
knew naught of me. So let his bones be covered up from the wolf and
the kite. Yet shall they not lie alongside of her. I will raise a
cairn above him here on this fair little plain which he spoilt of all
joy." Therewith he fell to, and straightened his body, and laid his
huge limbs together and closed his eyes and folded his arms over his
breast; and then he piled the stones above him, and went on casting
them on the heap a long while after there was need thereof.

Ralph had taken his raiment from the stream-side and done them on
before this, and now he did on helm and hauberk, and girt his sword to
his side. Then as he was about leaving the sorrowful place, he looked
on Silverfax, who had not strayed from the little plain, and came up to
him and did off saddle and bridle, and laid them within the cave, and
bade the beast go whither he would. He yet lingered about the place,
and looked all around him and found naught to help him, and could frame
in his mind no intent of a deed then, nor any tale of a deed he should
do thereafter. Yet belike in his mind were two thoughts, and though
neither softened his grief save a little, he did not shrink from them
as he did from all others; and these two were of his home at Upmeads,
which was so familiar to him, and of the Well at the World's End, which
was but a word.



CHAPTER 11

Ralph Cometh Out of the Wilderness


Long he stood letting these thoughts run through his mind, but at last
when it was now midmorning, he stirred and gat him slowly down the
green slope, and for very pity of himself the tears brake out from him
as he crossed the stream and came into the bushy valley. There he
stayed his feet a little, and said to himself: "And whither then am I
going?" He thought of the Castle of Abundance and the Champions of the
Dry Tree, of Higham, and the noble warriors who sat at the Lord Abbot's
board, and of Upmeads and his own folk: but all seemed naught to him,
and he thought: "And how can I go back and bear folk asking me
curiously of my wayfarings, and whether I will do this, that, or the
other thing." Withal he thought of that fair damsel and her sweet mouth
in the hostelry at Bourton Abbas, and groaned when he thought of love
and its ending, and he said within himself: "and now she is a wanderer
about the earth as I am;" and he thought of her quest, and the chaplet
of dame Katherine, his gossip, which he yet bore on his neck, and he
deemed that he had naught to choose but to go forward and seek that he
was doomed to; and now it seemed to him that there was that one thing
to do and no other. And though this also seemed to him but weariness
and grief, yet whereas he had ever lightly turned him to doing what
work lay ready to hand; so now he knew that he must first of all get
him out of that wilderness, that he might hear the talk of folk
concerning the Well at the World's End, which he doubted not to hear
again when he came into the parts inhabited.

So now, with his will or without it, his feet bore him on, and he
followed up the stream which the Lady had said ran into the broad river
called the Swelling Flood; "for," thought he, "when I come thereabout I
shall presently find some castle or good town, and it is like that
either I shall have some tidings of the folk thereof, or else they will
compel me to do something, and that will irk me less than doing deeds
of mine own will."

He went his ways till he came to where the wood and the trees ended,
and the hills were lower and longer, well grassed with short grass, a
down country fit for the feeding of sheep; and indeed some sheep he
saw, and a shepherd or two, but far off. At last, after he had left
the stream awhile, because it seemed to him to turn and wind round over
much to the northward, he came upon a road running athwart the down
country, so that he deemed that it must lead one way down to the
Swelling Flood; so he followed it up, and after a while began to fall
in with folk; and first two Companions armed and bearing long swords
over their shoulders: he stopped as they met, and stared at them in the
face, but answered not their greeting; and they had no will to meddle
with him, seeing his inches and that he was well armed, and looked no
craven: so they went on.

Next he came on two women who had with them an ass between two
panniers, laden with country stuff; and they were sitting by the
wayside, one old and the other young. He made no stay for them, and
though he turned his face their way, took no heed of them more than if
they were trees; though the damsel, who was well-liking and somewhat
gaily clad, stood up when she saw his face anigh, and drew her gown
skirt about her and moved daintily, and sighed and looked after him as
he went on, for she longed for him.

Yet again came two men a-horseback, merchants clad goodly, with three
carles, their servants, riding behind them; and all these had weapons
and gave little more heed to him than he to them. But a little after
they were gone, he stopped and said within himself: "Maybe I had better
have gone their way, and this road doubtless leadeth to some place of
resort."

But even therewith he heard horsehoofs behind him, and anon came up a
man a-horseback, armed with jack and sallet, a long spear in his hand,
and budgets at his saddle-bow, who looked like some lord's man going a
message. He nodded to Ralph, who gave him good-day; for seeing these
folk and their ways had by now somewhat amended his mind; and now he
turned not, but went on as before.

At last the way clomb a hill longer and higher than any he had yet
crossed, and when he had come to the brow and looked down, he saw the
big river close below running through the wide valley which he had
crossed with Roger on that other day. Then he sat down on the green
bank above the way, so heavy of heart that not one of the things he saw
gave him any joy, and the world was naught to him. But within a while
he came somewhat to himself, and, looking down toward the river, he saw
that where the road met it, it was very wide, and shallow withal, for
the waves rippled merrily and glittered in the afternoon sun, though
there was no wind; moreover the road went up white from the water on
the other side, so he saw clearly that this was the ford of a highway.
The valley was peopled withal: on the other side of the river was a
little thorp, and there were carts and sheds scattered about the hither
side, and sheep and neat feeding in the meadows, and in short it was
another world from the desert.



CHAPTER 12

Ralph Falleth in With Friends and Rideth to Whitwall


Ralph looks on to the ford and sees folk riding through the thorp
aforesaid and down to the river, and they take the water and are many
in company, some two score by his deeming, and he sees the sun
glittering on their weapons.

Now he thought that he would abide their coming and see if he might
join their company, since if he crossed the water he would be on the
backward way: and it was but a little while ere the head of them came
up over the hill, and were presently going past Ralph, who rose up to
look on them, and be seen of them, but they took little heed of him.
So he sees that though they all bore weapons, they were not all
men-at-arms, nay, not more than a half score, but those proper men
enough. Of the others, some half-dozen seemed by their attire to be
merchants, and the rest their lads; and withal they had many sumpter
horses and mules with them. They greeted him not, nor he them, nor did
he heed them much till they were all gone by save three, and then he
leapt into the road with a cry, for who should be riding there but
Blaise, his eldest brother, and Richard the Red with him, both in good
case by seeming; for Blaise was clad in a black coat welted with gold,
and rode a good grey palfrey, and Richard was armed well and knightly.

They knew him at once, and drew rein, and Blaise lighted down from his
horse and cast his arms about Ralph, and said: "O happy day! when two
of the Upmeads kindred meet thus in an alien land! But what maketh
thee here, Ralph? I thought of thee as merry and safe in Upmeads?"

Ralph said smiling, for his heart leapt up at the sight of his kindred:
"Nay, must I not seek adventures like the rest? So I stole myself away
from father and mother." "Ill done, little lord!" said Blaise,
stroking Ralph's cheek.

Then up came Richard, and if Blaise were glad, Richard was twice glad,
and quoth he: "Said I not, Lord Blaise, that this chick would be the
hardest of all to keep under the coop? Welcome to the Highways, Lord
Ralph! But where is thine horse? and whence and whither is it now?
Hast thou met with some foil and been held to ransom?"

Ralph found it hard and grievous and dull work to answer; for now again
his sorrow had taken hold of him: so he said: "Yea, Richard, I have
had adventures, and have lost rather than won; but at least I am a free
man, and have spent but little gold on my loss."

"That is well," said Richard, "but whence gat ye any gold for
spending?" Ralph smiled, but sadly, for he called to mind the glad
setting forth and the kind face of dame Katherine his gossip, and he
said: "Clement Chapman deemed it not unmeet to stake somewhat on my
luck, therefore I am no pauper."

"Well," said Blaise, "if thou hast no great errand elsewhere, thou
mightest ride with us, brother. I have had good hap in these days,
though scarce kingly or knightly, for I have been buying and selling:
what matter? few know Upmeads and its kings to wite me with fouling a
fair name. Richard, go fetch a horse hither for Lord Ralph's riding,
and we will tarry no longer." So Richard trotted on, and while they
abode him, Ralph asked after his brethren, and Blaise told him that he
had seen or heard naught of them. Then Ralph asked of whither away,
and Blaise told him to Whitwall, where was much recourse of merchants
from many lands, and a noble market.

Back then cometh Richard leading a good horse while Ralph was pondering
his matter, and thinking that at such a town he might well hear tidings
concerning the Well at the World's End.

Now Ralph mounts, and they all ride away together. On the way, partly
for brotherhood's sake, partly that he might not be questioned overmuch
himself, Ralph asked Blaise to tell him more of his farings; and Blaise
said, that when he had left Upmeads he had ridden with Richard up and
down and round about, till he came to a rich town which had just been
taken in war, and that the Companions who had conquered it were looking
for chapmen to cheapen their booty, and that he was the first or nearly
the first to come who had will and money to buy, and the Companions,
who were eager to depart, had sold him thieves' penny-worths, so that
his share of the Upmeads' treasure had gone far; and thence he had gone
to another good town where he had the best of markets for his newly
cheapened wares, and had brought more there, such as he deemed handy to
sell, and so had gone on from town to town, and had ever thriven, and
had got much wealth: and so at last having heard tell of Whitwall as
better for chaffer than all he had yet seen, he and other chapmen had
armed them, and waged men-at-arms to defend them, and so tried the
adventure of the wildwoods, and come safe through.

Then at last came the question to Ralph concerning his adventures, and
he enforced himself to speak, and told all as truly as he might,
without telling of the Lady and her woeful ending.

Thus they gave and took in talk, and Ralph did what he might to seem
like other folk, that he might nurse his grief in his own heart as far
asunder from other men as might be.

So they rode on till it was even, and came to Whitwall before the
shutting of the gates and rode into the street, and found it a fair and
great town, well defensible, with high and new walls, and men-at-arms
good store to garnish them.

Ralph rode with his brother to the hostel of the chapmen, and there
they were well lodged.



CHAPTER 13

Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End.
Concerning Swevenham


On the morrow Blaise went to his chaffer and to visit the men of the
Port at the Guildhall: he bade Ralph come with him, but he would not,
but abode in the hall of the hostel and sat pondering sadly while men
came and went; but he heard no word spoken of the Well at the World's
End. In like wise passed the next day and the next, save that Richard
was among those who came into the hall, and he talked long with Ralph
at whiles; that is to say that he spake, and Ralph made semblance of
listening.

Now as is aforesaid Richard was old and wise, and he loved Ralph much,
more belike than Lord Blaise his proper master, whereas he had no mind
for chaffer, or aught pertaining to it: so he took heed of Ralph and
saw that he was sad and weary-hearted; so on the sixth day of their
abiding at Whitwall, in the morning when all the chapmen were gone
about their business, and he and Ralph were left alone in the Hall, he
spake to Ralph and said: "This is no prison, lord." "Even so," quoth
Ralph. "Nay, if thou doubtest it," said Richard, "let us go to the
door and try if they have turned the key and shot the bolt on us."
Ralph smiled faintly and stood up, and said: "I will go with thee if
thou willest it, but sooth to say I shall be but a dull fellow of thine
to-day." Said Richard: "Wouldst thou have been better yesterday, lord,
or the day before?" "Nay," said Ralph. "Wilt thou be better
to-morrow?" said Richard. Ralph shook his head. Said Richard: "Yea,
but thou wilt be, or thou mayst call me a fool else." "Thou art kind,
Richard," said Ralph; "and I will come with thee, and do what thou
biddest me; but I must needs tell thee that my heart is sick." "Yea,"
quoth Richard, "and thou needest not tell me so much, dear youngling;
he who runs might read that in thee. But come forth."

So into the street they went, and Richard brought Ralph into the
market-place, and showed him where was Blaise's booth (for he was
thriving greatly) but Ralph would not go anigh it lest his brother
should entangle him in talk; and they went into the Guildhall which was
both great and fair, and the smell of the new-shaven oak (for the roof
was not yet painted) brought back to Ralph's mind the days of his
childhood when he was hanging about the building of the water-reeve's
new house at Upmeads. Then they went into the Great Church and heard a
Mass at the altar of St. Nicholas, Ralph's very friend; and the said
church was great to the letter, and very goodly, and somewhat new also,
since the blossom-tide of Whitwall was not many years old: and the
altars of its chapels were beyond any thing for fairness that Ralph had
seen save at Higham on the Way.

But when they came forth from the church, Ralph looked on Richard with
a face that was both blank and weary, as who should say: "What is to
do now?" And forsooth so woe-begone he looked, that Richard, despite
his sorrow and trouble for him, could scarce withhold his laughter.
But he said: "Well, foster son (for thou art pretty much that to me),
since the good town pleasureth thee little, go we further afield."

So he led him out of the market-place, and brought him to the east gate
of the town which hight Petergate Bar, and forth they went and out into
the meadows under the walls, and stayed him at a little bridge over one
of the streams, for it was a land of many waters; there they sat down
in a nook, and spake Richard to Ralph, saying:

"Lord Ralph, ill it were if the Upmeads kindred came to naught, or even
to little. Now as for my own master Blaise, he hath, so please you,
the makings of a noble chapman, but not of a noble knight; though he
sayeth that when he is right rich he will cast aside all chaffer;
naught of which he will do. As for the others, my lord Gregory is no
better, or indeed worse, save that he shall not be rich ever, having no
mastery over himself; while lord Hugh is like to be slain in some empty
brawl, unless he come back speedily to Upmeads."

"Yea, yea," said Ralph, "what then? I came not hither to hear thee
missay my mother's sons." But Richard went on: "As for thee, lord
Ralph, of thee I looked for something; but now I cannot tell; for the
heart in thee seemeth to be dead; and thou must look to it lest the
body die also." "So be it!" said Ralph.

Said Richard: "I am old now, but I have been young, and many things
have I seen and suffered, ere I came to Upmeads. Old am I, and I
cannot feel certain hopes and griefs as a young man can; yet have I
bought the knowledge of them dear enough, and have not forgotten.
Whereby I wot well that my drearihead is concerning a woman. Is it not
so?" "Yea," quoth Ralph. Said Richard: "Now shalt thou tell me
thereof, and so lighten thine heart a little." "I will not tell thee,"
said Ralph; "or, rather, to speak more truly, I cannot." "Yea," said
Richard, "and though it were now an easier thing for me to tell thee of
the griefs of my life than for thee to hearken to the tale, yet I
believe thee. But mayhappen thou mayst tell me of one thing that thou
desirest more than another." Said Ralph: "I desire to die." And the
tears started in his eyes therewith. But Richard spake, smiling on him
kindly: "That way is open for thee on any day of the week. Why hast
thou not taken it already?" But Ralph answered naught. Richard said:
"Is it not because thou hopest to desire something; if not to-day, then
to-morrow, or the next day or the next?" Still Ralph spake no word; but
he wept. Quoth Richard: "Maybe I may help thee to a hope, though thou
mayest think my words wild. In the land and the thorp where I was born
and bred there was talk now and again of a thing to be sought, which
should cure sorrow, and make life blossom in the old, and uphold life
in the young." "Yea," said Ralph, looking up from his tears, "and what
was that? and why hast thou never told me thereof before?" "Nay," said
Richard, "and why should I tell it to the merry lad I knew in Upmeads?
but now thou art a man, and hast seen the face of sorrow, it is meet
that thou shouldest hear of THE WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph sprang to his feet as he said the word, and cried out eagerly:
"Old friend, and where then wert thou bred and born?" Richard laughed
and said: "See, then, there is yet a deed and a day betwixt thee and
death! But turn about and look straight over the meadows in a line
with yonder willow-tree, and tell me what thou seest." Said Ralph:
"The fair plain spreading wide, and a river running through it, and
little hills beyond the water, and blue mountains beyond them, and snow
yet lying on the tops of them, though the year is in young July."
"Yea," quoth Richard; "and seest thou on the first of the little hills
beyond the river, a great grey tower rising up and houses anigh it?"
"Yea," said Ralph, "the tower I see, and the houses, for I am
far-sighted; but the houses are small." "So it is," said Richard; "now
yonder tower is of the Church of Swevenham, which is under the
invocation of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus; and the houses are the
houses of the little town. And what has that to do with me? sayest
thou: why this, that I was born and bred at Swevenham. And indeed I
it was who brought my lord Blaise here to Whitwall, with tales of how
good a place it was for chaffer, that I might see the little town and
the great grey tower once more. Forsooth I lied not, for thy brother
is happy here, whereas he is piling up the coins one upon the other.
Forsooth thou shouldest go into his booth, fair lord; it is a goodly
sight."

But Ralph was walking to and fro hastily, and he turned to Richard and
said: "Well, well! but why dost thou not tell me more of the Well at
the World's End?"

Said Richard: "I was going to tell thee somewhat which might be worth
thy noting; or might not be worth it: hearken! When I dwelt at
Swevenham over yonder, and was but of eighteen winters, who am now of
three score and eight, three folk of our township, two young men and
one young woman, set out thence to seek the said Well: and much lore
they had concerning it, which they had learned of an old man, a nigh
kinsman of one of them. This ancient carle I had never seen, for he
dwelt in the mountains a way off, and these men were some five years
older than I, so that I was a boy when they were men grown; and such
things I heeded not, but rather sport and play; and above all, I longed
for the play of war and battle. God wot I have had my bellyful of it
since those days! Howbeit I mind me the setting forth of these three.
They had a sumpter-ass with them for their livelihood on the waste; but
they went afoot crowned with flowers, and the pipe and tabour playing
before them, and much people brought them on the way. By St.
Christopher! I can see it all as if it were yesterday. I was sorry of
the departure of the damsel; for though I was a boy I had loved her,
and she had suffered me to kiss her and toy with her; but it was soon
over. Now I call to mind that they had prayed our priest, Sir Cyprian,
to bless them on their departure, but he naysaid them; for he held that
such a quest came of the inspiration of the devils, and was but a
memory of the customs of the ancient gentiles and heathen. But as to
me, I deemed it naught, and was sorry that my white-bosomed,
sweet-breathed friend should walk away from me thus into the clouds."

"What came of it?" said Ralph, "did they come back, or any of them?" "I
wot not," said Richard, "for I was weary of Swevenham after that, so I
girt myself to a sword and laid a spear upon my shoulder and went my
ways to the Castle of the Waste March, sixty miles from Swevenham town,
and the Baron took me in and made me his man: and almost as little
profit were in my telling thee again of my deeds there, as there was in
my doing them: but the grey tower of Swevenham I have never seen again
till this hour."

Said Ralph: "Now then it behoveth me to go to Swevenham straightway:
wilt thou come with me? it seemeth to be but some four miles hence."

Richard held his peace and knit his brows as if pondering the matter,
and Ralph abided till he spake: so he said: "Foster-son, so to call
thee, thou knowest the manner of up-country carles, that tales flow
forth from them the better if they come without over much digging and
hoeing of the ground; that is, without questioning; so meseems better
it will be if I go to Swevenham alone, and better if I be asked to go,
than if I go of myself. Now to-morrow is Saturday, and high market in
Whitwall; and I am not so old but that it is likeliest that there will
be some of my fellows alive and on their legs in Swevenham: and if such
there be, there will be one at the least in the market to-morrow, and I
will be there to find him out: and then it will go hard if he bring me
not to Swevenham as a well-beloved guest; and when I am there, and
telling my tidings, and asking them of theirs, if there be any tales
concerning the Well at the World's End working in their bellies, then
shall I be the midwife to bring them to birth. Ha? Will it do?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "but how long wilt thou be?" Said Richard: "I shall
come back speedily if I find the land barren; but if the field be in
ear I shall tarry to harvest it. So keep thou thy soul in patience."
"And what shall I do now?" said Ralph. "Wear away the hours," said
Richard. "And to begin with, come back within the gates with me and
let us go look at thy brother's booth in the market-place: it is the
nethermost of a goodly house which he is minded to dwell in; and he
will marry a wife and sit down in Whitwall, so well he seemeth like to
thrive; for they have already bidden him to the freedom of the city,
and to a brother of the Faring-Knights, whereas he is not only a
stirring man, but of good lineage also: for now he hideth not that he
is of the Upmeads kindred."



CHAPTER 14

Ralph Falleth in With Another Old Friend


Ralph went with Richard now without more words, and they came into the
market-place and unto Blaise's booth and house, which was no worse than
the best in the place; and the painters and stainers were at work on
the upper part of it to make it as bright and goodly as might be with
red and blue and green and gold, and all fair colours, and already was
there a sign hung out of the fruitful tree by the water-side. As for
the booth, it was full within of many wares and far-fetched and
dear-bought things; as pieces of good and fine cloth plumbed with the
seal of the greatest of the cities; and silk of Babylon, and spices of
the hot burning islands, and wonders of the silversmith's and the
goldsmith's fashioning, and fair-wrought weapons and armour of the
best, and every thing that a rich chapman may deal in. And amidst of
it all stood Blaise clad in fine black cloth welted with needle work,
and a gold chain about his neck. He was talking with three honourable
men of the Port, and they were doing him honour with kind words and the
bidding of help. When he saw Ralph and Richard come in, he nodded to
them, as to men whom he loved, but were beneath him in dignity, and
left not talking with the great men. Richard grinned a little thereat,
as also did Ralph in his heart; for he thought: "Here then is one of
the Upmeads kin provided for, so that soon he may buy with his money
two domains as big as Upmeads and call them his manors."

Now Ralph looks about him, and presently he sees a man come forward to
meet him from the innermost of the booth, and lo! there was come
Clement Chapman. His heart rose at the sight of him, and he thought of
his kind gossip till he could scarce withhold his tears. But Clement
came to him and cast his arms about him, and kissed him, and said:
"Thou shalt pardon me for this, lord, for it is the kiss of the gossip
which she bade me give thee, if I fell in with thee, as now I have,
praised be the Saints! Yet it irks me that I shall see little more of
thee at this time, for to-morrow early I must needs join myself to my
company; for we are going south awhile to a good town some fifty miles
hence. Nevertheless, if thou dwellest here some eight days I shall see
thee again belike, since thereafter I get me eastward on a hard and
long journey not without peril. How sayest thou?"

"I wot not," quoth Ralph looking at Richard. Said Richard: "Thou mayst
wot well, master Clement, that my lord is anhungered of the praise of
the folks, and is not like to abide in a mere merchant-town till the
mould grow on his back." "Well, well," said Clement, "however that may
be, I have now done my matters with this cloth-lord, Blaise, and he has
my florins in his pouch: so will not ye twain come with me and drink a
cup till he hath done his talk with these magnates?"

Ralph was nothing loth, for besides that he loved master Clement, and
that his being in company was like having a piece of his home anigh
him, he hoped to hear some tidings concerning the Well at the World's
End.

So he and Richard went with master Clement to the Christopher, a fair
ale-house over against the Great Church, and sat down to good wine; and
Ralph asked of Clement many things concerning dame Katherine his
gossip, and Clement told him all, and that she was well, and had been
to Upmeads, and had seen King Peter and the mother of Ralph; and how
she had assuaged his mother's grief at his departure by forecasting
fair days for her son. All this Ralph heard gladly, though he was
somewhat shamefaced withal, and sat silent and thinking of many
matters. But Richard took up the word and said: "Which way camest thou
from Wulstead, master Clement?" "The nighest way I came," said
Clement, "through the Woods Perilous." Said Richard: "And they of the
Dry Tree, heardest thou aught of them?" "Yea, certes," quoth Clement,
"for I fell in with their Bailiff, and paid him due scot for the
passage of the Wood; he knoweth me withal, and we talked together."
"And had he any tidings to tell thee of the champions?" said Richard.
Said Clement, "Great tidings maybe, how that there was a rumour that
they had lost their young Queen and Lady; and if that be true, it will
go nigh to break their hearts, so sore as they loved her. And that
will make them bitter and fierce, till their grief has been slaked by
the blood of men. And that the more as their old Queen abideth still,
and she herself is ever of that mind."

Ralph hearkened, and his heart was wounded that other men should speak
of his beloved: but he heard how Richard said: "Hast thou ever known
why that company of champions took the name of the Dry Tree?" "Why,
who should know that, if thou knowest it not, Richard of Swevenham?"
said Clement: "Is it not by the token of the Dry Tree that standeth in
the lands on the hither side of the Wall of the World?" Richard nodded
his head; but Ralph cried out: "O Master Clement, and hast thou seen
it, the Wall of the World?" "Yea, afar off, my son," said he; "or what
the folk with me called so; as to the Dry Tree, I have told thee at
Wulstead that I have seen it not, though I have known men who have told
me that they have seen it." "And must they who find the Well at the
World's End come by the Dry Tree?" "Yea, surely," said Clement. Quoth
Richard: "And thus have some heard, who have gone on that quest, and
they have heard of the Champions of Hampton, and have gone thither,
being deceived by that name of the Dry Tree, and whiles have been slain
by the champions, whiles have entered their company." "Yea," said
Clement, "so it is that their first error hath ended their quest. But
now, lord Ralph, I will tell thee one thing; to wit, that when I return
hither after eight days wearing, I shall be wending east, as I said
e'en now, and what will that mean save going somewhat nigher to the
Wall of the World; for my way lieth beyond the mountains that ye see
from hence, and beyond the mountains that lie the other side of those;
and I bid thee come with us, and I will be thy warrant that so far thou
shalt have no harm: but when thou hast come so far, and hast seen three
very fair cities, besides towns and castles and thorps and strange men,
and fair merchandize, God forbid that thou shouldest wend further, and
so cast away thy young life for a gay-coloured cloud. Then will be the
time to come back with me, that I may bring thee through the perils of
the way to Wulstead, and Upmeads at the last, and the folk that love
thee."

Richard held his peace at this word, but Ralph said: "I thank thee,
Master Clement, for thy love and thy helping hand; and will promise
thee to abide thee here eight days at the least; and meanwhile I will
ponder the matter well."



CHAPTER 15

Ralph Dreams a Dream Or Sees a Vision


Therewithall they parted after more talk concerning small matters, and
Ralph wore through the day, but Richard again did him to wit, that on
the morrow he would find his old friends of Swevenham in the Market.
And Ralph was come to life again more than he had been since that evil
hour in the desert; though hard and hard he deemed it that he should
never see his love again.

Now as befalleth young men, he was a good sleeper, and dreamed but
seldom, save such light and empty dreams as he might laugh at, if
perchance he remembered them by then his raiment was on him in the
morning. But that night him-seemed that he awoke in his chamber at
Whitwall, and was lying on his bed, as he verily was, and the door of
the chamber opened, and there entered quietly the Lady of the Woodland,
dight even as he had seen her as she lay dead beside their cooking fire
on that table of greensward in the wilderness, barefoot and garlanded
about her brow and her girdlestead, but fair and fresh coloured as she
was before the sword had pierced her side; and he thought that he
rejoiced to see her, but no wild hope rose in his heart, and no sobbing
passion blinded his eyes, nor did he stretch out hand to touch her,
because he remembered that she was dead. But he thought she spake to
him and said: "I know that thou wouldst have me speak, therefore I say
that I am come to bid thee farewell, since there was no farewell
between us in the wilderness, and I know that thou are about going on a
long and hard and perilous journey: and I would that I could kiss thee
and embrace thee, but I may not, for this is but the image of me as
thou hast known me. Furthermore, as I loved thee when I saw thee
first, for thy youth, and thy fairness, and thy kindness and thy
valiancy, so now I rejoice that all this shall endure so long in thee,
as it surely shall."

Then the voice ceased, but still the image stood before him awhile, and
he wondered if she would speak again, and tell him aught of the way to
the Well at the World's End; and she spake again: "Nay," she said, "I
cannot, since we may not tread the way together hand in hand; and this
is part of the loss that thou hast had of me; and oh! but it is hard
and hard." And her face became sad and distressful, and she turned and
departed as she had come.

Then he knew not if he awoke, or if it were a change in his dream; but
the chamber became dark about him, and he lay there thinking of her,
till, as it seemed, day began to dawn, and there was some little stir
in the world without, and the new wind moved the casement. And again
the door opened, and someone entered as before; and this also was a
woman: green-clad she was and barefoot, yet he knew at once that it
was not his love that was dead, but the damsel of the ale-house of
Bourton, whom he had last seen by the wantways of the Wood Perilous,
and he thought her wondrous fair, fairer than he had deemed. And the
word came from her: "I am a sending of the woman whom thou hast loved,
and I should not have been here save she had sent me." Then the words
ended, while he looked at her and wondered if she also had died on the
way to the Well at the World's End. And it came into his mind that he
had never known her name upon the earth. Then again came the word:
"So it is that I am not dead but alive in the world, though I am far
away from this land; and it is good that thou shouldst go seek the Well
at the World's End not all alone: and the seeker may find me: and
whereas thou wouldst know my name, I hight Dorothea."

So fell the words again: and this image stood awhile as the other had
done, and as the other had done, departed, and once more the chamber
became dark, so that Ralph could not so much as see where was the
window, and he knew no more till he woke in the early morn, and there
was stir in the street and the voice of men, and the scent of fresh
herbs and worts, and fruits; for it was market-day, and the country
folk were early afoot, that they might array their wares timely in the
market-place.



CHAPTER 16

Of the Tales of Swevenham


Old Richard was no worse than his word, and failed not to find old
acquaintance of Swevenham in the Saturday's market: and Ralph saw
naught of him till midweek afterwards. And he was sitting in the
chamber of the hostel when Richard came in to him. Forsooth Blaise had
bidden him come dwell in his fair house, but Ralph would not, deeming
that he might be hindered in his quest and be less free to go whereso
he would, if he were dwelling with one who was so great with the
magnates as was Blaise.

Now Ralph was reading in a book when Richard came in, but he stood up
and greeted him; and Richard said smiling: "What have ye found in the
book, lord?" Said Ralph: "It telleth of the deeds of Alexander." "Is
there aught concerning the Well at the World's End therein?" said
Richard. "I have not found aught thereof as yet," said Ralph; "but the
book tells concerning the Dry Tree, and of kings sitting in their
chairs in the mountains nearby."

"Well then," said Richard, "maybe thou wilt think me the better
tale-teller." "Tell on then," quoth Richard. So they went and sat them
down in a window, and Richard said:

"When I came to Swevenham with two old men that I had known young, the
folk made much of me, and made me good cheer, whereof were over long to
tell thee; but to speak shortly, I drew the talk round to the matter
that we would wot of: for we spake of the Men of the Dry Tree, and an
old man began to say, as master Clement the other day, that this name
of theirs was but a token and an armoury which those champions have
taken from the Tree itself, which Alexander the Champion saw in his
wayfarings; and he said that this tree was on the hither side of the
mountains called the Wall of the World, and no great way from the last
of the towns whereto Clement will wend; for Clement told me the name
thereof, to wit, Goldburg. Then another and an older man, one that I
remember a stout carle ere I left Swevenham, said that this was not so,
but that the Tree was on the further side of the Wall of the World, and
that he who could lay his hand on the bole thereof was like enough to
drink of the Well at the World's End. Thereafter another spake, and
told a tale of how the champions at Hampton first took the Dry Tree for
a token; and he said that the rumour ran, that a woman had brought the
tidings thereof to those valiant men, and had fixed the name upon them,
though wherefore none knew. So the talk went on.

"But there was a carline sitting in the ingle, and she knew me and I
her. And indeed in days past, when I was restless and longing to
depart, she might have held me at Swevenham, for she was one of the
friends that I loved there: a word and a kiss had done it, or maybe the
kiss without the word: but if I had the word, I had not the kiss of
her. Well, when the talk began to fall, she spake and said to me:

"'Now it is somewhat strange that the talk must needs fall on this
seeking of that which shall not be found, whereas it was but the month
before thou wert last at Swevenham, that Wat Miller and Simon Bowyer
set off to seek the Well at the World's End, and took with them Alice
of Queenhough, whom Simon loved as well as might be, and Wat somewhat
more than well. Mindest thou not? There are more than I alive that
remember it.'

"'Yea,' said I, 'I remember it well.'

"For indeed, foster-son, these were the very three of whom I told thee,
though I told thee not their names.

"'Well,' said I; 'how sped they? Came they back, or any of them?'
'Nay,' she said, 'that were scarce to be looked for.' Said I: 'Have
any other to thy knowledge gone on this said quest?'

"'Yea,' she said, 'I will tell thee all about it, and then there will
be an end of the story, for none knoweth better thereof than I. First
there was that old man, the wizard, to whom folk from Swevenham and
other places about were used to seek for his lore in hidden matters;
and some months after those three had departed, folk who went to his
abode amongst the mountains found him not; and soon the word was about
that he also, for as feeble as he was, had gone to seek the Well at the
World's End; though may-happen it was not so. Then the next spring
after thy departure, Richard, comes home Arnold Wright from the wars,
and asks after Alice; and when he heard what had befallen, he takes a
scrip with a little meat for the road, lays his spear on his shoulder,
and is gone seeking the lost, and the thing which they found not--that,
I deem, was the end of him. Again the year after that, as I deem,
three of our carles fell in with two knights riding east from Whitwall,
and were questioned of them concerning the road to the said Well, and
doubted not but that they were on that quest. Furthermore (and some of
you wot this well enough, and more belike know it not) two of our young
men were faring by night and cloud on some errand, good or bad, it
matters not, on the highway thirty miles east of Whitwall: it was after
harvest, and the stubble-fields lay on either side of the way, and the
moon was behind thin clouds, so that it was light on the way, as they
told me; and they saw a woman wending before them afoot, and as they
came up with her, the moon ran out, and they saw that the woman was
fair, and that about her neck was a chaplet of gems that shone in the
moon, and they had a longing both for the jewel and the woman: but
before they laid hand on her they asked her of whence and whither, and
she said: From ruin and wrack to the Well at the World's End, and
therewith turned on them with a naked sword in her hand; so that they
shrank from before her.

"'Hearken once more: the next year came a knight to Swevenham, and
guested in this same house, and he sat just where sitteth now yon
yellow-headed swain, and the talk went on the same road as it hath gone
to-night; and I told him all the tale as I have said it e'en now; and
he asked many questions, but most of the Lady with the pair of beads.
And on the morrow he departed and we saw him not again.

"Then she was silent, but the young man at whom she had pointed blushed
red and stared at her wide-eyed, but said no word. But I spake: 'Well
dame, but have none else gone from Swevenham, or what hath befallen
them?'

"She said: 'Hearken yet! Twenty years agone a great sickness lay
heavy upon us and the folk of Whitwall, and when it was at its worst,
five of our young men, calling to mind all the tales concerning the
Well at the World's End, went their ways to seek it, and swore that
back would they never, save they found it and could bear its water to
the folk of Swevenham; and I suppose they kept their oath; for we saw
naught either of the water or of them. Well, I deem that this is the
last that I have to tell thee, Richard, concerning this matter: and now
is come the time for thee to tell tales of thyself.'

"Thus for that time dropped the talk of the Well at the World's End,
Lord Ralph, and of the way thither. But I hung about the township yet
a while, and yesterday as I stood on their stone bridge, and looked on
the water, up comes that long lad with the yellow hair that the dame
had pointed at, and says to me: 'Master Richard, saving thine age and
thy dignity and mastery, I can join an end to the tale which the
carline began on Sunday night.' 'Yea, forsooth?' said I, 'and how, my
lad?' Said he: 'Thou hast a goodly knife there in thy girdle, give it
to me, and I will tell thee.' 'Yea,' quoth I, 'if thy tale be
knife-worthy.'

"Well, the end of it was that he told me thus: That by night and moon
he came on one riding the highway, just about where the other woman had
been seen, whose tale he had heard of. He deemed at first this rider
to be a man, or a lad rather for smallness and slenderness, but coming
close up he found it was a woman, and saw on her neck a chaplet of
gems, and deemed it no great feat to take it of her: but he asked her
of whence and whither, and she answered:

"'From unrest to the Well at the World's End.'

"Then when he put out his hand to her, he saw a great anlace gleaming
in her hand, wherefore he forbore her; and this was but five days ago.

"So I gave the lad my knife, and deemed there would be little else to
hear in Swevenham for this bout; and at least I heard no more tales to
tell till I came away this morning; so there is my poke turned inside
out for thee. But this word further would I say to thee, that I have
seen on thy neck also a pair of beads exceeding goodly. Tell me now
whence came they."

"From my gossip, dame Katherine," said Ralph; "and it seems to me now,
though at the time I heeded the gift little save for its kindness, that
she thought something great might go with it; and there was a monk at
Higham on the Way, who sorely longed to have it of me." "Well," said
Richard, "that may well come to pass, that it shall lead thee to the
Well at the World's End. But as to the tales of Swevenham, what
deemest thou of them?" Said Ralph: "What are they, save a token that
folk believe that there is such a thing on earth as the Well? Yet I
have made up my mind already that I would so do as if I trowed in it.
So I am no nearer to it than erst. Now is there naught for it save to
abide Master Clement's coming; and when he hath brought me to Goldburg,
then shall I see how the quest looks by the daylight of that same
city." He spake so cheerfully that Richard looked at him askance,
wondering what was toward with him, and if mayhappen anything lay
underneath those words of his.

But in his heart Ralph was thinking of that last tale of the woman whom
the young man had met such a little while ago; and it seemed to him
that she must have been in Whitwall when he first came there; and he
scarce knew whether he were sorry or not that he had missed her: for
though it seemed to him that it would be little more than mere grief
and pain, nay, that it would be wicked and evil to be led to the Well
at the World's End by any other than her who was to have brought him
there; yet he longed, or thought he longed to speak with her concerning
that love of his heart, so early rewarded, so speedily beggared. For
indeed he doubted not that the said woman was the damsel of Bourton
Abbas, whose image had named herself Dorothea to him in that dream.



CHAPTER 17

Richard Bringeth Tidings of Departing


Fell the talk between them at that time, and three days wore, and on
the morning of the fourth day came Richard to Ralph, and said to him:
"Foster-son, I am sorry for the word I must say, but Clement Chapman
came within the gates this morning early, and the company with which he
is riding are alboun for the road, and will depart at noon to-day, so
that there are but four hours wherein we twain may be together; and
thereafter whatso may betide thee, it may well be, that I shall see thy
face no more; so what thou wilt tell me must be told straightway. And
now I will say this to thee, that of all things I were fain to ride
with thee, but I may not, because it is Blaise whom I am bound to serve
in all ways. And I deem, moreover, that troublous times may be at hand
here in Whitwall. For there is an Earl hight Walter the Black, a fair
young man outwardly, but false at heart and a tyrant, and he had some
occasion against the good town, and it was looked for that he should
send his herald here to defy the Port more than a half moon ago; but
about that time he was hurt in a fray as we hear, and may not back a
horse in battle yet. Albeit, fristed is not forgotten, as saith the
saw; and when he is whole again, we may look for him at our gates; and
whereas Blaise knows me for a deft man-at-arms or something more, it is
not to be looked for that he will give me to thee for this quest. Nay,
of thee also it will be looked for that thou shouldest do knightly
service to the Port, and even so Blaise means it to be; therefore have
I lied to him on thy behalf, and bidden Clement also to lie (which
forsooth he may do better than I, since he wotteth not wholly whither
thou art minded), and I have said thou wouldst go with Clement no
further than Cheaping Knowe, which lieth close to the further side of
these mountains, and will be back again in somewhat more than a
half-moon's wearing. So now thou art warned hereof."

Ralph was moved by these words of Richard, and he spake: "Forsooth, old
friend, I am sorry to depart from thee; yet though I shall presently be
all alone amongst aliens, yet now is manhood rising again in me. So
for that cause at least shall I be glad to be on the way; and as a
token that I am more whole than I was, I will now tell thee the tale of
my grief, if thou wilt hearken to it, which the other day I might not
tell thee."

"I will hearken it gladly," said Richard. And therewith they sat down
in a window, for they were within doors in the hostel, and Ralph told
all that had befallen him as plainly and shortly as he might; and when
he had done, Richard said:

"Thou has had much adventure in a short space, lord, and if thou
mightest now refrain thy longing for that which is gone, and set it on
that which is to come, thou mayest yet harden into a famous knight and
a happy man." Said Ralph: "Yea? now tell me all thy thought."

Said Richard: "My thought is that this lady who was slain, was scarce
wholly of the race of Adam; but that at the least there was some
blending in her of the blood of the fays. Or how deemest thou?"

"I wot not," said Ralph sadly; "to me she seemed but a woman, though
she were fairer and wiser than other women." Said Richard: "Well,
furthermore, if I heard thee aright, there is another woman in the tale
who is also fairer and wiser than other women?"

"I would she were my sister!" said Ralph. "Yea," quoth Richard, "and
dost thou bear in mind what she was like? I mean the fashion of her
body." "Yea, verily," said Ralph.

Again said Richard: "Doth it seem to thee as if the Lady of the Dry
Tree had some inkling that thou shouldst happen upon this other woman:
whereas she showed her of the road to the Well at the World's End, and
gave her that pair of beads, and meant that thou also shouldest go
thither? And thou sayest that she praised her,--her beauty and wisdom.
In what wise did she praise her? how came the words forth from her?
was it sweetly?"

"Like honey and roses for sweetness," said Ralph. "Yea," said Richard,
"and she might have praised her in such wise that the words had came
forth like gall and vinegar. Now I will tell thee of my thought, since
we be at point of sundering, though thou take it amiss and be wroth
with me: to wit, that thou wouldst have lost the love of this lady as
time wore, even had she not been slain: and she being, if no fay, yet
wiser than other women, and foreseeing, knew that so it would be."
Ralph brake in: "Nay, nay, it is not so, it is not so!" "Hearken,
youngling!" quoth Richard; "I deem that it was thus. Her love for thee
was so kind that she would have thee happy after the sundering:
therefore she was minded that thou shouldest find the damsel, who as I
deem loveth thee, and that thou shouldest love her truly."

"O nay, nay!" said Ralph, "all this guess of thine is naught, saying
that she was kind indeed. Even as heaven is kind to them who have died
martyrs, and enter into its bliss after many torments."

And therewith he fell a-weeping at the very thought of her great
kindness: for indeed to this young man she had seemed great, and
exalted far above him.

Richard looked at him a while; and then said: "Now, I pray thee be not
wroth with me for the word I have spoken. But something more shall I
say, which shall like thee better. To wit, when I came back from
Swevenham on Wednesday I deemed it most like that the Well at the
World's End was a tale, a coloured cloud only; or that at most if it
were indeed on the earth, that thou shouldest never find it. But now
is my mind changed by the hearing of thy tale, and I deem both that the
Well verily is, and that thou thyself shalt find it; and that the wise
Lady knew this, and set the greater store by thy youth and goodliness,
as a richer and more glorious gift than it had been, were it as
fleeting as such things mostly be. Now of this matter will I say no
more; but I think that the words that I have said, and which now seem
so vain to thee, shall come into thy mind on some later day, and avail
thee somewhat; and that is why I have spoken them. But this again is
another word, that I have got a right good horse for thee, and other
gear, such as thou mayest need for the road, and that Clement's
fellowship will meet in Petergate hard by the church, and I will be thy
squire till thou comest thither, and ridest thence out a-gates. Now I
suppose that thou will want to bid Blaise farewell: yet thou must look
to it that he will not deem thy farewell of great moment, since he
swimmeth in florins and goodly wares; and moreover deemeth that thou
wilt soon be back here."

"Nevertheless," said Ralph, "I must needs cast my arms about my own
mother's son before I depart: so go we now, as all this talk hath worn
away more than an hour of those four that were left me."



CHAPTER 18

Ralph Departeth From Whitwall With the Fellowship of Clement Chapman


Therewithal they went together to Blaise's house, and when Blaise saw
them, he said: "Well, Ralph, so thou must needs work at a little more
idling before thou fallest to in earnest. Forsooth I deem that when
thou comest back thou wilt find that we have cut thee out a goodly
piece of work for thy sewing. For the good town is gathering a gallant
host of men; and we shall look to thee to do well in the hard
hand-play, whenso that befalleth. But now come and look at my house
within, how fair it is, and thou wilt see that thou wilt have somewhat
to fight for, whereas I am."

Therewith he led them up a stair into the great chamber, which was all
newly dight and hung with rich arras of the Story of Hercules; and
there was a goodly cupboard of silver vessel, and some gold, and the
cupboard was of five shelves as was but meet for a king's son. So
Ralph praised all, but was wishful to depart, for his heart was sore,
and he blamed himself in a manner that he must needs lie to his brother.

But Blaise brought them to the upper chamber, and showed them the
goodly beds with their cloths, and hangings, and all was as fair as
might be. Then Blaise bade bring wine and made them drink; and he gave
Ralph a purse of gold, and an anlace very fair of fashion, and brought
him to the door thereafter; and Ralph cast his arms about him, and
kissed him and strained him to his breast. But Blaise was somewhat
moved thereat, and said to him: "Why lad, thou art sorry to depart
from me for a little while, and what would it be, were it for long?
But ever wert thou a kind and tender-hearted youngling, and we twain
are alone in an alien land. Forsooth, I wot that thou hast, as it
were, embraced the Upmeads kindred, father, mother and all; and good is
that! So now God and the Saints keep thee, and bear in mind the
hosting of the good town, and the raising of the banner, that shall be
no great while. Fare thee well, lad!"

So they parted, and Ralph went back to the hostel, and gathered his
stuff together, and laid it on a sumpter horse, and armed him, and so
went into Petergate to join himself to that company. There he found
the chapmen, five of them in all, and their lads, and a score of
men-at-arms, with whom was Clement, not clad like a merchant, but
weaponed, and bearing a coat of proof and a bright sallet on his head.

They greeted each the other, and Ralph said: "Yea, master Clement, and
be we riding to battle?" "Maybe," quoth Clement; "the way is long, and
our goods worth the lifting, and there are some rough places that we
must needs pass through. But if ye like not the journey, abide here in
this town the onset of Walter the Black."

Therewith he laughed, and Ralph understanding the jape, laughed also;
and said: "Well, master Clement, but tell me who be these that we
shall meet." "Yea, and I will tell thee the whole tale of them," said
Clement, "but abide till we are without the gates; I am busy man e'en
now, for all is ready for the road, save what I must do. So now bid
thy Upmeads squire farewell, and then to horse with thee!"

So Ralph cast his arms about Richard, and kissed him and said: "This is
also a farewell to the House where I was born and bred." And as he
spake the thought of the House and the garden, and the pleasant fields
of Upmeads came into his heart so bitter-sweet, that it mingled with
his sorrow, and well-nigh made him weep. But as for Richard he
forebore words, for he was sad at heart for the sundering.

Then he gat to horse, and the whole company of them bestirred them, and
they rode out a-gates. And master Clement it was that ordered them,
riding up and down along the array.

But Ralph fell to speech with the chapmen and men-at-arms; and both of
these were very courteous with him; for they rejoiced in his company,
and especially the chapmen, who were somewhat timorous of the perils of
the road.



CHAPTER 19

Master Clement Tells Ralph Concerning the Lands Whereunto They Were
Riding


When they were gotten a mile or two from Whitwall, and all was going
smoothly, Clement came up to Ralph and rode at his left hand, and fell
to speech with him, and said: "Now, lord, will I tell thee more
concerning our journey, and the folk that we are like to meet upon the
road. And of the perils, whatso they may be, I told thee not before,
because I knew thee desirous of seeking adventures east-away, and knew
that my tales would not hinder thee."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and had not this goodly fellowship been, I had gone
alone, or with any carle that I could have lightly hired."

Clement laughed and said: "Fair sir, thou wouldst have failed of
hiring any one man to go with thee east-ward a many miles. For with
less than a score of men well-armed the danger of death or captivity is
over great, if ye ride the mountain ways unto Cheaping Knowe. Yea, and
even if a poor man who hath nothing, wend that way alone, he may well
fall among thieves, and be stolen himself body and bones, for lack of
anything better to steal."

Hereat Ralph felt his heart rise, when he thought of battle and strife,
and he made his horse to spring somewhat, and then he said: "It liketh
me well, dear friend, that I ride not with thee for naught, but that I
may earn my daily bread like another."

"Yea," said Clement, looking on him kindly, "I deem of all thy brethren
thou hast the biggest share of the blood of Red Robert, who first won
Upmeads. And now thou shalt know that this good town of Whitwall that
lieth behind us is the last of the lands we shall come to wherein folk
can any courtesy, or are ruled by the customs of the manor, or by due
lawful Earls and Kings, or the laws of the Lineage or the Port, or have
any Guilds for their guiding, and helping. And though these folks
whereunto we shall come, are, some of them, Christian men by name, and
have amongst them priests and religious; yet are they wild men of
manners, and many heathen customs abide amongst them; as swearing on
the altars of devils, and eating horse-flesh at the High-tides, and
spell-raising more than enough, and such like things, even to the
reddening of the doom-rings with the blood of men and of women, yea,
and of babes: from such things their priests cannot withhold them. As
for their towns that we shall come to, I say not but we shall find
crafts amongst them, and worthy good men therein, but they have little
might against the tyrants who reign over the towns, and who are of no
great kindred, nor of blood better than other folk, but merely
masterful and wise men who have gained their place by cunning and the
high hand. Thou shalt see castles and fair strong-houses about the
country-side, but the great men who dwell therein are not the natural
kindly lords of the land yielding service to Earls, Dukes, and Kings,
and having under them vavassors and villeins, men of the manor; but
their tillers and shepherds and workmen and servants be mere thralls,
whom they may sell at any market, like their horses or oxen. Forsooth
these great men have with them for the more part free men waged for
their service, who will not hold their hands from aught that their
master biddeth, not staying to ask if it be lawful or unlawful. And
that the more because whoso is a free man there, house and head must he
hold on the tenure of bow and sword, and his life is like to be short
if he hath not sworn himself to the service of some tyrant of a castle
or a town."

"Yea, master Clement," said Ralph, "these be no peaceful lands whereto
thou art bringing us, or very pleasant to dwell in."

"Little for peace, but much for profit," said Clement; "for these lands
be fruitful of wine and oil and wheat, and neat and sheep; withal
metals and gems are dug up out of the mountains; and on the other hand,
they make but little by craftsmanship, wherefore are they the eagerer
for chaffer with us merchants; whereas also there are many of them well
able to pay for what they lack, if not in money, then in kind, which in
a way is better. Yea, it is a goodly land for merchants."

"But I am no merchant," said Ralph.

"So it is," said Clement, "yet thou desireth something; and whither we
are wending thou mayst hear tidings that shall please thee, or tidings
that shall please me. To say sooth, these two may well be adverse to
each other, for I would not have thee hear so much of tidings as shall
lead thee on, but rather I would have thee return with me, and not
throw thy young life away: for indeed I have an inkling of what thou
seekest, and meseems that Death and the Devil shall be thy
faring-fellows."

Ralph held his peace, and Clement said in a cheerfuller voice:
"Moreover, there shall be strange and goodly things to see; and the men
of these parts be mostly goodly of body, and the women goodlier yet, as
we carles deem."

Ralph sighed, and answered not at once, but presently he said: "Master
Clement, canst thou give me the order of our goings for these next
days?" "Yea, certes," said Clement. "In three days' time we shall
come to the entry of the mountains: two days thence we shall go without
coming under any roof save the naked heavens; the day thereafter shall
we come to the Mid-Mountain House, which is as it were an hostelry; but
it was built and is upheld by the folks that dwell anigh, amongst whom
be the folk of Cheaping Knowe; and that house is hallowed unto truce,
and no man smiteth another therein; so that we oft come on the mountain
strong-thieves there, and there we be blithe together and feast
together in good fellowship. But when there be foemen in that house
together, each man or each fellowship departing, hath grace of an hour
before his foeman follow. Such are the customs of that house, and no
man breaketh them ever. But when we depart thence we shall ride all
day and sleep amidst the mountains, and if we be not beset that night
or the morrow's morn thereof, safe and unfoughten shall we come to
Cheaping Knowe. Doth that suffice thee as at this time?" "Yea master,"
quoth Ralph.

So therewith their talk dropped, for the moment; but Clement talked
much with Ralph that day, and honoured him much, as did all that
company.



CHAPTER 20

They Come to the Mid-Mountain Guest-House


On that night they slept in their tents which they had pitched on the
field of a little thorp beside a water; and there they had meat and
drink and all things as they needed them. And in likewise it befell
them the next day; but the third evening they set up their tents on a
little hillside by a road which led into a deep pass, even the entry of
the mountains, a road which went betwixt exceeding high walls of rock.
For the mountain sides went up steep from the plain. There they kept
good watch and ward, and naught befell them to tell of.

The next morning they entered the pass, and rode through it up to the
heaths, and rode all day by wild and stony ways and came at even to a
grassy valley watered by a little stream, where they guested, watching
their camp well; and again none meddled with them.

As they were departing the next morn Ralph asked of Clement if he yet
looked for onset from the waylayers. Said Clement: "It is most like,
lord; for we be a rich prey, and it is but seldom that such a company
rideth this road. And albeit that the wild men know not to a day when
we shall pass through their country, yet they know the time within a
four and twenty hours or so. For we may not hide our journey from all
men's hearing; and when the ear heareth, the tongue waggeth. But art
thou yet anxious concerning this matter, son?" "Yea," said Ralph, "for
I would fain look on these miscreants."

"It is like that ye shall see them," said Clement; "but I shall look on
it as a token that they are about waylaying us if we come on none of
them in the Mountain House. For they will be fearful lest their
purpose leak out from unwary lips." Ralph wondered how it would be, and
what might come of it, and rode on, pondering much.

The road was rough that day, and they went not above a foot-pace the
more part of the time; and daylong they were going up and up, and it
grew cold as the sun got low; though it was yet summer. At last at the
top of a long stony ridge, which lay beneath a great spreading
mountain, on the crest whereof the snow lay in plenty, Ralph saw a
house, long and low, builded of great stones, both walls and roof: at
sight thereof the men of the fellowship shouted for joy, and hastened
on, and Clement spurred up the stony slopes all he might. But Ralph
rode slowly, since he had naught to see to, save himself, so that he
was presently left alone. Now he looks aside, and sees something
bright-hued lying under a big stone where the last rays of the sun just
caught some corner of it. So he goes thither, deeming that mayhappen
one of the company had dropped something, pouch or clout, or what not,
in his haste and hurry. He got off his horse to pick it up, and when
he had laid hand on it found it to be a hands-breadth of fine green
cloth embroidered with flowers. He held it in his hand a while
wondering where he could have seen such like stuff before, that it
should smite a pang into his heart, and suddenly called to mind the
little hall at Bourton Abbas with the oaken benches and the rush-strewn
floor, and this same flower-broidered green cloth dancing about the
naked feet of a fair damsel, as she moved nimbly hither and thither
dighting him his bever. But his thought stayed not there, but carried
him into the days when he was abiding in desire of the love that he won
at last, and lost so speedily. But as he stood pondering he heard
Clement shouting to him from the garth-gate of that house. So he leapt
on his horse and rode up the slope into the garth and lighted down by
Clement; who fell to chiding him for tarrying, and said: "There is
peril in loitering outside this garth alone; for those Sons of the Rope
often lurk hard by for what they may easily pick up, and they be brisk
and nimble lads." "What ailed thee?" said Ralph. "I stayed to look at
a flower which called Upmeads to my mind."

"Yea lad, yea," quoth Clement, "and art thou so soft as that? But come
thou into the House; it is as I deemed it might be; besides the
House-warden and his wife there is no soul therein. Thou shalt yet
look on Mick Hangman's sons, as thou desirest."

So they went into the House, and men had all that they might need. The
warden was an old hoar man, and his wife well-stricken in years; and
after supper was talk of this and that, and it fell much, as was like
to be, on those strong-thieves, and Clement asked the warden what he
had seen of them of late.

The old carle answered: "Nay, master Clement, much according to wont:
a few beeves driven into our garth; a pack or two brought into the
hall; and whiles one or two of them come in hither with empty hands for
a sleep and a bellyful; and again a captive led in on the road to the
market. Forsooth it is now a good few days ago three of them brought
in a woman as goodly as mine eyes have ever seen; and she sat on the
bench yonder, and seemed to heed little that she was a captive and had
shackles on her feet after the custom of these men, though indeed her
hands were unbound, so that she might eat her meat; and the carle thief
told me that he took her but a little way from the garth, and that she
made a stout defence with a sword before they might take her, but being
taken, she made but little of it."

"Would he do her any hurt?" said Ralph. "Nay, surely," said the carle;
"doth a man make a hole in a piece of cloth which he is taking to
market? Nay, he was courteous to her after his fashion, and bade us
give her the best of all we had."

"What like was she?" said Ralph. Said the carle: "She was somewhat
tall, if I am to note such matters, grey-eyed and brown haired, and
great abundance of it. Her lips very red; her cheeks tanned with the
sun, but in such wise that her own white and red shone through the
sun's painting, so that her face was as sweet as the best wheat-ear in
a ten-acre field when the season hath been good. Her hands were not
like those of a demoiselle who sitteth in a chamber to be looked at,
but brown as of one who hath borne the sickle in the sun. But when she
stretched out her hand so that the wrist of her came forth from her
sleeve it was as white as milk."

"Well, my man," said the carline, "thou hast a good memory for an old
and outworn carle. Why dost thou not tell the young knight what she
was clad withal; since save for their raiment all women of an age are
much alike?"

"Nay, do thou do it," said the carle; "she was even as fair as I have
said; so that there be few like her."

Said the dame: "Well, there is naught so much to be said for her
raiment: her gown was green, of fine cloth enough; but not very new:
welts of needle-work it had on it, and a wreath of needle-work flowers
round the hem of the skirt; but a cantle was torn off from it; in the
scuffle when she was taken, I suppose, so that it was somewhat ragged
in one place. Furthermore--"

She had been looking at Ralph as she spoke, and now she broke off
suddenly, and said, still looking at him hard; "Well, it is strange!"
"What is strange?" said Clement. "O naught, naught," said the dame,
"save that folk should make so much to do about this matter, when there
are so many coming and going about the Midhouse of the Mountains."

But Ralph noted that she was still staring at him even after she had
let the talk drop.

Waned the even, and folk began to go bedward, so that the hall grew
thin of guests. Then came up the carline to Ralph and took him aside
into a nook, and said to him: "Young knight, now will I tell thee what
seemed to me strange e'en now; to wit, that the captive damsel should
be bearing a necklace about her neck as like to thine as one lamb is to
another: but I thought thou mightest be liever that I spake it not
openly before all the other folk. So I held my peace."

"Dame," said he, "I thank thee: forsooth I fear sorely that this
damsel is my sister; for ever we have worn the samelike pair of beads.
And as for me I have come hither to find her, and evil will it be if I
find her enthralled, and it may be past redemption."

And therewith he gave her a piece of the gold money of Upmeads.

"Yea," said she, "poor youth; that will be sooth indeed, for thou art
somewhat like unto her, yet far goodlier. But I grieve for thee, and
know not what thou wilt do; whereas by this time most like she has been
sold and bought and is dwelling in some lord's strong-house; some
tyrant that needeth not money, and will not let his prey go for a
prayer. Here, take thou thy gold again, for thou mayst well need it,
and let me shear a lock of thy golden hair, and I shall be well apaid
for my keeping silence concerning thy love. For I deem that it is even
so, and that she is not thy sister, else hadst thou stayed at home, and
prayed for her with book and priest and altar, and not gone seeking her
a weary way."

Ralph reddened but said naught, and let her put scizzors amongst his
curly locks, and take what of them she would. And then he went to his
bed, and pondered these matters somewhat, and said to himself that it
was by this damsel's means that he should find the Well at the World's
End. Yet he said also, that, whether it were so or not, he was bound
to seek her, and deliver her from thralldom, since he had kissed her so
sweet and friendly, like a brother, for the sweetness and kindness of
her, before he had fallen into the love that had brought him such joy
and such grief. And therewith he took out that piece of her gown from
his pouch, and it seemed dear to him. But it made him think sadly of
what grief or pain she might even then be bearing, so that he longed to
deliver her, and that longing was sweet to him. In such thoughts he
fell asleep.



CHAPTER 21

A Battle in the Mountains


When it was morning they arose early and ate a morsel; and Clement gave
freely to the Warden and his helpmate on behalf of the fellowship; and
then they saddled their nags, and did on the loads and departed; and
the way was evil otherwise, but it was down hill, and all waters ran
east.

All day they rode, and at even when the sun had not quite set, they
pitched their camp at the foot of a round knoll amidst a valley where
was water and grass; and looking down thence, they had a sight of the
fruitful plain, wherein lay Cheaping Knowe all goodly blue in the
distance.

This was a fair place and a lovely, and great ease would they have had
there, were it not that they must keep watch and ward with more pains
than theretofore; for Clement deemed it as good as certain that the
wild men would fall upon them that night.

But all was peaceful the night through, and in the morning they gat to
the way speedily, riding with their armour on, and their bows bent: and
three of the men-at-arms rode ahead to espy the way.

So it befell that they had not ridden two hours ere back came the
fore-riders with the tidings that the pass next below them was thick
with the Strong-thieves.

The fellowship were as then in such a place, that they were riding a
high bare ridge, and could not be assailed to the advantage of the
thieves if they abode where they were; whereas if they went forward,
they must needs go down with the road into the dale that was beset by
the wild men. Now they were three-score and two all told, but of these
but a score of men-at-arms besides Ralph, and Clement, who was a stout
fighter when need was. Of the others, some were but lads, and of the
Chapmen were three old men, and more than one blencher besides.
However, all men were armed, and they had many bows, and some of the
chapmen's knaves were fell archers.

So they took counsel together, and to some it seemed better to abide
the onset on their vantage ground. But to Clement and the older
men-at-arms this seemed of no avail. For though they could see the
plain country down below, they would have no succour of it; and Clement
bade them think how the night would come at last, and that the longer
they abode, the greater would be the gathering of the Strong-thieves;
so that, all things considered, it were better to fall on at once and
to try the adventure of the valley. And this after some talk they
yea-said all, save a few who held their skins so dear that their wits
wandered somewhat.

So these timorous ones they bade guard the sumpter beasts and their
loads; and even so they did, and abode a little, while the men-at-arms
and the bowmen went forward without more ado; and Ralph rode betwixt
Clement and the captain of the men-at-arms.

Presently they were come close to the place where the way went down
into the valley, cleaving through a clayey bent, so that the slippery
sides of the cleft went up high to right and left; wherefore by goodhap
there were no big stones anigh to roll down upon them. Moreover the
way was short, and they rode six abreast down the pass and were soon
through the hollow way. As he rode Ralph saw a few of the
Strong-thieves at the nether end where the pass widened out, and they
let fly some arrows at the chapmen which did no hurt, though some of
the shafts rattled on the armour of the companions. But when Clement
saw that folk, and heard the noise of their shouting he lifted up a
great axe that he bore and cried, "St. Agnes for the Mercers!" and set
spurs to his horse. So did they all, and came clattering and shouting
down the steep road like a stone out of a sling, and drave right into
the valley one and all, the would-be laggards following after; for they
were afraid to be left behind.

The wild men, who, save for wide shields which they bore, were but
evilly armed, mostly in skins of beasts, made no countenance of
defence, but fled all they might towards the steep slopes of the
valley, and then turned and fell to shooting; for the companions durst
not pursue in haste lest they should be scattered, and overwhelmed by
the multitude of foemen; but they drew up along the south side of the
valley, and had the mastery of the road, so that this first bout was
without blood-shedding. Albeit the thieves still shot in their weak
bows from the hill-side, but scarce hurt a man. Then the bowmen of the
fellowship fell to shooting at the wild men, while the men-at-arms
breathed their horses, and the sumpter-beasts were gathered together
behind them; for they had no dread of abiding there a while, whereas
behind them the ground was broken into a steep shaly cliff, bushed here
and there with tough bushes, so that no man could come up it save by
climbing with hand and knee, and that not easily.

Now when the archers had shot a good while, and some of the thieves had
fallen before them, and men were in good heart because of the flight of
the wild men, Ralph, seeing that these still hung about the slopes,
cried out: "Master Clement, and thou Captain, sure it will be ill-done
to leave these men unbroken behind us, lest they follow us and hang
about our hindermost, slaying us both men and horses."

"Even so," quoth the captain, who was a man of few words, "let us go.
But do thou, Clement, abide by the stuff with the lads and bowmen."

Then he cried out aloud: "St. Christopher to aid!" and shook his rein,
and all they who were clad in armour and well mounted spurred on with
him against the strong-thieves. But these, when they saw the onset of
the horsemen, but drew a little up the hill-side and stood fast, and
some of the horses were hurt by their shot. So the captain bade draw
rein and off horse, while Clement led his bowmen nigher, and they shot
well together, and hindered the thieves from closing round the
men-at-arms, or falling on the horses. So then the companions went
forward stoutly on foot, and entered into the battle of the thieves,
and there was the thrusting and the hewing great: for the foemen bore
axes, and malls, and spears, and were little afraid, having the
vantage-ground; and they were lithe and strong men, though not tall.

Ralph played manfully, and was hurt by a spear above the knee, but not
grievously; so he heeded it not, but cleared a space all about him with
great strokes of the Upmeads' blade; then as the wild men gave back
there was one of them who stood his ground and let drive a stroke of a
long-handled hammer at him, but Ralph ran in under the stroke and
caught him by the throat and drew him out of the press. And even
therewith the wild men broke up before the onset of the all-armed
carles, and fled up the hill, and the men-at-arms followed them but a
little, for their armour made them unspeedy; so that they took no more
of those men, though they slew some, but turned about and gathered
round Ralph and made merry over his catch, for they were joyous with
the happy end of battle; and Clement, who had left his bowmen when the
Companions were mingled with the wild-men, was there amidst the nighest.

Said Ralph to him: "Well, have I got me a servant and thrall good
cheap?" "Yea," said Clement, "if thou deem a polecat a likely hound."
Said the Captain: "Put thy sword through him, knight." Quoth another:
"Let him run up hill, and our bowmen shall shoot a match at him."

"Nay," said Ralph, "they have done well with their shooting, let them
rest. As to my thrusting my sword through the man, Captain, I had done
that before, had I been so minded. At any rate, I will ask him if he
will serve me truly. Otherwise he seemeth a strong carle and a handy.
How sayest thou, lad, did I take thee fairly?" "Yea," said the man,
"thou art a strong lad."

He seemed to fear the swords about him but little, and forsooth he was
a warrior-like man, and not ill-looking. He was of middle height,
strong and well-knit, with black hair like a beast's mane for
shagginess, and bright blue eyes. He was clad in a short coat of grey
homespun, with an ox-skin habergeon laced up over it; he had neither
helm nor hat, nor shoes, but hosen made of a woollen clout tied about
his legs; his shield of wood and ox-hide lay on the ground a few paces
off, and his hammer beside it, which he had dropped when Ralph first
handled him, but a great ugly knife was still girt to him.

Now Ralph saith to him: "Which wilt thou--be slain, or serve me?" Said
the carle, grinning, yet not foully: "Guess if I would not rather
serve thee!" "Wilt thou serve me truly?" said Ralph. "Why not?" quoth
the carle: "yet I warn thee that if thou beat me, save in hot blood, I
shall put a knife into thee when I may."

"O," said one, "thrust him through now at once, lord Ralph." "Nay, I
will not," said Ralph; "he hath warned me fairly. Maybe he will serve
me truly. Master Clement, wilt thou lend me a horse for my man to
ride?" "Yea," said Clement; "yet I misdoubt me of thy new squire."
Then he turned to the men-at-arms and said: "No tarrying, my masters!
To horse and away before they gather gain!"

So they mounted and rode away from that valley of the pass, and Ralph
made his man ride beside him. But the man said to him, as soon as they
were riding: "Take note that I will not fight against my kindred."
"None biddeth thee so," said Ralph; "but do thou take heed that if thou
fight against us I will slay thee outright." Said the man: "A fair
bargain!" "Well," said Ralph, "I will have thy knife of thee, lest it
tempt thee, as is the wont of cold iron, and a maiden's body." "Nay,
master," quoth the man, "leave me my knife, as thou art a good fellow.
In two hours time we shall be past all peril of my people, and when we
come down below I will slay thee as many as thou wilt, so it be out of
the kindred. Forsooth down there evil they be, and unkinsome."

"So be it, lad," said Ralph, laughing, "keep thy knife; but hang this
word of mine thereon, that if thou slay any man of this fellowship save
me, I will rather flay thee alive than slay thee." Quoth the carle:
"That is the bargain, then, and I yeasay it." "Good," said Ralph; "now
tell me thy name." "Bull Shockhead," said the carle.

But now the fellowship took to riding so fast down the slopes of the
mountains on a far better road, that talking together was not easy.
They kept good watch, both behind and ahead, nor were they set upon
again, though whiles they saw clumps of men on the hill-sides.

So after a while, when it was a little past noon, they came adown to
the lower slopes of the mountains and the foot-hills, which were green
and unstony; and thereon were to be seen cattle and neatherds and
shepherds, and here and there the garth of a homestead, and fenced
acres about it.

So now that they were come down into the peopled parts, they displayed
the banners of their fellowships, to wit, the Agnes, the White Fleece,
the Christopher, and the Ship and Nicholas, which last was the banner
of the Faring-knights of Whitwall; but Ralph was glad to ride under the
banner of St. Nicholas, his friend, and deemed that luck might the
rather come to him thereby. But they displayed their banners now,
because they knew that no man of the peopled parts would be so hardy as
to fall upon the Chapmen, of whom they looked to have many matters for
their use and pleasure.

So now that they felt themselves safe, they stayed them, and sat down
by a fair little stream, and ate their dinner of such meat and drink as
they had; and Ralph departed his share with his thrall, and the man was
hungry and ate well; so that Clement said mockingly: "Thou feedest thy
thrall over well, lord, even for a king's son: is it so that thou art
minded to fatten him and eat him?" Then some of the others took up the
jest, and bade the carle refrain him of the meat, so that he might not
fatten, and might live the longer. He hearkened to them, and knit his
brows and looked fiercely from one to the other. But Ralph laughed
aloud, and shook his finger at him and refrained him, and his wrath ran
off him and he laughed, and shoved the victual into him doughtily, and
sighed for pleasure when he had made an end and drunk a draught of wine.



CHAPTER 22

Ralph Talks With Bull Shockhead


When they rode on again, Ralph rode beside Bull, who was merry and
blithe now he was full of meat and drink; and he spake anon: "So thou
art a king's son, master? I deemed from the first that thou wert of
lineage. For as for these churls of chapmen, and the sworders whom
they wage, they know not the name of their mother's mother, nor have
heard one word of the beginner of their kindred; and their deeds are
like unto their kinlessness."

"And are thy deeds so good?" said Ralph. "Are they ill," said Bull,
"when they are done against the foemen?" Said Ralph: "And are all men
your foemen who pass through these mountains?" "All," said Bull, "but
they be of the kindred or their known friends."

"Well, Bull," said Ralph, "I like thy deeds little, that thou shouldest
ravish men and women from their good life, and sell them for a price
into toil and weariness and stripes."

Said Bull: "How much worse do we than the chapmen by his debtor, and
the lord of the manor by his villein?" Said Ralph: "Far worse, if ye
did but know it, poor men!" Quoth Bull: "But I neither know it, nor
can know it, nay, not when thou sayest it; for it is not so. And look
you, master, this life of a bought thrall is not such an exceeding evil
life; for oft they be dealt with softly and friendly, and have other
thralls to work for them under their whips."

Ralph laughed: "Which shall I make thee, friend Bull, the upper or the
under?" Bull reddened, but said naught. Said Ralph: "Or where shall I
sell thee, that I may make the best penny out of my good luck and
valiancy?" Bull looked chopfallen: "Nay," said he in a wheedling
voice, "thou wilt not sell me, thou? For I deem that thou wilt be a
good master to me: and," he broke into sudden heat hereat, "if I have
another master I shall surely slay him whate'er betide."

Ralph laughed again, and said: "Seest thou what an evil craft ye
follow, when thou deemest it better to be slain with bitter torments
(as thou shouldest be if thou slewest thy master) than to be sold to
any master save one exceeding good?"

Bull held his peace hereat, but presently he said: "Well, be our craft
good or evil, it is gainful; and whiles there is prey taken right good,
which, for my part, I would not sell, once I had my hand thereon."
"Yea, women?" said Ralph. "Even so," said Bull, "such an one was taken
by my kinsman Bull Nosy but a little while agone, whom he took down to
the market at Cheaping Knowe, as I had not done if I had once my arms
about her. For she was as fair as a flower; and yet so well built,
that she could bear as much as a strong man in some ways; and, saith
Nosy, when she was taken, there was no weeping or screeching in her,
but patience rather and quietness, and intent to bear all and
live....Master, may I ask thee a question?" "Ask on," said Ralph.
Said Bull: "The pair of beads about thy neck, whence came they?" "They
were the gift of a dear friend," said Ralph. "A woman?" quoth Bull.
"Yea," said Ralph.

"Now is this strange," said Bull, "and I wot not what it may betoken,
but this same woman had about her neck a pair of beads as like to thine
as if they had been the very same: did this woman give thee the beads?
For I will say this of thee, master, that thou art well nigh as likely
a man as she is a woman."

Ralph sighed, for this talk of the woman and the beads brought all the
story into his mind, so that it was as if he saw it adoing again: the
Lady of the Wildwood led along to death before he delivered her, and
their flight together from the Water of the Oak, and that murder of her
in the desert. And betwixt the diverse deeds of the day this had of
late become somewhat dim to him. Yet after his grief came joy that
this man also had seen the damsel, whom his dream of the night had
called Dorothea, and that he knew of her captors; wherefore by his
means he might come on her and deliver her.

Now he spake aloud: "Nay, it was not she that gave them to me, but yet
were I fain to find this woman that thou sawest; for I look to meet a
friend whenas I meet her. So tell me, dost thou think that I may
cheapen her of thy kinsman?"

Bull shook his head, and said: "It may be: or it may be that he hath
already sold her to one who heedeth not treasure so much as fair flesh;
and fair is hers beyond most. But, lord, I will do my best to find her
for thee; as thou art a king's son and no ill master, I deem."

"Do that," quoth Ralph, "and I in turn will do what more I may for thee
besides making thee free." And therewith he rode forward that he might
get out of earshot, for Bull's tongue seemed like to be long. And
presently he heard laughter behind him, as the carle began jesting and
talking with the chapman lads.