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 to 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.


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 thy 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 Swev-
enham 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 pur-
pose 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 shag-
giness, 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....Mas-
ter, 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.



CHAPTER 23

Of the Town of Cheaping Knowe


Now when it was evening they pitched their camp down in the plain
fields amidst tall elmtrees, and had their banners still flying over
the tents to warn all comers of what they were. But the next morning
the chapmen and their folk were up betimes to rummage their loads, and
to array their wares for the market; and they gat not to the road
before mid-morning. Meantime of their riding Ralph had more talk with
Bull, who said to him: "Fair lord, I rede thee when thou art in the
market of Cheaping Knowe, bid master Clement bring thee to the
thrall-merchant, and trust me that if such a fair image as that we were
speaking of hath passed through his hands within these three months, he
will remember it; and then thou shalt have at least some tale of what
hath befallen her but a little while ago."

That seemed good rede to Ralph, and when they went on their way he rode
beside Clement, and asked him many things concerning Cheaping Knowe;
and at last about the thrall-market therein. And Clement said that,
though he dealt not in such wares, he had often seen them sold, and
knew the master of that market. And when Ralph asked if the said
master would answer questions concerning the selling of men and of
women, Clement smiled and said: "Yea, yea, he will answer; for as he
lives by selling thralls, and every time a thrall is sold by him he
maketh some gain by it, it is to his profit that they change masters as
often as may be; and when thou askest of the woman whom thou art
seeking, he will be deeming that there will be some new chaffer ahead.
I will bring thee to him, and thou shalt ask him of what thou wilt, and
belike he will tell thee quietly over the wine-cup."

Therewith was Ralph well content, and he grew eager to enter into the
town.

They came to the gates a little before sunset, after they had passed
through much fair country; but nigh to the walls it was bare of trees
and thickets, whereas, said Clement, they had been cut down lest they
should serve as cover to strong-thieves or folk assailing the town.
The walls were strong and tall, and a great castle stood high up on a
hill, about which the town was builded; so that if the town were taken
there would yet be another town within it to be taken also. But the
town within, save for the said castle, was scarce so fairly builded as
the worst of the towns which Ralph had seen erst, though there were a
many houses therein.

Much people was gathered about the gate to see the merchants enter with
banners displayed; and Ralph deemed many of the folk fair, such as were
goodly clad; for many had but foul clouts to cover their nakedness, and
seemed needy and hunger-pinched. Withal there were many warriors
amongst the throng, and most of these bore a token on their sleeves, to
wit, a sword reddened with blood. And Clement, speaking softly in
Ralph's ear, did him to wit that this was the token of the lord who had
gotten the castle in those days, and was tyrant of the town; and how
that he had so many men-at-arms ready to do his bidding that none in
the town was safe from him if he deemed it more for his pleasure and
profit to rob or maim, or torment or slay, than to suffer them to live
peaceably. "But with us chapmen," said Clement, "he will not meddle,
lest there be an end of chaffer in the town; and verily the market is
good."

Thus they rode through the streets into the market place, which was
wide and great, and the best houses of the town were therein, and so
came to the hostel of the Merchants, called the Fleece, which was a big
house, and goodly enough.

The next morning Clement and the other chapmen went up into the Castle,
bearing with them gifts out of their wares for the lord, and Clement
bade Ralph keep close till he came back, and especially to keep his
war-caught thrall, Bull Shockhead, safe at home, lest he be taken from
him, and to clothe him in the guise of the chapman lads, and to dock
his hair; and even so Ralph did, though Bull were loath thereto.

About noon the chapmen came back again well pleased; and Clement gave
Ralph a parchment from the lord, which bade all men help and let pass
Ralph of Upmeads, as a sergeant of the chapmen's guard, and said withal
that now he was free to go about the town if he listed, so that he were
back at the hostel of the Fleece by nightfall.

So Ralph went in company with some of the sergeants and others, and
looked at this and that about the town without hindrance, save that the
guard would not suffer them to pass further than the bailey of the
Castle. And for the said bailey, forsooth, they had but little
stomach; for they saw thence, on the slopes of the Castle-hill, tokens
of the cruel justice of the said lord; for there were men and women
there, yea, and babes also, hanging on gibbets and thrust through with
sharp pales, and when they asked of folk why these had suffered, they
but looked at them as if astonished, and passed on without a word.

So they went thence, and found the master-church, and deemed it not
much fairer than it was great; and it was nowise great, albeit it was
strange and uncouth of fashion.

Then they came to great gardens within the town, and they were
exceeding goodly, and had trees and flowers and fruits in them which
Ralph had not seen hitherto, as lemons, and oranges, and pomegranates;
and the waters were running through them in runnels of ashlar; and the
weather was fair and hot; so they rested in those gardens till it was
evening, and then gat them home to Fleece, where they had good
entertainment.



CHAPTER 24

Ralph Heareth More Tidings of the Damsel


The second day, while the merchants saw to their chaffer, most of the
men-at-arms, and Ralph with them, spent their time again in those
goodly gardens; where, indeed, some of them made friends of fair women
of the place; in which there was less risk than had been for aliens in
some towns, whereas at Cheaping Knowe such women as were wedded
according to law, or damsels in the care of their kindred, or slaves
who were concubines, had not dared so much as to look on a man.

The third day time hung somewhat heavy on Ralph's hands, not but that
the Companions were well at ease, but rather because himseemed that he
was not stirring in the quest.

But the next day Clement bade him come see that thrall-merchant
aforesaid, and brought him to a corner of the market-place, where was a
throng looking on at the cheaping. They went through the throng, and
beside a stone like a leaping-on stone saw a tall man, goodly of
presence, black bearded, clad in scarlet; and this was the merchant;
and by him were two of his knaves and certain weaponed men who had
brought their wares to the cheaping. And some of these were arrayed
like those foemen of the mountains. There was a half score and three
of these chattels to be sold, who stood up one after other on the
stone, that folk might cheapen them. The cheaping was long about,
because they that had a mind to buy were careful to know what they were
buying, like as if they had been cheapening a horse, and most of them
before they bid their highest had the chattels away into the merchant's
booth to strip them, lest they should buy damaged or unhandsome bodies;
and this more especially if it were a woman, for the men were already
well nigh naked. Of women four of them were young and goodly, and
Ralph looked at them closely; but they were naught like to the woman of
his quest.

Now this cheaping irked Ralph sorely, as was like to be, whereas, as
hath been told, he came from a land where were no thralls, none but
vavassors and good yeomen: yet he abode till all was done, hansel
paid, and the thralls led off by their new masters. Then Clement led
him up to the merchant, to whom he gave the sele of the day, and said:
"Master, this is the young knight of whom I told thee, who deemeth that
a woman who is his friend hath been brought to this market and sold
there, and if he might, he would ransom her."

The merchant greeted Ralph courteously, and bade him and Clement come
into his house, where they might speak more privily. So did they, and
he treated them with honour, and set wine and spices before them, and
bade Ralph say whatlike the woman was. Ralph did so, and wondered at
himself how well and closely he could tell of her, like as a picture
painted. And, moreover, he drew forth that piece of her gown which he
had come on by the Mid-Mountain House.

So when he had done, the merchant, who was a man sober of aspect and
somewhat slow of speech, said: "Sir, I believe surely that I have seen
this damsel, but she is not with me now, nor have I sold her ever; but
hither was she brought to be sold by a man of the mountain folk not
very many days ago. And the man's name was Bull Nosy, or the longnosed
man of the kindred of the Bull, for in such wise are named the men of
that unhappy folk. Now this was the cause why I might not sell her,
that she was so proud and stout that men feared her, what she might do
if they had her away. And when some spake to see her body naked, she
denied it utterly, saying that she would do a mischief to whomsoever
tried it. So I spake to him who owned her, and asked him if he thought
it good to take her a while and quell her with such pains as would
spoil her but little, and then bring her to market when she was meeker.
But he heeded my words little, and led her away, she riding on a horse
and he going afoot beside her; for the mountain-men be no horsemen."

Said Ralph: "Dost thou know at all whither he will have led her?" Said
the merchant: "By my deeming, he will have gone first of all to the
town of Whiteness, whither thy Fellowship will betake them ere long:
for he will be minded to meet there the Lord of Utterbol, who is for
such like wares; and he will either give her to him as a gift, for
which he will have a gift in return, or he will sell her to my lord at
a price if he dare to chaffer with him. At least so will he do if he
be wise. Now if the said lord hath her, it will be somewhat more than
hard for thee to get her again, till he have altogether done with her;
for money and goods are naught to him beside the doing of his will.
But there is this for thy comfort, that whereas she is so fair a woman,
she will be well with my lord. For I warrant me that she will not dare
to be proud with him, as she was with the folk here."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and what is this lord of Utterbol that all folk,
men and women, fear him so?" Said the merchant: "Fair sir, thou must
pardon me if I say no more of him. Belike thou mayst fall in with him;
and if thou dost, take heed that thou make not thyself great with him."

So Ralph thanked the merchant and departed with Clement, of whom
presently he asked if he knew aught of this lord of Utterbol. Said
Clement: "God forbid that I should ever meet him, save where I were
many and he few. I have never seen him; but he is deemed by all men as
the worst of the tyrants who vex these lands, and, maybe, the mightiest."

So was Ralph sore at heart for the damsel, and anon he spake to Bull
again of her, who deemed somewhat, that his kinsman had been minded
at the first to sell her to the lord of Utterbol. And Ralph thinks his
game a hard one, yet deems that if he could but find out where the
damsel was, he might deliver her, what by sleight, what by boldness.



CHAPTER 25

The Fellowship Comes to Whiteness


Two days thereafter the chapmen having done with their matters in
Cheaping Knowe, whereas they must needs keep some of their wares for
other places, and especially for Goldburg, they dight them to be gone
and rode out a-gates of a mid-morning with banners displayed.

It was some fifty miles thence to Whiteness, which lay close underneath
the mountains, and was, as it were, the door of the passes whereby men
rode to Goldburg. The land which they passed through was fair, both of
tillage and pasture, with much cattle therein. Everywhere they saw men
and women working afield, but no houses of worthy yeomen or vavas-
sors, or cots of good husbandmen. Here and there was a castle or
strong-house, and here and there long rows of ugly hovels, or whiles
houses, big tall and long, but exceeding foul and ill-favoured, such as
Ralph had not yet seen the like of. And when he asked of Clement
concerning all this, he said: "It is as I have told thee, that here be
no freemen who work afield, nay, nor villeins either. All those whom
ye have seen working have been bought and sold like to those whom we
saw standing on the Stone in the market of Cheaping Knowe, or else were
born of such cattle, and each one of them can be bought and sold again,
and they work not save under the whip. And as for those hovels and the
long and foul houses, they are the stables wherein this kind of cattle
is harboured."

Then Ralph's heart sank, and he said: "Master Clement, I prithee tell
me; were it possible that the damsel whom I seek may be come to such a
pass as one of these?" "Nay," quoth Clement, "that is little like to
be; such goodly wares are kept for the adornment of great men's houses.
True it is that whiles the house-thralls be sent into the fields for
their punishment; yet not such as she, unless the master be wholly
wearied of them, or if their wrath outrun their wits; for it is more to
the master's profit to chastise them at home; so keep a good heart I
bid thee, and maybe we shall have tidings at Whiteness."

So Ralph refrained his anxious heart, though forsooth his thought was
much upon the damsel and of how she was faring.

It was not till the third day at sunset that they came to Whiteness;
for on the last day of their riding they came amongst the confused
hills that lay before the great mountains, which were now often hidden
from their sight; but whenever they appeared through the openings of
the near hills, they seemed very great and terrible; dark and bare and
stony; and Clement said that they were little better than they looked
from afar. As to Whiteness, they saw it a long way off, as it lay on a
long ridge at the end of a valley: and so long was the ridge, that
behind it was nothing green; naught but the huge and bare mountains.
The westering sun fell upon its walls and its houses, so that it looked
white indeed against those great cliffs and crags; though, said
Clement, that these were yet a good way off. Now when, after a long
ride from the hither end of the valley, they drew nigh to the town,
Ralph saw that the walls and towers were not very high or strong, for
so steep was the hill whereon the town stood, that it needed not. Here
also was no great castle within the town as at Cheaping Knowe, and the
town itself nothing so big, but long and straggling along the top of
the ridge. Cheaping Knowe was all builded of stone; but the houses
here were of timber for the most part, done over with pargeting and
whitened well. Yet was the town more cheerful of aspect than Cheaping
Knowe, and the folk who came thronging about the chapmen at the gates
not so woe-begone, and goodly enough.

Of the lord of Whiteness, Clement told that he paid tribute to him of
Cheaping Knowe, rather for love of peace than for fear of him; for he
was no ill lord, and free men lived well under him.

So the chapmen lodged in the market-place; and in two days time Ralph
got speech of the Deacon of the Chapmen of the Town; who told him
two matters; first that the lord of Utterbol had not been in Whiteness
these six months; and next that the wild man had verily brought the
damsel into the market; but he had turned away thence suddenly with
her, without bringing her to the stone, and that it was most like that
he would have the lord of Utterbol buy her; who, since he would be
deeming that he might easily bend her to his will, would give him the
better penny for her. "At the last," quoth the Deacon, "the wild man
led her away toward the mountain pass that goeth to Goldburg, the
damsel and he alone, and she with her hands unbound and riding a little
horse." Of these tidings Ralph deemed it good that all traces of her
were not lost; but his heart misgave him when he thought that by this
time she must surely be in the hands of the lord of Utterbol.



CHAPTER 26

They Ride the Mountains Toward Goldburg


Five days the Fellowship abode at Whiteness, and or ever they departed
Clement waged men-at-arms of the lord of the town, besides servants to
look to the beasts amongst the mountains, so that what with one, what
with another, they entered the gates of the mountains a goodly company
of four score and ten.

Ralph asked of Bull if any of those whom he might meet in these
mountains were of his kindred; and he answered, nay, unless perchance
there might be some one or two going their peaceful errands there like
Bull Nosy. So Ralph armed him with a good sword and a shield, and
would have given him a steel hood also, but he would not bear it,
saying that if sword and shield could not keep his head he had well
earned a split skull.

Seven days they rode the mountains, and the way was toilsome and weary
enough, for it was naught but a stony maze of the rocks where nothing
living dwelt, and nothing grew, save now and again a little dwarf
willow. Yet was there naught worse to meet save toil, because they
were over strong for the wild men to meddle with them, whereas the
kindreds thereabout were but feeble.

But as it drew towards evening on the seventh day Ralph had ridden a
little ahead with Bull alone, if he might perchance have a sight of the
ending of this grievous wilderness, as Clement said might be, since now
the way was down-hill, and all waters ran east. So as they rode, and
it was about sunset, they saw something lying by a big stone under a
cliff; so they drew nigh, and saw a man lying on his back, and they
deemed he was dead. So Bull went up to him, and leapt off his horse
close by him and bent over him, but straightway cast up his arms and
set up a long wailing whoop, and then another and another, so that they
that were behind heard it and came up upon the spur. But Ralph leapt
from his horse, and ran up to Bull and said: "What aileth thee to whoop
and wail? Who is it?" But Bull turned about and shook his head at
him, and said: "It is a man of my kindred, even he that was leading
away thy she-friend; and belike she it was that slew him, or why is she
not here: Ochone! ahoo! ahoo!" Therewith fire ran through Ralph's
heart, and he bethought him of that other murder in the wilderness, and
he fell to wringing his hands, and cried out: "Ah, and where is she,
where is she? Is she also taken away from me for ever? O me unhappy!"

And he drew his sword therewith, and ran about amongst the rocks and
the bushes seeking her body.

And therewith came up Clement, and others of the company, and wondered
to see Bull kneeling down by the corpse, and to hear him crying out and
wailing, and Ralph running about like one mad, and crying out now: "Oh!
that I might find her! Mayhappen she is alive yet, and anigh here in
some cleft of the rocks in this miserable wilderness. O my love that
hast lain in mine arms, wouldst thou not have me find her alive? But
if she be dead, then will I slay myself, for as young as I am, that I
may find thee and her out of the world, since from the world both ye
are gone."

Then Clement went up to Ralph, and would have a true tale out of him,
and asked him what was amiss; but Ralph stared wild at him and answered
not. But Bull cried out from where he knelt: "He is seeking the
woman, and I would that he could find her; for then would I slay her on
the howe of my kinsman: for she hath slain him; she hath slain him."

That word heard Ralph, and he ran at Bull with uplifted sword to slay
him; but Clement tripped him and he fell, and his sword flew out of his
hand. Then Clement and two of the others bound his hands with their
girdles, till they might know what had befallen; for they deemed that a
devil had entered into him, and feared that he would do a mischief to
himself or some other.

And now was the whole Fellowship assembled, and stood in a ring round
about Ralph and Bull, and the dead man; as for him, he had been dead
some time, many days belike; but in that high and clear cold air, his
carcase, whistled by the wind, had dried rather than rotted, and his
face was clear to be seen with its great hooked nose and long black
hair: and his skull was cloven.

Now Bull had done his wailing for his kinsman, and he seemed to wake up
as from a dream, and looked about the ring of men and spake: "Here is
a great to do, my masters! What will ye with me? Have ye heard, or is
it your custom, that when a man cometh on the dead corpse of his
brother, his own mother's son, he turneth it over with his foot, as if
it were the carcase of a dog, and so goeth on his way? This I ask,
that albeit I be but a war-taken thrall, I be suffered to lay my
brother in earth and heap a howe over him in these mountains."

They all murmured a yeasay to this save Ralph. He had been sobered by
his fall, and was standing up now betwixt Clement and the captain, who
had unbound his hands, now that the others had come up; he hung his
head, and was ashamed of his fury by seeming. But when Bull had
spoken, and the others had answered, Ralph said to Bull, wrathfully
still, but like a man in his wits: "Why didst thou say that thou
wouldest slay her?" "Hast thou found her?" said Bull. "Nay," quoth
Ralph, sullenly. "Well, then," said Bull, "when thou dost find her, we
will speak of it." Said Ralph: "Why didst thou say that she hath slain
him?" "I was put out of my wits by the sight of him dead," said Bull;
"But now I say mayhappen she hath slain him."

"And mayhappen not," said Clement; "look here to the cleaving of his
skull right through this iron headpiece, which he will have bought at
Cheaping Knowe (for I have seen suchlike in the armourers' booth
there): it must have taken a strong man to do this."

"Yea," quoth the captain, "and a big sword to boot: this is the stroke
of a strong man wielding a good weapon."

Said Bull: "Well, and will my master bid me forego vengeance for my
brother's slaying, or that I bear him to purse? Then let him slay me
now, for I am his thrall." Said Ralph: "Thou shalt do as thou wilt
herein, and I also will do as I will. For if she slew him, the taking
of her captive should be set against the slaying." "That is but
right," said the captain; "but Sir Ralph, I bid thee take the word of
an old man-at-arms for it, that she slew him not; neither she, nor any
other woman."

Said Clement: "Well, let all this be. But tell me, lord Ralph, what
thou wouldst do, since now thou art come to thyself again?" Said Ralph:
"I would seek the wilderness hereabout, if perchance the damsel be
thrust into some cleft or cavern, alive or dead."

"Well," said Clement, "this is my rede. Since Bull Shockhead would
bury his brother, and lord Ralph would seek the damsel, and whereas
there is water anigh, and the sun is well nigh set, let us pitch our
tents and abide here till morning, and let night bring counsel unto
some of us. How say ye, fellows?"

None naysaid it, and they fell to pitching the tents, and lighting the
cooking-fires; but Bull at once betook him to digging a grave for his
brother, whilst Ralph with the captain and four others went and sought
all about the place, and looked into all clefts of rocks, and found not
the maiden, nor any token of her. They were long about it, and when
they were come back again, and it was night, though the moon shone out,
there was Bull Shockhead standing by the howe of his brother Bull Nosy,
which was heaped up high over the place where they had found him.

So when Bull saw him, he turned to him and said: "King's son, I have
done what needs was for this present. Now, wilt thou slay me for my
fault, or shall I be thy man again, and serve thee truly unless the
blood feud come between us?" Said Ralph: "Thou shalt serve me truly,
and help me to find him who hath slain thy brother, and carried off the
damsel; for even thus it hath been done meseemeth, since about here we
have seen no signs of her alive or dead. But to-morrow we shall seek
wider ere I ride on my way." "Yea," said Bull, "and I will be one in
the search."

So then they gat them to their sleeping-berths, and Ralph, contrary to
his wont, lay long awake, pondering these things; till at last he said
to himself that this woman, whom he called Dorothea, was certainly
alive, and wotted that he was seeking her. And then it seemed to him
that he could behold her through the darkness of night, clad in the
green flowered gown as he had first seen her, and she bewailing her
captivity and the long tarrying of the deliverer as she went to and fro
in a great chamber builded of marble and done about with gold and
bright colours: and or ever he slept, he deemed this to be a vision of
what then was, rather than a memory of what had been; and it was sweet
to his very soul.



CHAPTER 27

Clement Tells of Goldburg


Now when it was morning he rose early and roused Bull and the captain,
and they searched in divers places where they had not been the night
before, and even a good way back about the road they had ridden
yesterday, but found no tidings. And Ralph said to himself that this
was naught but what he had looked for after that vision of the night.

So he rode with his fellows somewhat shamefaced that they had seen that
sudden madness in him; but was presently of better cheer than he had
been yet. He rode beside Clement; they went downhill speedily, and the
wilderness began to better, and there was grass at whiles, and bushes
here and there. A little after noon they came out of a pass cleft deep
through the rocks by a swift stream which had once been far greater
than then, and climbed up a steep ridge that lay across the road, and
looking down from the top of it, beheld the open country again. But
this was otherwise from what they had beheld from the mountain's brow
above Cheaping Knowe. For thence the mountains beyond Whiteness, even
those that they had just ridden, were clear to be seen like the wall of
the plain country. But here, looking adown, the land below them seemed
but a great spreading plain with no hills rising from it, save that far
away they could see a certain break in it, and amidst that, something
that was brighter than the face of the land elsewhere. Clement told
Ralph that this was Goldburg and that it was built on a gathering of
hills, not great, but going up steep from the plain. And the plain,
said he, was not so wholly flat and even as it looked from up there,
but swelled at whiles into downs and low hills. He told him that
Goldburg was an exceeding fair town to behold; that the lord who had
built it had brought from over the mountains masons and wood-wrights
and artificers of all kinds, that they might make it as fair as might
be, and that he spared on it neither wealth nor toil nor pains. For in
sooth he deemed that he should find the Well at the World's End, and
drink thereof, and live long and young and fair past all record;
therefore had he builded this city, to be the house and home of his
long-enduring joyance.

Now some said that he had found the Well, and drank thereof; others
naysaid that; but all deemed that they knew how that Goldburg was not
done building ere that lord was slain in a tumult, and that what was
then undone was cobbled up after the uncomely fashion of the towns
thereabout.

Clement said moreover that, this happy lord dead, things had not gone
so well there as had been looked for. Forsooth it had been that lord's
will and meaning that all folks in Goldburg should thrive, both those
who wrought and those for whom they wrought. But it went not so, but
there were many poor folk there, and few wealthy.

Again said Clement that though the tillers and toilers of Goldburg were
not for the most part mere thralls and chattels, as in the lands beyond
the mountains behind them, yet were they little more thriving for that
cause; whereas they belonged not to a master, who must at worst feed
them, and to no manor, whose acres they might till for their
livelihood, and on whose pastures they might feed their cattle; nor had
they any to help or sustain them against the oppressor and the violent
man; so that they toiled and swinked and died with none heeding them,
save they that had the work of their hands good cheap; and they
forsooth heeded them less than their draught beasts whom they must
needs buy with money, and whose bellies they must needs fill; whereas
these poor wretches were slaves without a price, and if one died
another took his place on the chance that thereby he might escape
present death by hunger, for there was a great many of them.



CHAPTER 28

Now They Come to Goldburg


That night they slept yet amongst the mountains, or rather in the first
of the hill country at their feet; but on the morrow they rode down
into the lowlands, and thereby lost all sight of Goldburg, and it was
yet afar off, so that they rode four days through lands well-tilled,
but for the most part ill-housed, a country of little hills and hollows
and rising grounds, before they came in sight of it again heaving up
huge and bright under the sun. It was built partly on three hills, the
buttresses of a long ridge which turned a wide river, and on the ridge
itself, and partly on the flat shore of the river, on either side,
hillward and plainward: but a great white wall girt it all about, which
went right over the river as a bridge, and on the plain side it was
exceeding high, so that its battlements might be somewhat evened with
those of the hill-wall above. So that as they came up to the place
they saw little of the town because of the enormity of the wall; scarce
aught save a spire or a tall towering roof here and there.

So when they were come anigh the gate, they displayed their banners
and rode right up to it; and people thronged the walls to see their
riding. One by one they passed through the wicket of the gate: which
gate itself was verily huge beyond measure, all built of great
ashlar-stones; and when they were within, it was like a hall somewhat
long and exceeding high, most fairly vaulted; midmost of the said hall
they rode through a noble arch on their right hand, and lo another hall
exceeding long, but lower than the first, with many glazen windows set
in its townward wall; and when they looked through these, they saw the
river running underneath; for this was naught but the lower bridge of
the city and they learned afterwards and saw, that above the vault of
this long bridge rose up the castle, chamber on chamber, till its
battlements were level with the highest towers of the wall on the hill
top.

Thus they passed the bridge, and turning to the left at its ending,
came into the Water-Street of Goldburg, where the river, with wide
quays on either side thereof, ran betwixt the houses. As for these,
beneath the dwellings went a fair arched passage like to the ambulatory
of an abbey; and every house all along this street was a palace for its
goodliness. The houses were built of white stones and red and grey;
with shapely pillars to the cloister, and all about carvings of imagery
and knots of flowers; goodly were the windows and all glazed, as fair
as might be. On the river were great barges, and other craft such as
were not sea-goers, river-ships that might get them through the bridges
and furnished with masts that might be lowered and shipped.

Much people was gathered to see the chapmen enter, yet scarce so many
as might be looked for in so goodly a town; yea, and many of the folk
were clad foully, and were haggard of countenance, and cried on the
chapmen for alms. Howbeit some were clad gaily and richly enough, and
were fair of favour as any that Ralph had seen since he left Upmeads:
and amongst these goodly folk were women not a few, whose gear and
bearing called to Ralph's mind the women of the Wheatwearers whom he
had seen erst in the Burg of the Four Friths, whereas they were
somewhat wantonly clad in scanty and thin raiment. And of these,
though they were not all thralls, were many who were in servitude:
for, as Clement did Ralph to wit, though the tillers of the soil, and
the herdsmen, in short the hewers of wood and drawers of water, were
men masterless, yet rich men might and did buy both men and women for
servants in their houses, and for their pleasure and profit in divers
wise.

So they rode to their hostel in the market place, which lay a little
back from the river in an ingle of the ridge and one of its buttresses;
and all round the said market were houses as fair as the first they had
seen: but above, on the hill-sides, save for the castle and palace of
the Queen (for a woman ruled in Goldburg), were the houses but low,
poorly built of post and pan, and thatched with straw, or reed, or
shingle. But the great church was all along one side of the market
place; and albeit this folk was somewhat wild and strange of faith for
Christian men, yet was it dainty and delicate as might be, and its
steeples and bell-towers were high and well builded, and adorned
exceeding richly.

So they lighted down at their hostel, and never had Ralph seen such
another, for the court within was very great and with a fair garden
filled with flowers and orchard-trees, and amidst it was a fountain of
fresh water, built in the goodliest fashion of many-coloured
marble-stones. And the arched and pillared way about the said court was
as fair as the cloister of a mitred abbey; and the hall for the guests
was of like fashion, vaulted with marvellous cunning, and with a row of
pillars amidmost.

There they abode in good entertainment; yet this noted Ralph, that as
goodly as was the fashion of the building of that house, yet the
hangings and beds, and stools, and chairs, and other plenishing were no
richer or better than might be seen in the hostelry of any good town.

So they went bedward, and Ralph slept dreamlessly, as was mostly his
wont.



CHAPTER 29

Of Goldburg and the Queen Thereof


On the morrow, when Ralph and Clement met in the hall, Clement spake
and said: "Lord Ralph, as I told thee in Whitwall, we chapmen are now
at the end of our outward journey, and in about twenty days time we
shall turn back to the mountains; but, as I deem, thou wilt be minded
to follow up thy quest of the damsel, and whatsoever else thou mayst be
seeking. Now this thou mayst well do whiles we are here in Goldburg,
and yet come back hither in time to fare back with us: and also, if
thou wilt, thou mayst have fellows in thy quest, to wit some of those
our men-at-arms, who love thee well. But now, when thou hast done thy
best these days during, if thou hast then found naught, I counsel thee
and beseech thee to come thy ways back with us, that we twain may wend
to Upmeads together, where thou shalt live well, and better all the
deeds of thy father. Meseemeth this will be more meet for thee than
the casting away of thy life in seeking a woman, who maybe will be
naught to thee when thou hast found her; or in chasing some castle in
the clouds, that shall be never the nigher to thee, how far soever thou
farest. For now I tell thee that I have known this while how thou art
seeking the Well at the World's End; and who knoweth that there is any
such thing on the earth? Come, then, thou art fair, and young, and
strong; and if ye seek wealth thou shalt have it, and my furtherance to
the utmost, if that be aught worth. Bethink thee, child, there are
they that love thee in Upmeads and thereabout, were it but thy gossip,
my wife, dame Katherine."

Said Ralph: "Master Clement, I thank thee for all that thou hast said,
and thy behest, and thy deeds. Thy rede is good, and in all ways will
I follow it save one; to wit, that if I have not found the damsel ere
ye turn back, I must needs abide in this land searching for her. And I
pray the pardon both of thee and of thy gossip, if I answer not your
love as ye would, and perchance as I should. Yea, and of Upmeads also
I crave pardon. But in doing as I do, my deed shall be but according
to the duty bounden on me by mine oath, when Duke Osmond made me knight
last year, in the church of St. Laurence of Upmeads."

Said Clement: "I see that there is something else in it than that; I
see thee to be young, and that love and desire bind thee in closer
bonds than thy knightly oath. Well, so it must be, and till thou hast
her, there is but one woman in the world for thee."

"Nay, it is not so, Master Clement," said Ralph, "and I will tell thee
this, so that thou mayst trow my naysay; since I departed from Upmeads,
I have been taken in the toils of love, and desired a fair woman, and I
have won her and death hath taken her. Trowest thou my word?"

"Yea," said Clement, "but to one of thy years love is not plucked up by
the root, and it soon groweth again." Then said Ralph, sadly: "Now
tell my gossip of this when thou comest home." Clement nodded yeasay,
and Ralph spake again in a moment: "And now will I begin my search in
Goldburg by praying thee to bring me to speech of merchants and others
who may have seen or heard tidings of my damsel."

He looked at Clement anxiously as he spoke; and Clement smiled, for he
said to himself that looking into Ralph's heart on this matter was like
looking into a chamber through an open window. But he said: "Fear not
but I will look to it; I am thy friend, and not thy schoolmaster."

Therewith he departed from Ralph, and within three days he had brought
him to speech of all those who were like to know anything of the
matter; and one and all they said that they had seen no such woman, and
that as for the Lord of Utterbol, he had not been in Goldburg these
three months. But one of the merchants said: "Master Clement, if this
young knight is boun for Utterbol, he beareth his life in his hand, as
thou knowest full well. Now I rede thee bring him to our Queen, who is
good and compassionate, and if she may not help him otherwise, yet
belike she may give him in writing to show to that tyrant, which may
stand him in stead: for it does not do for any man to go against the
will of our Lady and Queen; who will surely pay him back for his
ill-will some day or other." Said Clement: "It is well thought of, and
I will surely do as thou biddest."

So wore four days, and, that time during, Ralph was going to and fro
asking questions of folk that he came across, as people new come to the
city and hunters from the mountain-feet and the forests of the plain,
and mariners and such like, concerning the damsel and the Lord of
Utterbol; and Bull also went about seeking tidings: but whereas Ralph
asked downright what he wanted to know, Bull was wary, and rather led
men on to talk with him concerning those things than asked them of them
in such wise that they saw the question. Albeit it was all one, and no
tidings came to them; indeed, the name of the Lord of Utterbol (whom
forsooth Bull named not) seemed to freeze the speech of men's tongues,
and they commonly went away at once when it was spoken.

On the fifth day came Clement to Ralph and said: "Now will I bring thee
to the Queen, and she is young, and so fair, and withal so wise, that
it seems to me not all so sure but that the sight of her will make an
end of thy quest once for all. So that meseems thou mayest abide here
in a life far better than wandering amongst uncouth folk, perilous and
cruel. Yea, so thou mayst have it if thou wilt, being so exceeding
goodly, and wise, and well-spoken, and of high lineage."

Ralph heard and reddened, but gave him back no answer; and they went
together to the High House of the Queen, which was like a piece of the
Kingdom of Heaven for loveliness, so many pillars as there were of
bright marble stone, and gilded, and the chapiters carved most
excellently: not many hangings on the walls, for the walls themselves
were carven, and painted with pictures in the most excellent manner;
the floors withal were so dainty that they seemed as if they were made
for none but the feet of the fairest of women. And all this was set
amidst of gardens, the like of which they had never seen.

But they entered without more ado, and were brought by the pages to the
Lady's innermost chamber; and if the rest of the house were goodly,
this was goodlier, and a marvel, so that it seemed wrought rather by
goldsmiths and jewellers than by masons and carvers. Yet indeed many
had said with Clement that the Queen who sat there was the goodliest
part thereof.

Now she spake to Clement and said: "Hail, merchant! Is this the young
knight of whom thou tellest, he who seeketh his beloved that hath been
borne away into thralldom by evil men?"

"Even so," said Clement. But Ralph spake: "Nay, Lady, the damsel whom
I seek is not my beloved, but my friend. My beloved is dead."

The Queen looked on him smiling kindly, yet was her face somewhat
troubled. She said: "Master chapman, thy time here is not over long
for all that thou hast to do; so we give thee leave to depart with our
thanks for bringing a friend to see us. But this knight hath no
affairs to look to: so if he will abide with us for a little, it will
be our pleasure."

So Clement made his obeisance and went his ways. But the Queen bade
Ralph sit before her, and tell her of his griefs, and she looked so
kindly and friendly upon him that the heart melted within him, and he
might say no word, for the tears that brake out from him, and he wept
before her; while she looked on him, the colour coming and going in her
face, and her lips trembling, and let him weep on. But he thought not
of her, but of himself and how kind she was to him. But after a while
he mastered his passion and began, and told her all he had done and
suffered. Long was the tale in the telling, for it was sweet to him to
lay before her both his grief and his hope. She let him talk on, and
whiles she listened to him, and whiles, not, but all the time she gazed
on him, yet sometimes askance, as if she were ashamed. As for him, he
saw her face how fair and lovely she was, yet was there little longing
in his heart for her, more than for one of the painted women on the
wall, for as kind and as dear as he deemed her.

When he had done, she kept silence a while, but at last she enforced
her, and spake: "Sad it is for the mother that bore thee that thou art
not in her house, wherein all things would be kind and familiar to
thee. Maybe thou art seeking for what is not. Or maybe thou shalt
seek and shalt find, and there may be naught in what thou findest,
whereof to give thee such gifts as are meet for thy faithfulness and
valiancy. But in thine home shouldst thou have all gifts which thou
mayest desire."

Then was she silent awhile, and then spake: "Yet must I needs say that
I would that thine home were in Goldburg."

He smiled sadly and looked on her, but with no astonishment, and indeed
he still scarce thought of her as he said: "Lady and Queen, thou art
good to me beyond measure. Yet, look you! One home I had, and left
it; another I looked to have, and I lost it; and now I have no home.
Maybe in days to come I shall go back to mine old home; and whiles I
wonder with what eyes it will look on me. For merry is that land, and
dear; and I have become sorrowful."

"Fear not," she said; "I say again that in thine home shall all things
look kindly on thee."

Once more she sat silent, and no word did his heart bid him speak.
Then she sighed and said: "Fair lord, I bid thee come and go in this
house as thou wilt; but whereas there are many folk who must needs see
me, and many things are appointed for me to do, therefore I pray thee
to come hither in three days' space, and meanwhile I will look to the
matter of thy search, that I may speed thee on the way to Utterness,
which is no great way from Utterbol, and is the last town whereof we
know aught. And I will write a letter for thee to give to the lord of
Utterbol, which he will heed, if he heedeth aught my good-will or
enmity. I beseech thee come for it in three days wearing."

Therewith she arose and took his hand and led him to the door, and he
departed, blessing her goodness, and wondering at her courtesy and
gentle speech.

For those three days he was still seeking tidings everywhere, till folk
began to know of him far and wide, and to talk of him. And at the time
appointed he went to the Queen's House and was brought to her chamber
as before, and she was alone therein. She greeted him and smiled on
him exceeding kindly, but he might not fail to note of her that she
looked sad and her face was worn by sorrow. She bade him sit beside
her, and said: "Hast thou any tidings of the woman whom thou seekest?"
"Nay, nay," said he, "and now I am minded to carry on the search
out-a-gates. I have some good friends who will go with me awhile. But
thou, Lady, hast thou heard aught?"

"Naught of the damsel," she said. "But there is something else. As
Clement told me, thou seekest the Well at the World's End, and through
Utterness and by Utterbol is a way whereby folk seek thither. Mayst
thou find it, and may it profit thee more than it did my kinsman of
old, who first raised up Goldburg in the wilderness. Whereas for him
was naught but strife and confusion, till he was slain in a quarrel,
wherein to fail was to fail, and to win the day was to win shame and
misery."

She looked on him sweetly and said: "Thou art nowise such as he; and
if thou drink of the Well, thou wilt go back to Upmeads, and thy father
and mother, and thine own folk and thine home. But now here is the
letter which thou shalt give to the Lord of Utterbol if thou meet him;
and mayhappen he is naught so evil a man as the tale of him runs."

She gave him the letter into his hands, and spake again: "And now I
have this to say to thee, if anything go amiss with thee, and thou be
nigh enough to seek to me, come hither, and then, in whatso plight thou
mayst be, or whatsoever deed thou mayst have done, here will be the
open door for thee and the welcome of a friend."

Her voice shook a little as she spake, and she was silent again,
mastering her trouble. Then she said: "At last I must say this to
thee, that there may no lie be between us. That damsel of whom thou
spakest that she was but thy friend, and not thy love--O that I might
be thy friend in such-wise! But over clearly I see that it may not be
so. For thy mind looketh on thy deeds to come, that they shall be
shared by some other than me. Friend, it seemeth strange and strange
to me that I have come on thee so suddenly, and loved thee so sorely,
and that I must needs say farewell to thee in so short a while.
Farewell, farewell!"

Therewith she arose, and once more she took his hand in hers, and led
him to the door. And he was sorry and all amazed: for he had not
thought so much of her before, that he might see that she loved him;
and he thought but that she, being happy and great, was kind to him who
was hapless and homeless. And he was bewildered by her words and sore
ashamed that for all his grief for her he had no speech, and scarce a
look for her; he knew not what to do or say.

So he left the Queen's House and the court thereof, as though the
pavement were growing red hot beneath his feet.



CHAPTER 30

Ralph Hath Hope of Tidings Concerning the Well at the World's End


Now he goes to Clement, and tells him that he deems he has no need to
abide their departure from Goldburg to say farewell and follow his
quest further afield; since it is clear that in Goldburg he should have
no more tidings. Clement laughed and said: "Not so fast, Lord Ralph;
thou mayst yet hear a word or two." "What!" said Ralph, "hast thou
heard of something new?" Said Clement: "There has been a man here
seeking thee, who said that he wotted of a wise man who could tell thee
much concerning the Well at the World's End. And when I asked him of
the Damsel and the Lord of Utterbol, if he knew anything of her, he
said yea, but that he would keep it for thy privy ear. So I bade him
go and come again when thou shouldst be here. And I deem that he will
not tarry long."

Now they were sitting on a bench outside the hall of the hostel, with
the court between them and the gate; and Ralph said: "Tell me, didst
thou deem the man good or bad?" Said Clement: "He was hard to look
into: but at least he looked not a fierce or cruel man; nor indeed did
he seem false or sly, though I take him for one who hath lost his
manhood--but lo you! here he comes across the court."

So Ralph looked, and saw in sooth a man drawing nigh, who came straight
up to them and lowted to them, and then stood before them waiting for
their word: he was fat and somewhat short, white-faced and
pink-cheeked, with yellow hair long and curling, and with a little thin
red beard and blue eyes: altogether much unlike the fashion of men of
those parts. He was clad gaily in an orange-tawny coat laced with
silver, and broidered with colours.

Clement spake to him and said: "This is the young knight who is minded
to seek further east to wot if it be mere lies which he hath heard of
the Well at the World's End."

The new-comer lowted before them again, and said in a small voice, and
as one who was shy and somewhat afeared: "Lords, I can tell many a
tale concerning that Well, and them who have gone on the quest thereof.
And the first thing I have to tell is that the way thereto is through
Utterness, and that I can be a shower of the way and a leader to any
worthy knight who listeth to seek thither; and moreover, I know of a
sage who dwelleth not far from the town of Utterness, and who, if he
will, can put a seeker of the Well on the right road."

He looked askance on Ralph, whose face flushed and whose eyes glittered
at that word. But Clement said: "Yea, that seemeth fair to look to:
but hark ye! Is it not so that the way to Utterness is perilous?" Said
the man: "Thou mayst rather call it deadly, to any who is not
furnished with a let-pass from the Lord of Utterbol, as I am. But with
such a scroll a child or a woman may wend the road unharmed." "Where
hast thou the said let-pass?" said Clement. "Here," quoth the
new-comer; and therewith he drew a scroll from out of his pouch, and
opened it before them, and they read it together, and sure enough it
was a writing charging all men so let pass and aid Morfinn the Minstrel
(of whose aspect it told closely), under pain of falling into the
displeasure of Gandolf, Lord of Utterbol; and the date thereon was but
three months old.

Said Clement: "This is good, this let-pass: see thou, Ralph, the seal
of Utterbol, the Bear upon the Castle Wall. None would dare to
counterfeit this seal, save one who was weary of life, and longed for
torments."

Said Ralph, smiling: "Thou seest, Master Clement, that there must be a
parting betwixt us, and that this man's coming furthers it: but were he
or were he not, yet the parting had come. And wert thou not liefer
that it should come in a way to pleasure and aid me, than that thou
shouldst but leave me behind at Goldburg when thou departest: and I
with naught done toward the achieving my quest, but merely dragging my
deedless body about these streets; and at last, it may be, going on a
perilous journey without guiding or safe-conduct?"

"Yea, lad," said Clement, "I wotted well that thou wouldst take thine
own way, but fain had I been that it had been mine also." Then he
pondered a while and said afterwards: "I suppose that thou wilt take
thy servant Bull Shockhead with thee, for he is a stout man-at-arms,
and I deem him trusty, though he be a wild man. But one man is of
little avail to a traveller on a perilous road, so if thou wilt I will
give leave and license to a half score of our sergeants to follow thee
on the road; for, as thou wottest, I may easily wage others in their
place. Or else wouldst thou ask the Queen of Goldburg to give thee a
score of men-at-arms; she looked to me the other day as one who would
deny thee few of thine askings."

Ralph blushed red, and said: "Nay, I will not ask her this." Then he
was silent; the new-comer looked from one to the other, and said
nothing. At last Ralph spake: "Look you, Clement, my friend, I wot
well how thou wouldst make my goings safe, even if it were to thy loss,
and I thank thee for it: but I deem I shall do no better than putting
myself into this man's hands, since he has a let-pass for the lands of
him of Utterbol: and meseemeth from all that I have heard, that a half
score or a score, or for the matter of that an hundred men-at-arms
would not be enough to fight a way to Utterbol, and their gathering
together would draw folk upon them, who would not meddle with two men
journeying together, even if they had no let-pass of this mighty man."
Clement sighed and grunted, and then said: "Well, lord, maybe thou art
right."

"Yea," said the guide, "he is as right as may be: I have not spoken
before lest ye might have deemed me untrusty: but now I tell thee this,
that never should a small band of men unknown win through the lands of
the Lord of Utterbol, or the land debatable that lieth betwixt them and
Goldburg."

Ralph nodded friendly at him as he spake; but Clement looked on him
sternly; and the man beheld his scowling face innocently, and took no
heed of it.

Then said Ralph: "As to Bull Shockhead, I will speak to him anon; but
I will not take him with me; for indeed I fear lest his mountain-pride
grow up over greenly at whiles and entangle me in some thicket of peril
hard to win out of."

"Well," said Clement, "and when wilt thou depart?" "To-morrow," said
Ralph, "if my faring-fellow be ready for me by then." "I am all ready,"
said the man: "if thou wilt ride out by the east gate about two hours
before noon to-morrow, I will abide thee on a good horse with all that
we may need for the journey: and now I ask leave." "Thou hast it,"
said Clement.

So the man departed, and those two being left alone, Master Clement
said: "Well, I deemed that nothing else would come of it: and I fear
that thy gossip will be ill-content with me; for great is the peril."
"Yea," said Ralph, "and great the reward." Clement smiled and sighed,
and said: "Well, lad, even so hath a many thought before thee, wise
men as well as fools." Ralph looked at him and reddened, and departed
from him a little, and went walking in the cloister there to and fro,
and pondered these matters; and whatever he might do, still would that
trim figure be before his eyes which he had looked on so gladly
erewhile in the hostel of Bourton Abbas; and he said aloud to himself:
"Surely she needeth me, and draweth me to her whether I will or no." So
wore the day.



CHAPTER 31

The Beginning of the Road To Utterbol


Early next morning Ralph arose and called Bull Shockhead to him and
said: "So it is, Bull, that thou art my war-taken thrall." Bull nodded
his head, but frowned therewithal. Said Ralph: "If I bid thee aught
that is not beyond reason thou wilt do it, wilt thou not?" "Yea," said
Bull, surlily. "Well," quoth Ralph, "I am going a journey east-away,
and I may not have thee with me, therefore I bid thee take this gold
and go free with my goodwill." Bull's face lighted up, and the eyes
glittered in his face; but he said: "Yea, king's son, but why wilt thou
not take me with thee?" Said Ralph: "It is a perilous journey, and thy
being with me will cast thee into peril and make mine more. Moreover,
I have an errand, as thou wottest, which is all mine own."

Bull pondered a little and then said: "King's son, I was thinking at
first that our errands lay together, and it is so; but belike thou
sayest true that there will be less peril to each of us if we sunder at
this time. But now I will say this to thee, that henceforth thou shalt
be as a brother to me, if thou wilt have it so, and if ever thou comest
amongst our people, thou wilt be in no danger of them: nay, they shall
do all the good they may to thee."

Then he took him by the hand and kissed him, and he set his hand to his
gear and drew forth a little purse of some small beast's skin that was
broidered in front with a pair of bull's horns: then he stooped down
and plucked a long and tough bent from the grass at his feet (for they
were talking in the garden of the hostel) and twisted it swiftly into a
strange knot of many plies, and opening the purse laid it therein and
said: "King's son, this is the token whereby it shall be known amongst
our folk that I have made thee my brother: were the flames roaring
about thee, or the swords clashing over thine head, if thou cry out, I
am the brother of Bull Shockhead, all those of my kindred who are near
will be thy friends and thy helpers. And now I say to thee farewell:
but it is not altogether unlike that thou mayst hear of me again in the
furthest East." So Ralph departed from him, and Clement went with Ralph
to the Gate of Goldburg, and bade him farewell there; and or they
parted he said: "Meseems I have with me now some deal of the foreseeing
of Katherine my wife, and in my mind it is that we shall yet see thee
at Wulstead and Upmeads, and thou no less famous than now thou art.
This is my last word to thee." Therewith they parted, and Ralph rode
his ways.

He came on his way-leader about a bowshot from the gate and they
greeted each other: the said guide was clad no otherwise than
yesterday: he had saddle-bags on his horse, which was a strong black
roadster: but he was nowise armed, and bore but a satchel with a case
of knives done on to it, and on the other side a fiddle in its case.
So Ralph smiled on him and said: "Thou hast no weapon, then?" "What
need for weapon?" said he; "since we are not of might for battle. This
is my weapon," said he, touching his fiddle, "and withal it is my field
and mine acre that raiseth flesh-meat and bread for me: yea, and whiles
a little drink."

So they rode on together and the man was blithe and merry: and Ralph
said to him: "Since we are fellows for a good while, as I suppose,
what shall I call thee?" Said he, "Morfinn the Minstrel I hight, to
serve thee, fair lord. Or some call me Morfinn the Unmanned. Wilt
thou not now ask me concerning that privy word that I had for thy
ears?" "Yea," said Ralph reddening, "hath it to do with a woman?"
"Naught less," said Morfinn. "For I heard of thee asking many
questions thereof in Goldburg, and I said to myself, now may I, who am
bound for Utterness, do a good turn to this fair young lord, whose face
bewrayeth his heart, and telleth all men that he is kind and bounteous;
so that there is no doubt but he will reward me well at once for any
help I may give him; and also it may be that he will do me a good turn
hereafter in memory of this that I have done him."

"Speak, wilt thou not," said Ralph, "and tell me at once if thou hast
seen this woman? Be sure that I shall reward thee." "Nay, nay, fair
sir," said Morfinn; "a woman I have seen brought captive to the House
of Utterbol. See thou to it if it be she whom thou seekest."

He smiled therewith, but now Ralph deemed him not so debonnaire as he
had at first, for there was mocking in the smile; therefore he was
wroth, but he refrained him and said: "Sir Minstrel, I wot not why thou
hast come with a tale in thy mouth and it will not out of it: lo you,
will this open the doors of speech to thee" (and he reached his hand
out to him with two pieces of gold lying therein) "or shall this?" and
therewith he half drew his sword from his sheath.

Said Morfinn, grinning again: "Nay, I fear not the bare steel in thine
hands, Knight; for thou hast not fool written plain in thy face;
therefore thou wilt not slay thy way-leader, or even anger him over
much. And as to thy gold, the wages shall be paid at the journey's
end. I was but seeking about in my mind how best to tell thee my tale
so that thou mightest believe my word, which is true. Thus it goes: As
I left Utterbol a month ago, I saw a damsel brought in captive there,
and she seemed to me so exceeding fair that I looked hard on her, and
asked one of the men-at-arms who is my friend concerning the market
whereat she was cheapened; and he told me that she had not been bought,
but taken out of the hands of the wild men from the further mountains.
Is that aught like to your story, lord?" "Yea," said Ralph, knitting
his brows in eagerness. "Well," said Morfinn, "but there are more fair
women than one in the world, and belike this is not thy friend: so now,
as well as I may, I will tell thee what-like she was, and if thou
knowest her not, thou mayst give me those two gold pieces and go back
again. She was tall rather than short, and slim rather than bigly
made. But many women are fashioned so: and doubtless she was worn by
travel, since she has at least come from over the mountains: but that
is little to tell her by: her hands, and her feet also (for she was a
horseback and barefoot) wrought well beyond most women: yet so might
it have been with some: yet few, methinks, of women who have worked
afield, as I deem her to have done, would have hands and feet so
shapely: her face tanned with the sun, but with fair colour shining
through it; her hair brown, yet with a fair bright colour shining
therein, and very abundant: her cheeks smooth, round and well wrought
as any imager could do them: her chin round and cloven: her lips full
and red, but firm-set as if she might be both valiant and wroth. Her
eyes set wide apart, grey and deep: her whole face sweet of aspect, as
though she might be exceeding kind to one that pleased her; yet high
and proud of demeanour also, meseemed, as though she were come of great
kindred. Is this aught like to thy friend?"

He spake all this slowly and smoothly and that mocking smile came into
his face now and again. Ralph grew pale as he spoke and knitted his
brows as one in great wrath and grief; and he was slow to answer; but
at last he said "Yea," shortly and sharply.

Then said Morfinn: "And yet after all it might not be she: for there
might be another or two even in these parts of whom all this might be
said. But now I will tell thee of her raiment, though there may be but
little help to thee therein, as she may have shifted it many times
since thou hast seen her. Thus it was: she was clad outwardly in a
green gown, short of skirt as of one wont to go afoot; somewhat
straight in the sleeves as of one who hath household work to do, and
there was broidery many coloured on the seams thereof, and a border of
flower-work round the hem: and this I noted, that a cantle of the skirt
had been rent away by some hap of the journey. Now what sayest thou,
fair lord? Have I done well to bring thee this tale?"

"O yea, yea," said Ralph, and he might not contain himself; but set
spurs to his horse and galloped on ahead for some furlong or so: and
then drew rein and gat off his horse, and made as if he would see to
his saddle-girths, for he might not refrain from weeping the sweet and
bitter tears of desire and fear, so stirred the soul within him.

Morfinn rode on quietly, and by then he came up, Ralph was mounting
again, and when he was in the saddle he turned away his head from his
fellow and said in a husky voice: "Morfinn, I command thee, or if thou
wilt I beseech thee, that thou speak not to me again of this woman whom
I am seeking; for it moveth me over much." "That is well, lord," said
Morfinn, "I will do after thy command; and there be many other matters
to speak of besides one fair woman."

Then they rode on soberly a while, and Ralph kept silence, as he rode
pondering much; but the minstrel hummed snatches of rhyme as he rode
the way.

But at last Ralph turned to him suddenly and said: "Tell me,
way-leader, in what wise did they seem to be using that woman?" The
minstrel chuckled: "Fair lord," said he, "if I had a mind for mocking
I might say of thee that thou blowest both hot and cold, since it was
but half an hour ago that thou badest me speak naught of her: but I
deem that I know thy mind herein: so I will tell thee that they seemed
to be using her courteously; as is no marvel; for who would wish to mar
so fair an image? O, it will be well with her: I noted that the Lord
seemed to think it good to ride beside her, and eye her all over. Yea,
she shall have a merry life of it if she but do somewhat after the
Lord's will."

Ralph looked askance at him fiercely, but the other heeded it naught:
then said Ralph, "And how if she do not his will?" Said Morfinn,
grinning: "Then hath my Lord a many servants to do his will." Ralph
held his peace for a long while; at last he turned a cleared brow to
Morfinn and said; "Dost thou tell of the Lord of Utterbol that he is a
good lord and merciful to his folk and servants?"

"Fair sir," said the minstrel; "thou hast bidden me not speak of one
woman, now will I pray thee not to speak of one man, and that is my
Lord of Utterbol."

Ralph's heart fell at this word, and he asked no question as to
wherefore.

So now they rode on both, rather more than soberly for a while: but the
day was fair; the sun shone, the wind blew, and the sweet scents
floated about them, and Ralph's heart cast off its burden somewhat and
he fell to speech again; and the minstrel answered him gaily by
seeming, noting many things as they rode along, as one that took
delight in the fashion of the earth.

It was a fresh and bright morning of early autumn, the sheaves were on
the acres, and the grapes were blackening to the vintage, and the
beasts and birds at least were merry. But little merry were the
husbandmen whom they met, either carles or queans, and they were
scantily and foully clad, and sullen-faced, if not hunger-pinched.

If they came across any somewhat joyous, it was here and there certain
gangrel folk resting on the wayside grass, or coming out of woods and
other passes by twos and threes, whiles with a child or two with them.
These were of aspect like to the gipsies of our time and nation, and
were armed all of them, and mostly well clad after their fashion.
Sometimes when there were as many as four or five carles of them
together, they would draw up amidst of the highway, but presently would
turn aside at the sight either of Ralph's war-gear or of the minstrel's
raiment. Forsooth, some of them seemed to know him, and nodded
friendly to him as they passed by, but he gave them back no good day.

They had now ridden out of the lands of Goldburg, which were narrow on
that side, and the day was wearing fast. This way the land was fair
and rich, with no hills of any size. They crossed a big river twice by
bridges, and small streams often, mostly by fords.

Some two hours before sunset they came upon a place where a byway
joined the high road, and on the ingle stood a chapel of stone (whether
of the heathen or Christian men Ralph wotted not, for it was uncouth of
fashion), and by the door of the said chapel, on a tussock of grass,
sat a knight all-armed save the head, and beside him a squire held his
war-horse, and five other men-at-arms stood anigh bearing halberds and
axes of strange fashion. The knight rose to his feet when he saw the
wayfarers coming up the rising ground, and Ralph had his hand on his
sword-hilt; but ere they met, the minstrel said,--

"Nay, nay, draw thy let-pass, not thy sword. This knight shalt bid
thee to a courteous joust; but do thou nay-say it, for he is a mere
felon, and shalt set his men-at-arms on thee, and then will rob thee
and slay thee after, or cast thee into his prison."

So Ralph drew out his parchment which Morfinn had given into his
keeping, and held it open in his hand, and when the knight called out
on him in a rough voice as they drew anigh, he said: "Nay, sir, I may
not stay me now, need driveth me on." Quoth the knight, smoothing out a
knitted brow: "Fair sir, since thou art a friend of our lord, wilt
thou not come home to my house, which is hard by, and rest awhile, and
eat a morsel, and drink a cup, and sleep in a fair chamber thereafter?"

"Nay, sir," said Ralph, "for time presses;" and he passed on withal,
and the knight made no step to stay him, but laughed a short laugh,
like a swine snorting, and sat him down on the grass again. Ralph
heeded him naught, but was glad that his let-pass was shown to be good
for something; but he could see that the minstrel was nigh sick for
fear and was shaking like an aspen leaf, and it was long ere he found
his tongue again.

Forth then they rode till dusk, when the minstrel stayed Ralph at a
place where a sort of hovels lay together about a house somewhat better
builded, which Ralph took for a hostelry, though it had no sign nor
bush. They entered the said house, wherein was an old woman to whom
the minstrel spake a word or two in a tongue that Ralph knew not, and
straightway she got them victual and drink nowise ill, and showed them
to beds thereafter.

In spite of both victuals and drink the minstrel fell silent and moody;
it might be from weariness, Ralph deemed; and he himself had no great
lust for talk, so he went bedward, and made the bed pay for all.



CHAPTER 32

Ralph Happens on Evil Days


Early on the morrow they departed, and now in the morning light and the
sun the minstrel seemed glad again, and talked abundantly, even though
at whiles Ralph answered him little.

As they rode, the land began to get less fertile and less, till at last
there was but tillage here and there in patches: of houses there were
but few, and the rest was but dark heathland and bog, with scraggy
woods scattered about the country-side.

Naught happened to tell of, save that once in the afternoon, as they
were riding up to the skirts of one of the woods aforesaid, weaponed
men came forth from it and drew up across the way; they were a dozen in
all, and four were horsed. Ralph set his hand to his sword, but the
minstrel cried out, "Nay, no weapons, no weapons! Pull out thy
let-pass again and show it in thine hand, and then let us on."

So saying he drew a white kerchief from his hand, and tied it to the
end of his riding staff, and so rode trembling by Ralph's side:
therewith they rode on together towards those men, whom as they drew
nearer they heard laughing and jeering at them, though in a tongue that
Ralph knew not.

They came so close at last that the waylayers could see the parchment
clearly, with the seal thereon, and then they made obeisance to it, as
though it were the relic of a saint, and drew off quietly into the wood
one by one. These were big men, and savage-looking, and their armour
was utterly uncouth.

The minstrel was loud in his mirth when they were well past these men;
but Ralph rode on silently, and was somewhat soberly.

"Fair sir," quoth the minstrel, "I would wager that I know thy
thought." "Yea," said Ralph, "what is it then?" Said the minstrel:
"Thou art thinking what thou shalt do when thou meetest suchlike folk
on thy way back; but fear not, for with that same seal thou shalt pass
through the land again." Said Ralph: "Yea, something like that,
forsooth, was my thought. But also I was pondering who should be my
guide when I leave Utterbol." The minstrel looked at him askance;
quoth he: "Thou mayst leave thinking of that awhile." Ralph looked
hard at him, but could make naught of the look of his face; so he said:
"Why dost thou say that?" Said Morfinn: "Because I know whither thou
art bound, and have been wondering this long while that thou hast asked
me not about the way to the WELL at the WORLD'S END: since I told thy
friend the merchant that I could tell thee somewhat concerning it. But
I suppose thou hast been thinking of something else?"

"Well," said Ralph, "tell me what thou hast to say of the Well." Said
Morfinn: "This will I tell thee first: that if thou hast any doubt
that such a place there is, thou mayst set that aside; for we of
Utterness and Utterbol are sure thereof; and of all nations and peoples
whereof we know, we deem that we are the nighest thereto. How sayest
thou, is that not already something?" "Yea, verily," said Ralph.

"Now," said Morfinn, "the next thing to be said is that we are on the
road thereto: but the third thing again is this, lord, that though few
who seek it find it, yet we know that some have failed not of it,
besides that lord of Goldburg, of whom I know that thou hast heard.
Furthermore, there dwelleth a sage in the woods not right far from
Utterbol, a hermit living by himself; and folk seek to him for divers
lore, to be holpen by him in one way or other, and of him men say that
he hath so much lore concerning the road to the Well (whether he hath
been there himself they know not certainly), that if he will, he can
put anyone on the road so surely that he will not fail to come there,
but he be slain on the way, as I said to thee in Goldburg. True it is
that the said sage is chary of his lore, and if he think any harm of
the seeker, he will show him naught; but, fair sir, thou art so valiant
and so goodly, and as meseemeth so good a knight per amours, that I
deem it a certain thing that he will tell thee the uttermost of his
knowledge."

Now again waxed Ralph eager concerning his quest; for true it is that
since he had had that story of the damsel from the minstrel, she had
stood in the way before the Well at the World's End. But now he said:
"And canst thou bring me to the said sage, good minstrel?" "Without
doubt," quoth Morfinn, "when we are once safe at Utterbol. From
Utterbol ye may wend any road."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and there are perils yet a few on the way, is it
not so?" "So it is," said the minstrel; "but to-morrow shall try all."
Said Ralph: "And is there some special peril ahead to-morrow? And if it
be so, what is it?" Said his fellow: "It would avail thee naught to
know it. What then, doth that daunt thee?" "No," said Ralph, "by then
it is nigh enough to hurt us, we shall be nigh enough to see it."
"Well said!" quoth the minstrel; "but now we must mend our pace, or
dark night shall overtake us amid these rough ways."

Wild as the land was, they came at even to a place where were a few
houses of woodmen or hunters; and they got off their horses and knocked
at the door of one of these, and a great black-haired carle opened to
them, who, when he saw the knight's armour, would have clapped the door
to again, had not Ralph by the minstrel's rede held out the parchment
to him, who when he saw it became humble indeed, and gave them such
guesting as he might, which was scant indeed of victual or drink, save
wild-fowl from the heath. But they had wine with them from the last
guest-house, whereof they bade the carle to drink; but he would not,
and in all wise seemed to be in dread of them.

When it was morning early they rode their ways, and the carle seemed
glad to be rid of them. After they had ridden a few miles the land
bettered somewhat; there were islands of deep green pasture amidst the
blackness of the heath, with cattle grazing on them, and here and there
was a little tillage: the land was little better than level, only it
swelled a little this way and that. It was a bright sunny day and the
air very clear, and as they rode Ralph said: "Quite clear is the sky,
and yet one cloud there is in the offing; but this is strange about it,
though I have been watching it this half hour, and looking to see the
rack come up from that quarter, yet it changes not at all. I never saw
the like of this cloud."

Said the minstrel: "Yea, fair sir, and of this cloud I must tell thee
that it will change no more till the bones of the earth are tumbled
together. Forsooth this is no cloud, but the topmost head of the
mountain ridge which men call the Wall of the World: and if ever thou
come close up to the said Wall, that shall fear thee, I deem, however
fearless thou be." "Is it nigh to Utterness?" said Ralph. "Nay," said
the minstrel, "not so nigh; for as huge as it seemeth thence."

Said Ralph: "Do folk tell that the Well at the World's End lieth
beyond it?" "Surely," said the minstrel.

Said Ralph, his face flushing: "Forsooth, that ancient lord of
Goldburg came through those mountains, and why not I?" "Yea," said the
minstrel, "why not?" And therewith he looked uneasily on Ralph, who
heeded his looks naught, for his mind was set on high matters.

On then they rode, and when trees or some dip in the land hid that
mountain top from them, the way seemed long to Ralph.

Naught befell to tell of for some while; but at last, when it was
drawing towards evening again, they had been riding through a thick
pine-wood for a long while, and coming out of it they beheld before
them a plain country fairly well grassed, but lo! on the field not far
from the roadside a pavilion pitched and a banner on the top thereof,
but the banner hung down about the staff, so that the bearing was not
seen: and about this pavilion, which was great and rich of fashion,
were many tents great and small, and there were horses tethered in the
field, and men moving about the gleam of armour.

At this sight the minstrel drew rein and stared about him wildly; but
Ralph said: "What is this, is it the peril aforesaid?" "Yea," quoth
the minstrel, shivering with fear. "What aileth thee?" said Ralph;
"have we not the let-pass, what then can befall us? If this be other
than the Lord of Utterbol, he will see our let-pass and let us alone;
or if it be he indeed, what harm shall he do to the bearers of his own
pass? Come on then, or else (and therewith he half drew his sword) is
this Lord of Utterbol but another name for the Devil in Hell?"

But the minstrel still stared wild and trembled; then he stammered out:
"I thought I should bring thee to Utterness first, and that some other
should lead thee thence, I did not look to see him. I dare not, I dare
not! O look, look!"

As he spake the wind arose and ran along the wood-side, and beat back
from it and stirred the canvas of the tents and raised the folds of the
banner, and blew it out, so that the bearing was clear to see; yet
Ralph deemed it naught dreadful, but an armoury fit for a baron, to
wit, a black bear on a castle-wall on a field of gold.

But as Ralph sat on his horse gazing, himseemed that men were looking
towards him, and a great horn was sounded hard by the pavilion; then
Ralph looked toward the minstrel fiercely, and laughed and said: "I
see now that thou art another traitor: so get thee gone; I have more to
do than the slaying of thee." And therewith he turned his horse's head,
and smote the spurs into the sides of him, and went a great gallop over
the field on the right side of the road, away from the gay pavilion;
but even therewith came a half-score of horsemen from the camp, as if
they were awaiting him, and they spurred after him straightway.

The race was no long one, for Ralph's beast was wearied, and the other
horses were fresh, and Ralph knew naught of the country before him,
whereas those riders knew it well. Therefore it was but a few minutes
till they came up with him, and he made no show of defence, but
suffered them to lead him away, and he crossed the highway, where he
saw no token of the minstrel.

So they brought him to the pavilion, and made him dismount and led him
in. The dusk had fallen by now, but within it was all bright with
candles. The pavilion was hung with rich silken cloth, and at the
further end, on a carpet of the hunting, was an ivory chair, whereon
sat a man, who was the only one sitting. He was clad in a gown of blue
silk, broidered with roundels beaten with the Bear upon the Castle-wall.

Ralph deemed that this must be no other than the Lord of Utterbol, yet
after all the tales he had heard of that lord, he seemed no such
terrible man: he was short of stature, but broad across the shoulders,
his hair long, strait, and dark brown of hue, and his beard scanty: he
was straight-featured and smooth-faced, and had been no ill-looking
man, save that his skin was sallow and for his eyes, which were brown,
small, and somewhat bloodshot.

Beside him stood Morfinn bowed down with fear and not daring to look
either at the Lord or at Ralph. Wherefore he knew for certain that
when he had called him traitor even now, that it was no more than the
very sooth, and that he had fallen into the trap; though how or why he
wotted not clearly. Well then might his heart have fallen, but so it
was, that when he looked into the face of this Lord, the terror of the
lands, hatred of him so beset his heart that it swallowed up fear in
him. Albeit he held himself well in hand, for his soul was waxing, and
he deemed that he should yet do great deeds, therefore he desired to
live, whatsoever pains or shame of the passing day he might suffer.

Now this mighty lord spake, and his voice was harsh and squeaking, so
that the sound of it was worse than the sight of his face; and he said:
"Bring the man forth, that I may see him." So they brought up Ralph,
till he was eye to eye with the Lord, who turned to Morfinn and said:
"Is this thy catch, lucky man?" "Yea," quavered Morfinn, not lifting
his eyes; "Will he do, lord?"

"Do?" said the lord, "How can I see him when he is all muffled up in
steel? Ye fools! doff his wargear."

Speedily then had they stripped Ralph of hauberk, and helm, and arm and
leg plates, so that he stood up in his jerkin and breeches, and the
lord leaned forward to look on him as if he were cheapening a horse;
and then turned to a man somewhat stricken in years, clad in scarlet,
who stood on his other hand, and said to him: "Well, David the Sage, is
this the sort of man? Is he goodly enough?"

Then the elder put on a pair of spectacles and eyed Ralph curiously a
while, and then said: "There are no two words to be said about it; he
is a goodly and well-fashioned a young man as was ever sold."

"Well," said the lord, turning towards Morfinn, "the catch is good,
lucky man: David will give thee gold for it, and thou mayst go back
west when thou wilt. And thou must be lucky again, moreover; because
there are women needed for my house; and they must be goodly and meek,
and not grievously marked with stripes, or branded, so that thou hadst
best take them, luckily if thou mayst, and not buy them. Now go, for
there are more than enough men under this woven roof, and we need no
half-men to boot."

Said David, the old man, grinning: "He will hold him well paid if he
go unscathed from before thee, lord: for he looked not to meet thee
here, but thought to bring the young man to Utterness, that he might be
kept there till thou camest."

The lord said, grimly: "He is not far wrong to fear me, maybe: but he
shall go for this time. But if he bring me not those women within
three months' wearing, and if there be but two uncomely ones amongst
them, let him look to it. Give him his gold, David. Now take ye the
new man, and let him rest, and give him meat and drink. And look you,
David, if he be not in condition when he cometh home to Utterbol, thou
shalt pay for it in one way or other, if not in thine own person, since
thou art old, and deft of service, then through those that be dear to
thee. Go now!"

David smiled on Ralph and led him out unto a tent not far off, and
there he made much of him, and bade bring meat and drink and all he
needed. Withal he bade him not to try fleeing, lest he be slain; and
he showed him how nigh the guards were and how many.

Glad was the old man when he saw the captive put a good face on
matters, and that he was not down-hearted. In sooth that hatred of the
tyrant mingled with hope sustained Ralph's heart. He had been minded
when he was brought before the lord to have shown the letter of the
Queen of Goldburg, and to defy him if he still held him captive. But
when he had beheld him and his fellowship a while he thought better of
it. For though they had abundance of rich plenishing, and gay raiment,
and good weapons and armour, howbeit of strange and uncouth fashion,
yet he deemed when he looked on them that they would scarce have the
souls of men in their bodies, but that they were utterly vile through
and through, like the shapes of an evil dream. Therefore he thought
shame of it to show the Queen's letter to them, even as if he had shown
them the very naked body of her, who had been so piteous kind to him.
Also he had no mind to wear his heart on his sleeve, but would keep his
own counsel, and let his foemen speak and show what was in their minds.
For this cause he now made himself sweet, and was of good cheer with
old David, deeming him to be a great man there; as indeed he was, being
the chief counsellor of the Lord of Utterbol; though forsooth not so
much his counsellor as that he durst counsel otherwise than as the Lord
desired to go; unless he thought that it would bring his said Lord, and
therefore himself, to very present peril and damage. In short, though
this man had not been bought for money, he was little better than a
thrall of the higher sort, as forsooth were all the Lord's men, saving
the best and trustiest of his warriors: and these were men whom the
Lord somewhat feared himself: though, on the other hand, he could not
but know that they understood how the dread of the Lord of Utterbol was
a shield to them, and that if it were to die out amongst men, their own
skins were not worth many days' purchase.

So then David spake pleasantly with Ralph, and ate and drank with him,
and saw that he was well bedded for the night, and left him in the
first watch. But Ralph lay down in little more trouble than the night
before, when, though he were being led friendly to Utterness, yet he
had not been able to think what he should do when he came there:
whereas now he thought: Who knoweth what shall betide? and for me there
is nought to do save to lay hold of the occasion that another may give
me. And at the worst I scarce deem that I am being led to the
slaughter.



CHAPTER 33

Ralph is Brought on the Road Towards Utterbol


But now when it was morning they struck the tents and laded them on
wains, and went their ways the selfsame road that Ralph had been minded
for yesterday; to wit the road to Utterness; but now must he ride it
unarmed and guarded: other shame had he none. Indeed David, who stuck
close to his side all day, was so sugary sweet with him, and praised
and encouraged him so diligently, that Ralph began to have misgivings
that all this kindness was but as the flower-garlands wherewith the
heathen times men were wont to deck the slaughter-beasts for the
blood-offering. Yea, and into his mind came certain tales of how there
were heathen men yet in the world, who beguiled men and women, and
offered them up to their devils, whom they called gods: but all this
ran off him soon, when he bethought him how little wisdom there was in
running to meet the evil, which might be on the way, and that way a
rough and perilous one. So he plucked up heart, and spake freely and
gaily with David and one or two others who rode anigh.

They were amidst of the company: the Lord went first after his
fore-runners in a litter done about with precious cloths; and two score
horsemen came next, fully armed after their manner. Then rode Ralph
with David and a half dozen of the magnates: then came a sort of cooks
and other serving men, but none without a weapon, and last another
score of men-at-arms: so that he saw that fleeing was not to be thought
of though he was not bound, and save for lack of weapons rode like a
free man.

The day was clear as yesterday had been, wherefore again Ralph saw the
distant mountain-top like a cloud; and he gazed at it long till David
said: "I see that thou art gazing hard at the mountains, and perchance
art longing to be beyond them, were it but to see what like the land is
on the further side. If all tales be true thou art best this side
thereof, whatever thy lot may be."

"Lieth death on the other side then?" quoth Ralph. "Yea," said David,
"but that is not all, since he is not asleep elsewhere in the world:
but men say that over there are things to be seen which might slay a
strong man for pure fear, without stroke of sword or dint of axe."

"Yea," said Ralph, "but how was it then with him that builded Goldburg?"

"O," said David, "hast thou heard that tale? Well, they say of him,
who certes went over those mountains, and drank of the Well at the
World's End, that he was one of the lucky: yet for all his luck never
had he drunk the draught had he not been helped by one who had learned
many things, a woman to wit. For he was one of them with whom all
women are in love; and thence indeed was his luck....Moreover, when all
is said, 'tis but a tale."

"Yea," quoth Ralph laughing, "even as the tales of the ghosts and bugs
that abide the wayfarer on the other side of yonder white moveless
cloud."

David laughed in his turn and said: "Thou hast me there; and whether
or no, these tales are nothing to us, who shall never leave Utterbol
again while we live, save in such a company as this." Then he held his
peace, but presently spake again: "Hast thou heard anything, then, of
those tales of the Well at the World's End? I mean others beside that
concerning the lord of Goldburg?"

"Yea, surely I have," said Ralph, nowise changing countenance. Said
David: "Deemest thou aught of them? deemest thou that it may be true
that a man may drink of the Well and recover his youth thereby?"

Ralph laughed and said: "Master, it is rather for me to ask thee
hereof, than thou me, since thou dwellest so much nigher thereto than I
have done heretofore."

David drew up close to him, and said softly: "Nigher? Yea, but belike
not so much nigher."

"How meanest thou?" said Ralph.

Said David: "Is it so nigh that a man may leave home and come thereto
in his life-time?"

"Yea," said Ralph, "in my tales it is."

Said the old man still softlier: "Had I deemed that true I had tried
the adventure, whatever might lie beyond the mountains, but (and he
sighed withal) I deem it untrue."

Therewith dropped the talk of that matter: and in sooth Ralph was
loath to make many words thereof, lest his eagerness shine through, and
all the story of him be known.

Anon it was noon, and the lord bade all men stay for meat: so his
serving men busied them about his dinner, and David went with them.
Then the men-at-arms bade Ralph sit among them and share their meat.
So they sat down all by the wayside, and they spake kindly and friendly
to Ralph, and especially their captain, a man somewhat low of stature,
but long-armed like the Lord, a man of middle age, beardless and spare
of body, but wiry and tough-looking, with hair of the hue of the dust
of the sandstone quarry. This man fell a-talking with Ralph, and asked
him of the manner of tilting and courteous jousting between knights in
the countries of knighthood, till that talk dropped between them. Then
Ralph looked round upon the land, which had now worsened again, and was
little better than rough moorland, little fed, and not at all tilled,
and he said: "This is but a sorry land for earth's increase."

"Well," said the captain, "I wot not; it beareth plover and whimbrel
and conies and hares; yea, and men withal, some few. And whereas it
beareth naught else, that cometh of my lord's will: for deemest thou
that he should suffer a rich land betwixt him and Goldburg, that it
might sustain an host big enough to deal with him?"

"But is not this his land?" said Ralph.

Said the captain: "Nay, and also yea. None shall dwell in it save as
he willeth, and they shall pay him tribute, be it never so little. Yet
some there are of them, who are to him as the hounds be to the hunter,
and these same he even wageth, so that if aught rare and goodly cometh
their way they shall bring it to his hands; as thou thyself knowest to
thy cost."

"Yea," said Ralph smiling, "and is Morfinn the Unmanned one of these
curs?" "Yea," said the captain, with a grin, "and one of the richest of
them, in despite of his fiddle and minstrel's gear, and his lack of
manhood: for he is one of the cunningest of men. But my Lord unmanned
him for some good reason."

Ralph kept silence and while and then said: "Why doth the Goldburg
folk suffer all this felony, robbery and confusion, so near their
borders, and the land debateable?"

Said the captain, and again he grinned: "Passing for thy hard words,
sir knight, why dost thou suffer me to lead thee along whither thou
wouldest not?"

"Because I cannot help myself," said Ralph.

Said the captain: "Even so it is with the Goldburg folk: if they raise
hand against some of these strong-thieves or man-stealers, he has but
to send the war-arrow round about these deserts, as ye deem them, and
he will presently have as rough a company of carles for his fellows as
need be, say ten hundred of them. And the Goldburg folk are not very
handy at a fray without their walls. Forsooth within them it is
another matter, and beside not even our Lord of Utterbol would see
Goldburg broken down, no, not for all that he might win there."

"Is it deemed a holy place in the land, then?" said Ralph.

"I wot not the meaning of holy," said the other: "but all we deem that
when Goldburg shall fall, the world shall change, so that living
therein shall be hard to them that have not drunk of the water of the
Well at the World's End."

Ralph was silent a while and eyed the captain curiously: then he said:
"Have the Goldburgers so drunk?" Said the captain: "Nay, nay; but the
word goes that under each tower of Goldburg lieth a youth and a maiden
that have drunk of the water, and might not die save by point and edge."

Then was Ralph silent again, for once more he fell pondering the matter
if he had been led away to be offered as a blood offering to some of
evil gods of the land. But as he pondered a flourish of trumpets was
blown, and all men sprang up, and the captain said to Ralph: "Now hath
our Lord done his dinner and we must to horse." Anon they were on the
way again, and they rode long and saw little change in the aspect of
the land, neither did that cloudlike token of the distant mountains
grow any greater or clearer to Ralph's deeming.



CHAPTER 34

The Lord of Utterbol Will Wot of Ralph's Might and Minstrelsy


A little before sunset they made halt for the night, and Ralph was
shown to a tent as erst, and had meat and drink good enough brought to
him. But somewhat after he had done eating comes David to him and
says: "Up, young man! and come to my lord, he asketh for thee."

"What will he want with me?" said Ralph.

"Yea, that is a proper question to ask!" quoth David; "as though the
knife should ask the cutler, what wilt thou cut with me? Dost thou
deem that I durst ask him of his will with thee?" "I am ready to go
with thee," said Ralph.

So they went forth; but Ralph's heart fell and he sickened at the
thought of seeing that man again. Nevertheless he set his face as
brass, and thrust back both his fear and his hatred for a fitter
occasion.

Soon they came into the pavilion of the Lord, who was sitting there as
yester eve, save that his gown was red, and done about with gold and
turquoise and emerald. David brought Ralph nigh to his seat, but spake
not. The mighty lord was sitting with his head drooping, and his arm
hanging over his knee, with a heavy countenance as though he were
brooding matters which pleased him naught. But in a while he sat up
with a start, and turned about and saw David standing there with Ralph,
and spake at once like a man waking up: "He that sold thee to me said
that thou wert of avail for many things. Now tell me, what canst thou
do?"

Ralph so hated him, that he was of half a mind to answer naught save by
smiting him to slay him; but there was no weapon anigh, and life was
sweet to him with all the tale that was lying ahead. So he answered
coldly: "It is sooth, lord, that I can do more than one deed."

"Canst thou back a horse?" said the Lord. Said Ralph: "As well as
many." Said the Lord: "Canst thou break a wild horse, and shoe him,
and physic him?"

"Not worse than some," said Ralph.

"Can'st thou play with sword and spear?" said the Lord.

"Better than some few," said Ralph. "How shall I know that?" said the
Lord. Said Ralph: "Try me, lord!" Indeed, he half hoped that if it
came to that, he might escape in the hurley.

The Lord looked on him and said: "Well, it may be tried. But here is
a cold and proud answerer, David. I misdoubt me whether it be worth
while bringing him home."

David looked timidly on Ralph and said: "Thou hast paid the price for
him, lord."

"Yea, that is true," said the Lord. "Thou! can'st thou play at the
chess?" "Yea," said Ralph. "Can'st thou music?" said the other.
"Yea," said Ralph, "when I am merry, or whiles indeed when I am sad."

The lord said: "Make thyself merry or sad, which thou wilt; but sing,
or thou shalt be beaten. Ho! Bring ye the harp." Then they brought it
as he bade.

But Ralph looked to right and left and saw no deliverance, and knew
this for the first hour of his thralldom. Yet, as he thought of it
all, he remembered that if he would do, he must needs bear and forbear;
and his face cleared, and he looked round about again and let his eyes
rest calmly on all eyes that he met till they came on the Lord's face
again. Then he let his hand fall into the strings and they fell
a-tinkling sweetly, like unto the song of the winter robin, and at last
he lifted his voice and sang:

Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,
Nought stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maid
A-peeling the withy last Candlemas shrouded
From the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.

For over the Ford now the grass and the clover
Fly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;
And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,
And to-morrow at even the mead shall be won.

But the Hall of the Garden amidst the hot morning,
It drew my feet thither; I stood at the door,
And felt my heart harden 'gainst wisdom and warning
As the sun and my footsteps came on to the floor.

When the sun lay behind me, there scarce in the dimness
I say what I sought for, yet trembled to find;
But it came forth to find me, until the sleek slimness
Of the summer-clad woman made summer o'er kind.

There we the once-sundered together were blended,
We strangers, unknown once, were hidden by naught.
I kissed and I wondered how doubt was all ended,
How friendly her excellent fairness was wrought.

Round the hall of the Garden the hot sun is burning,
But no master nor minstrel goes there in the shade,
It hath never a warden till comes the returning,
When the moon shall hang high and all winds shall be laid.

Waned the day and I hied me afield, and thereafter
I sat with the mighty when daylight was done,
But with great men beside me, midst high-hearted laughter,
I deemed me of all men the gainfullest one.

To wisdom I hearkened; for there the wise father
Cast the seed of his learning abroad o'er the hall,

Till men's faces darkened, but mine gladdened rather
With the thought of the knowledge I knew over all.

Sang minstrels the story, and with the song's welling
Men looked on each other and glad were they grown,
But mine was the glory of the tale and its telling
How the loved and the lover were naught but mine own.

When he was done all kept silence till they should know whether
the lord should praise the song or blame; and he said naught
for a good while, but sat as if pondering: but at last he spake:
"Thou art young, and would that we were young also!
Thy song is sweet, and it pleaseth me, who am a man of war,
and have seen enough and to spare of rough work, and would
any day rather see a fair woman than a band of spears.
But it shall please my lady wife less: for of love, and fair women,
and their lovers she hath seen enough; but of war nothing save
its shows and pomps; wherefore she desireth to hear thereof.
Now sing of battle!"

Ralph thought awhile and began to smite the harp while he conned over a
song which he had learned one yule-tide from a chieftain who had come
to Upmeads from the far-away Northland, and had abided there till
spring was waning into summer, and meanwhile he taught Ralph this song
and many things else, and his name was Sir Karr Wood-neb. This song now
Ralph sang loud and sweet, though he were now a thrall in an alien land:


Leave we the cup!
For the moon is up,
And bright is the gleam
Of the rippling stream,
That runneth his road
To the old abode,
Where the walls are white
In the moon and the night;
The house of the neighbour that drave us away
When strife ended labour amidst of the hay,
And no road for our riding was left us but one
Where the hill's brow is hiding that earth's ways are done,
And the sound of the billows comes up at the last
Like the wind in the willows ere autumn is past.

But oft and again
Comes the ship from the main,
And we came once more
And no lading we bore
But the point and the edge,
And the ironed ledge,
And the bolt and the bow,
And the bane of the foe.
To the House 'neath the mountain we came in the morn,
Where welleth the fountain up over the corn,
And the stream is a-running fast on to the House
Of the neighbours uncunning who quake at the mouse,
As their slumber is broken; they know not for why;
Since yestreen was not token on earth or in sky.

Come, up, then up!
Leave board and cup,
And follow the gleam
Of the glittering stream
That leadeth the road To the old abode,
High-walled and white
In the moon and the night;
Where low lies the neighbour that drave us away
Sleep-sunk from his labour amidst of the hay.
No road for our riding is left us save one,
Where the hills' brow is hiding the city undone,
And the wind in the willows is with us at last,
And the house of the billows is done and o'er-past.

Haste! mount and haste
Ere the short night waste,
For night and day,
Late turned away,
Draw nigh again
All kissing-fain;
And the morn and the moon
Shall be married full soon.
So ride we together with wealth-winning wand,
The steel o'er the leather, the ash in the hand.
Lo! white walls before us, and high are they built;
But the luck that outwore us now lies on their guilt;
Lo! the open gate biding the first of the sun,
And to peace are we riding when slaughter is done.


When Ralph had done singing, all folk fell to praising his song,
whereas the Lord had praised the other one; but the Lord said, looking
at Ralph askance meanwhile: "Yea, if that pleaseth me not, and I take
but little keep of it, it shall please my wife to her heart's root; and
that is the first thing. Hast thou others good store, new-comer?"
"Yea, lord," said Ralph. "And canst thou tell tales of yore agone, and
of the fays and such-like? All that she must have." "Some deal I can of
that lore," said Ralph.

Then the Lord sat silent, and seemed to be pondering: at last he said,
as if to himself: "Yet there is one thing: many a blencher can sing of
battle; and it hath been seen, that a fair body of a man is whiles soft
amidst the hard hand-play. Thou! Morfinn's luck! art thou of any use
in the tilt-yard?" "Wilt thou try me, lord?" said Ralph, looking
somewhat brisker. Said the Lord: "I deem that I may find a man or two
for thee, though it is not much our manner here; but now go thou!
David, take the lad away to his tent, and get him a flask of wine of
the best to help out thy maundering with him."

Therewith they left the tent, and Ralph walked by David sadly and with
hanging head at first; but in a while he called to mind that, whatever
betid, his life was safe as yet; that every day he was drawing nigher
to the Well at the World's End; and that it was most like that he shall
fall in with that Dorothea of his dream somewhere on the way thereto.
So he lifted up his head again, and was singing to himself as he
stooped down to enter into his tent.

Next day naught happed to tell of save that they journeyed on; the day
was cloudy, so that Ralph saw no sign of the distant mountains; ever
the land was the same, but belike somewhat more beset with pinewoods;
they saw no folk at all on the road. So at even Ralph slept in his
tent, and none meddled with him, save that David came to talk with him
or he slept, and was merry and blithe with him, and he brought with him
Otter, the captain of the guard, who was good company.

Thus wore three days that were hazy and cloudy, and the Lord sent no
more for Ralph, who on the road spake for the more part with Otter, and
liked him not ill; howbeit it seemed of him that he would make no more
of a man's life than of a rabbit's according as his lord might bid slay
or let live.

The three hazy days past, it fell to rain for four days, so that Ralph
could see little of the face of the land; but he noted that they went
up at whiles, and never so much down as up, so that they were wending
up hill on the whole.

On the ninth day of his captivity the rain ceased and it was sunny and
warm but somewhat hazy, so that naught could be seen afar, but the land
near-hand rose in long, low downs now, and was quite treeless, save
where was a hollow here and there and a stream running through it,
where grew a few willows, but alders more abundantly.

This day he rode by Otter, who said presently: "Well, youngling of the
North, to-morrow we shall see a new game, thou and I, if the weather be
fair." "Yea," said Ralph, "and what like shall it be?" Said Otter, "At
mid-morn we shall come into a fair dale amidst the downs, where be some
houses and a tower of the Lord's, so that that place is called the Dale
of the Tower: there shall we abide a while to gather victual, a day or
two, or three maybe: so my Lord will hold a tourney there: that is to
say that I myself and some few others shall try thy manhood somewhat."
"What?" said Ralph, "are the new colt's paces to be proven? And how if
he fail?"

Quoth Otter, laughing: "Fail not, I rede thee, or my lord's love for
thee shall be something less than nothing." "And then will he slay me?"
said Ralph. Said Otter: "Nay I deem not, at least not at first: he
will have thee home to Utterbol, to make the most of his bad bargain,
and there shalt thou be a mere serving-thrall, either in the house or
the field: where thou shalt be well-fed (save in times of scarcity),
and belike well beaten withal." Said Ralph, somewhat downcast: "Yea, I
am a thrall, who was once a knight. But how if thou fail before me?"
Otter laughed again: "That is another matter; whatever I do my Lord
will not lose me if he can help it; but as for the others who shall
stand before thy valiancy, there will be some who will curse the day
whereon my lord bought thee, if thou turnest out a good spear, as ye
call it in your lands. Howsoever, that is not thy business; and I bid
thee fear naught; for thou seemest to be a mettle lad."

So they talked, and that day wore like the others, but the haze did not
clear off, and the sun went down red. In the evening David talked with
Ralph in his tent, and said: "If to-morrow be clear, knight, thou shalt
see a new sight when thou comest out from the canvas." Said Ralph: "I
suppose thy meaning is that we shall see the mountains from hence?"
"Yea," said David; "so hold up thine heart when that sight first cometh
before thine eyes. As for us, we are used to the sight, and that from
a place much nigher to the mountains: yet they who are soft-hearted
amongst us are overcome at whiles, when there is storm and tempest, and
evil tides at hand."

Said Ralph: "And how far then are we from Utterbol?" Said David:
"After we have left Bull-mead in the Dale of the Tower, where to-morrow
thou art to run with the spear, it is four days' ride to Utterness; and
from Utterness ye may come (if my lord will) unto Utterbol in twelve
hours. But tell me, knight, how deemest thou of thy tilting
to-morrow?" Said Ralph: "Little should I think of it, if little lay
upon it." "Yea," said David, "but art thou a good tilter?" Ralph
laughed: quoth he, "That hangs on the goodness of him that tilteth
against me: I have both overthrown, and been overthrown oft enough.
Yet again, who shall judge me? for I must tell thee, that were I fairly
judged, I should be deemed no ill spear, even when I came not
uppermost: for in all these games are haps which no man may foresee."

"Well, then," said David, "all will go well with thee for this time:
for my lord will judge thee, and if it be seen that thou hast spoken
truly, and art more than a little deft at the play, he will be like to
make the best of thee, since thou art already paid for." Ralph laughed:
yet as though the jest pleased him but little; and they fell to talk of
other matters. And so David departed, and Ralph slept.



CHAPTER 35

Ralph Cometh To the Vale of the Tower


But when it was morning Ralph awoke, and saw that the sun was shining
brightly; so he cast his shirt on him, and went out at once, and turned
his face eastward, and, scarce awake, said to himself that the clouds
lay heavy in the eastward heavens after last night's haze: but
presently his eyes cleared, and he saw that what he had taken for
clouds was a huge wall of mountains, black and terrible, that rose up
sharp and clear into the morning air; for there was neither cloud nor
mist in all the heavens.

Now Ralph, though he were but little used to the sight of great
mountains, yet felt his heart rather rise than fall at the sight of
them; for he said: "Surely beyond them lieth some new thing for me,
life or death: fair fame or the forgetting of all men." And it was
long that he could not take his eyes off them.

As he looked, came up the Captain Otter, and said: "Well, Knight, thou
hast seen them this morn, even if ye die ere nightfall." Said Ralph:
"What deemest thou to lie beyond them?"

"Of us none knoweth surely," said Otter; "whiles I deem that if one
were to get to the other side there would be a great plain like to
this: whiles that there is naught save mountains beyond, and yet again
mountains, like the waves of a huge stone sea. Or whiles I think that
one would come to an end of the world, to a place where is naught but a
ledge, and then below it a gulf filled with nothing but the howling of
winds, and the depth of darkness. Moreover this is my thought, that
all we of these parts should be milder men and of better conditions, if
yonder terrible wall were away. It is as if we were thralls of the
great mountains."

Said Ralph, "Is this then the Wall of the World?" "It may well be so,"
said Otter; "but this word is at whiles said of something else, which
no man alive amongst us has yet seen. It is a part of the tale of the
seekers for the Well at the World's End, whereof we said a word that
other day."

"And the Dry Tree," said Ralph, "knowest thou thereof?" said Ralph.
"Such a tree, much beworshipped," said Otter, "we have, not very far
from Utterbol, on the hither side of the mountains. Yet I have heard
old men say that it is but a toy, and an image of that which is verily
anigh the Well at the World's End. But now haste thee to do on thy
raiment, for we must needs get to horse in a little while." "Yet one
more word," said Ralph; "thou sayest that none alive amongst you have
seen the Wall of the World?" "None alive," quoth Otter; "forsooth what
the dead may see, that is another question." Said Ralph: "But have ye
not known of any who have sought to the Well from this land, which is
so nigh thereunto?" "Such there have been," said Otter; "but if they
found it, they found something beyond it, or came west again by some
way else than by Utterbol; for they never came back again to us."

Therewith he turned on his heel, and went his ways, and up came David
and one with him bringing victual; and David said: "Now, thou lucky
one, here is come thy breakfast! for we shall presently be on our way.
Cast on thy raiment, and eat and strengthen thyself for the day's work.
Hast thou looked well on the mountains?" "Yea," said Ralph, "and the
sight of them has made me as little downhearted as thou art. For thou
art joyous of mood this morning." David nodded and smiled, and looked
so merry that Ralph wondered what was toward. Then he went into his
tent and clad himself, and ate his breakfast, and then gat to horse and
rode betwixt two of the men-at-arms, he and Otter; for David was ridden
forward to speak with the Lord. Otter talked ever gaily enough; but
Ralph heeded him little a while, but had his eyes ever on the
mountains, and could see that for all they were so dark, and filled up
so much of the eastward heaven, they were so far away that he could see
but little of them save that they were dark blue and huge, and one
rising up behind the other.

Thus they rode the down country, till at last, two hours before noon,
coming over the brow of a long down, they had before them a shallow
dale, pleasanter than aught they had yet seen. It was well-grassed,
and a little river ran through it, from which went narrow leats held up
by hatches, so that the more part of the valley bottom was a
water-meadow, wherein as now were grazing many kine and sheep. There
were willows about the banks of the river, and in an ingle of it stood
a grange or homestead, with many roofs half hidden by clumps of tall
old elm trees. Other houses there were in the vale; two or three cots,
to wit, on the slope of the hither down, and some half-dozen about the
homestead; and above and beyond all these, on a mound somewhat away
from the river and the grange, a great square tower, with barriers and
bailey all dight ready for war, and with a banner of the Lord's hanging
out. But between the tower and the river stood as now a great pavilion
of snow-white cloth striped with gold and purple; and round about it
were other tents, as though a little army were come into the vale.

So when they looked into that fair place, Otter the Captain rose in the
stirrups and cast up his hand for joy, and cried out aloud: "Now,
young knight, now we are come home: how likest thou my Lord's land?"

"It is a fair land," said Ralph; "but is there not come some one to bid
thy Lord battle for it? or what mean the tents down yonder?"

Said Otter, laughing: "Nay, nay, it hath not come to that yet. Yonder
is my Lord's lady-wife, who hath come to meet him, but in love, so to
say, not in battle--not yet. Though I say not that the cup of love
betwixt them be brim-full. But this it behoveth me not to speak of,
though thou art to be my brother-in-arms, since we are to tilt together
presently: for lo! yonder the tilt-yard, my lad."

Therewith he pointed to the broad green meadow: but Ralph said: "How
canst thou, a free man, be brother-in-arms to a thrall?" "Nay, lad,"
quoth Otter, "let not that wasp sting thee: for even such was I, time
was. Nay, such am I now, but that a certain habit of keeping my wits
in a fray maketh me of avail to my Lord, so that I am well looked to.
Forsooth in my Lord's land the free men are of little account, since
they must oftenest do as my Lord and my Lord's thralls bid them.
Truly, brother, it is we who have the wits and the luck to rise above
the whipping-post and the shackles that are the great men hereabouts.
I say we, for I deem that thou wilt do no less, whereas thou hast the
lucky look in thine eyes. So let to-day try it."

As he spake came many glittering figures from out of those tents, and
therewithal arose the sound of horns and clashing of cymbals, and their
own horns gave back the sound of welcome. Then Ralph saw a man in
golden armour of strange, outlandish fashion, sitting on a great black
horse beside the Lord's litter; and Otter said: "Lo! my Lord, armed
and a-horseback to meet my lady: she looketh kinder on him thus; though
in thine ear be it said, he is no great man of war; nor need he be,
since he hath us for his shield and his hauberk."

Herewith were they come on to the causeway above the green meadows, and
presently drew rein before the pavilion, and stood about in a half-ring
facing a two score of gaily clad men-at-arms, who had come with the
Lady and a rout of folk of the household. Then the Lord gat off his
horse, and stood in his golden armour, and all the horns and other
music struck up, and forth from the pavilion came the Lady with a
half-score of her women clad gaily in silken gowns of green, and blue,
and yellow, broidered all about with gold and silver, but with naked
feet, and having iron rings on their arms, so that Ralph saw that they
were thralls. Something told him that his damsel should be amongst
these, so he gazed hard on them, but though they were goodly enough
there was none of them like to her.

As to the Queen, she was clad all in fine linen and gold, with gold
shoes on her feet: her arms came bare from out of the linen: great
they were, and the hands not small; but the arms round and fair, and
the hands shapely, and all very white and rosy: her hair was as yellow
as any that can be seen, and it was plenteous, and shed all down about
her. Her eyes were blue and set wide apart, her nose a little snubbed,
her mouth wide, full-lipped and smiling. She was very tall, a full
half-head taller than any of her women: yea, as tall as a man who is
above the middle height of men.

Now she came forward hastily with long strides, and knelt adown before
the Lord, but even as she kneeled looked round with a laughing face.
The Lord stooped down to her and took her by both hands, and raised her
up, and kissed her on the cheek (and he looked but little and of no
presence beside her:) and he said: "Hail to thee, my Lady; thou art
come far from thine home to meet me, and I thank thee therefor. Is it
well with our House?"

She spake seeming carelessly and loud; but her voice was somewhat
husky: "Yea, my Lord, all is well; few have done amiss, and the harvest
is plenteous." As she spake the Lord looked with knit brows at the
damsels behind her, as if he were seeking something; and the Lady
followed his eyes, smiling a little and flushing as if with merriment.

But the Lord was silent a while, and then let his brow clear and said:
"Yea, Lady, thou art thanked for coming to meet us; and timely is thy
coming, since there is game and glee for thee at hand; I have cheapened
a likely thrall of Morfinn the Unmanned, and he is a gift to thee; and
he hath given out that he is no ill player with the spear after the
fashion of them of the west; and we are going to prove his word here in
this meadow presently."

The Lady's face grew glad, and she said, looking toward the ring of new
comers: "Yea, Lord, and which of these is he, if he be here?"

The Lord turned a little to point out Ralph, but even therewith the
Lady's eyes met Ralph's, who reddened for shame of being so shown to a
great lady; but as for her she flushed bright red all over her face and
even to her bosom, and trouble came into her eyes, and she looked
adown. But the Lord said: "Yonder is the youngling, the swordless one
in the green coat; a likely lad, if he hath not lied about his prowess;
and he can sing thee a song withal, and tell a piteous tale of old, and
do all that those who be reared in the lineages of the westlands deem
meet and due for men of knightly blood. Dost thou like the looks of
him, lady! wilt thou have him?"

The Lady still held her head down, and tormented the grass with her
foot, and murmured somewhat; for she could not come to herself again as
yet. So the Lord looked sharply on her and said: "Well, when this
tilting is over, thou shalt tell me thy mind of him; for if he turn out
a dastard I would not ask thee to take him."

Now the lady lifted up her face, and she was grown somewhat pale; but
she forced her speech to come, and said: "It is well, Lord, but now
come thou into my pavilion, for thy meat is ready, and it lacketh but a
minute or so of noon." So he took her hand and led her in to the
pavilion, and all men got off their horses, and fell to pitching the
tents and getting their meat ready; but Otter drew Ralph apart into a
nook of the homestead, and there they ate their meat together.



CHAPTER 36

The Talk of Two Women Concerning Ralph


But when dinner was done, came David and a man with him bringing
Ralph's war gear, and bade him do it on, while the folk were fencing
the lists, which they were doing with such stuff as they had at the
Tower; and the Lord had been calling for Otter that he might command
him what he should tell to the marshals of the lists and how all should
be duly ordered, wherefore he went up unto the Tower whither the Lord
had now gone. So Ralph did on his armour, which was not right meet for
tilting, being over light for such work; and his shield in especial was
but a target for a sergeant, which he had brought at Cheaping Knowe;
but he deemed that his deftness and much use should bear him well
through.

Now, the Lady had abided in her pavilion when her Lord went abroad;
anon after she sent all her women away, save one whom she loved, and to
whom she was wont to tell the innermost of her mind; though forsooth
she mishandled her at whiles; for she was hot of temper, and over-ready
with her hands when she was angry; though she was nowise cruel. But
the woman aforesaid, who was sly and sleek, and somewhat past her first
youth, took both her caresses and her buffets with patience, for the
sake of the gifts and largesse wherewith they were bought. So now she
stood by the board in the pavilion with her head drooping humbly, yet
smiling to herself and heedful of whatso might betide. But the Lady
walked up and down the pavilion hastily, as one much moved.

At last she spake as she walked and said: "Agatha, didst thou see him
when my Lord pointed him out?" "Yea," said the woman lifting her face
a little.

"And what seemed he to thee?" said the Lady. "O my Lady," quoth
Agatha, "what seemed he to thee?" The lady stood and turned and looked
at her; she was slender and dark and sleek; and though her lips moved
not, and her eyes did not change, a smile seemed to steal over her face
whether she would or not. The Lady stamped her foot and lifted her
hand and cried out. "What! dost thou deem thyself meet for him?" And
she caught her by the folds over her bosom. But Agatha looked up into
her face with a simple smile as of a child: "Dost thou deem him meet
for thee, my Lady--he a thrall, and thou so great?" The Lady took her
hand from her, but her face flamed with anger and she stamped on the
ground again: "What dost thou mean?" she said; "am I not great enough
to have what I want when it lieth close to my hand?" Agatha looked on
her sweetly, and said in a soft voice: "Stretch out thine hand for it
then." The Lady looked at her grimly, and said: "I understand thy
jeer; thou meanest that he will not be moved by me, he being so fair,
and I being but somewhat fair. Wilt thou have me beat thee? Nay, I
will send thee to the White Pillar when we come home to Utterbol."

The woman smiled again, and said: "My Lady, when thou hast sent me to
the White Pillar, or the Red, or the Black, my stripes will not mend
the matter for thee, or quench the fear of thine heart that by this
time, since he is a grown man, he loveth some other. Yet belike he
will obey thee if thou command, even to the lying in the same bed with
thee; for he is a thrall." The Lady hung her head, but Agatha went on
in her sweet clear voice: "The Lord will think little of it, and say
nothing of it unless thou anger him otherwise; or unless, indeed, he be
minded to pick a quarrel with thee, and hath baited a trap with this
stripling. But that is all unlike: thou knowest why, and how that he
loveth the little finger of that new-come thrall of his (whom ye left
at home at Utterbol in his despite), better than all thy body, for all
thy white skin and lovely limbs. Nay, now I think of it, I deem that
he meaneth this gift to make an occasion for the staying of any quarrel
with thee, that he may stop thy mouth from crying out at him--well,
what wilt thou do? he is a mighty Lord."

The Lady looked up (for she had hung her head at first), her face all
red with shame, yet smiling, though ruefully, and she said: "Well, thou
art determined that if thou art punished it shall not be for naught.
But thou knowest not my mind." "Yea, Lady," said Agatha, smiling in
despite of herself, "that may well be."

Now the Lady turned from her, and went and sat upon a stool that was
thereby, and said nothing a while; only covering her face with her
hands and rocking herself to and fro, while Agatha stood looking at
her. At last she said: "Hearken, Agatha, I must tell thee what lieth
in mine heart, though thou hast been unkind to me and hast tried to
hurt my soul. Now, thou art self-willed, and hot-blooded, and not
unlovely, so that thou mayst have loved and been loved ere now. But
thou art so wily and subtle that mayhappen thou wilt not understand
what I mean, when I say that love of this young man hath suddenly
entered into my heart, so that I long for him more this minute than I
did the last, and the next minute shall long still more. And I long
for him to love me, and not alone to pleasure me."

"Mayhappen it will so betide without any pushing the matter," said
Agatha.

"Nay," said the Lady, "Nay; my heart tells me that it will not be so;
for I have seen him, that he is of higher kind than we be; as if he
were a god come down to us, who if he might not cast his love upon a
goddess, would disdain to love an earthly woman, little-minded and in
whom perfection is not." Therewith the tears began to run from her
eyes; but Agatha looked on her with a subtle smile and said: "O my
Lady! and thou hast scarce seen him! And yet I will not say but that
I understand this. But as to the matter of a goddess, I know not.
Many would say that thou sitting on thine ivory chair in thy golden
raiment, with thy fair bosom and white arms and yellow hair, wert not
ill done for the image of a goddess; and this young man may well think
so of thee. However that may be, there is something else I will say to
thee; (and thou knowest that I speak the truth to thee--most often--
though I be wily). This is the word, that although thou hast time and
again treated me like the thrall I am, I deem thee no ill woman, but
rather something overgood for Utterbol and the dark lord thereof."

Now sat the Lady shaken with sobs, and weeping without stint; but she
looked up at that word and said: "Nay, nay, Agatha, it is not so.
To-day hath this man's eyes been a candle to me, that I may see myself
truly; and I know that though I am a queen and not uncomely, I am but
coarse and little-minded. I rage in my household when the whim takes
me, and I am hot-headed, and masterful, and slothful, and should belike
be untrue if there were any force to drive me thereto. And I suffer my
husband to go after other women, and this new thrall is especial, so
that I may take my pleasure unstayed with other men whom I love not
greatly. Yes, I am foolish, and empty-headed, and unclean. And all
this he will see through my queenly state, and my golden gown, and my
white skin withal."

Agatha looked on her curiously, but smiling no more. At last she said:
"What is to do, then? or must I think of something for thee?"

"I know not, I know not," said the Lady between her sobs; "yet if I
might be in such case that he might pity me; belike it might blind his
eyes to the ill part of me. Yea," she said, rising up and falling
walking to and fro swiftly, "if he might hurt me and wound me himself,
and I so loving him."

Said Agatha coldly: "Yes, Lady, I am not wily for naught; and I both
deem that I know what is in thine heart, and that it is good for
something; and moreover that I may help thee somewhat therein. So in a
few days thou shalt see whether I am worth something more than hard
words and beating. Only thou must promise in all wise to obey me,
though I be the thrall, and thou the Lady, and to leave all the whole
matter in my hands."

Quoth the Lady: "That is easy to promise; for what may I do by myself?"

Then Agatha fell pondering a while, and said thereafter: "First, thou
shalt get me speech with my Lord, and cause him to swear immunity to
me, whatsoever I shall say or do herein." Said the Lady: "Easy is
this. What more hast thou?"

Said Agatha: "It were better for thee not to go forth to see the
jousting; because thou art not to be trusted that thou show not thy
love openly when the youngling is in peril; and if thou put thy lord to
shame openly before the people, he must needs thwart thy will, and be
fierce and cruel, and then it will go hard with thy darling. So thou
shalt not go from the pavilion till the night is dark, and thou mayst
feign thyself sick meantime."

"Sick enough shall I be if I may not go forth to see how my love is
faring in his peril: this at least is hard to me; but so be it! At
least thou wilt come and tell me how he speedeth." "Oh yes," said
Agatha, "if thou must have it so; but fear thou not, he shall do well
enough."

Said the Lady: "Ah, but thou wottest how oft it goes with a chance
stroke, that the point pierceth where it should not; nay, where by
likelihood it could not."

"Nay," said Agatha, "what chance is there in this, when the youngling
knoweth the whole manner of the play, and his foemen know naught
thereof? It is as the chance betwixt Geoffrey the Minstrel and Black
Anselm, when they play at chess together, that Anselm must needs be
mated ere he hath time to think of his fourth move. I wot of these
matters, my Lady. Now, further, I would have thy leave to marshal thy
maids about the seat where thou shouldest be, and moreover there should
be someone in thy seat, even if I sat in it myself." Said the Lady:
"Yea, sit there if thou wilt."

"Woe's me!" said Agatha laughing, "why should I sit there? I am like
to thee, am I not?" "Yea," said the Lady, "as the swan is like to the
loon." "Yea, my Lady," said Agatha, "which is the swan and which the
loon? Well, well, fear not; I shall set Joyce in thy seat by my Lord's
leave; she is tall and fair, and forsooth somewhat like to thee." "Why
wilt thou do this?" quoth the Lady; "Why should thralls sit in my
seat?" Said Agatha: "O, the tale is long to tell; but I would confuse
that young man's memory of thee somewhat, if his eyes fell on thee at
all when ye met e'en now, which is to be doubted."

The Lady started up in sudden wrath, and cried out: "She had best not
be too like to me then, and strive to draw his eyes to her, or I will
have her marked for diversity betwixt us. Take heed, take heed!"

Agatha looked softly on her and said: "My Lady. Ye fair-skinned,
open-faced women should look to it not to show yourselves angry before
men-folk. For open wrath marreth your beauty sorely. Leave scowls and
fury to the dark-browed, who can use them without wrying their faces
like a three months' baby with the colic. Now that is my last rede as
now. For methinks I can hear the trumpets blowing for the arraying of
the tourney. Wherefore I must go to see to matters, while thou hast
but to be quiet. And to-night make much of my Lord, and bid him see me
to-morrow, and give heed to what I shall say to him. But if I meet him
without, now, as is most like, I shall bid him in to thee, that thou
mayst tell him of Joyce, and her sitting in thy seat. Otherwise I will
tell him as soon as he is set down in his place. Sooth to say, he is
little like to quarrel with either thee or me for setting a fair woman
other than thee by his side."

Therewith she lifted the tent lap and went out, stepping daintily, and
her slender body swaying like a willow branch, and came at once face to
face with the Lord of Utterbol, and bowed low and humbly before him,
though her face, unseen of him, smiled mockingly. The Lord looked on
her greedily, and let his hand and arm go over her shoulder, and about
her side, and he drew her to him, and kissed her, and said: "What,
Agatha! and why art thou not bringing forth thy mistress to us?" She
raised her face to him, and murmured softly, as one afraid, but with a
wheedling smile on her face and in her eyes: "Nay, my Lord, she will
abide within to-day, for she is ill at ease; if your grace goeth in,
she will tell thee what she will have."

"Agatha," quoth he, "I will hear her, and I will do her pleasure if
thou ask me so to do." Then Agatha cast down her eyes, and her speech
was so low and sweet that it was as the cooing of a dove, as she said:
"O my Lord, what is this word of thine?"

He kissed her again, and said: "Well, well, but dost thou ask it?" "O
yea, yea, my Lord," said she.

"It is done then," said the Lord; and he let her go; for he had been
stroking her arm and shoulder, and she hurried away, laughing inwardly,
to the Lady's women. But he went into the pavilion after he had cast
one look at her.



CHAPTER 37

How Ralph Justed With the Aliens


Meanwhile Captain Otter had brought Ralph into the staked-out lists,
which, being hastily pitched, were but slenderly done, and now the
Upmeads stripling stood there beside a good horse which they had
brought to him, and Otter had been speaking to him friendly. But Ralph
saw the Lord come forth from the pavilion and take his seat on an ivory
chair set on a turf ridge close to the stakes of the lists: for that
place was used of custom for such games as they exercised in the lands
of Utterbol. Then presently the Lady's women came out of their tents,
and, being marshalled by Agatha, went into the Queen's pavilion, whence
they came forth again presently like a bed of garden flowers moving,
having in the midst of them a woman so fair, and clad so gloriously,
that Ralph must needs look on her, though he were some way off, and
take note of her beauty. She went and sat her down beside the Lord,
and Ralph doubted not that it was the Queen, whom he had but glanced at
when they first made stay before the pavilion. Sooth to say, Joyce
being well nigh as tall as the Queen, and as white of skin, was
otherwise a far fairer woman.

Now spake Otter to Ralph: "I must leave thee here, lad, and go to the
other side, as I am to run against thee." Said Ralph: "Art thou to run
first?" "Nay, but rather last," said Otter; "they will try thee first
with one of the sergeants, and if he overcome thee, then all is done,
and thou art in an evil plight. Otherwise will they find another and
another, and at last it will be my turn. So keep thee well, lad."

Therewith he rode away, and there came to Ralph one of the sergeants,
who brought him a spear, and bade him to horse. So Ralph mounted and
took the spear in hand; and the sergeant said: "Thou art to run at
whatsoever meeteth thee when thou hast heard the third blast of the
horn. Art thou ready?" "Yea, yea," said Ralph; "but I see that the
spear-head is not rebated, so that we are to play at sharps."

"Art thou afraid, youngling?" said the sergeant, who was old and
crabbed, "if that be so, go and tell the Lord: but thou wilt find that
he will not have his sport wholly spoiled, but will somehow make a bolt
or a shaft out of thee."

Said Ralph: "I did but jest; I deem myself not so near my death to-day
as I have been twice this summer or oftener." Said the sergeant, "It is
ill jesting in matters wherein my Lord hath to do. Now thou hast heard
my word: do after it."

Therewith he departed, and Ralph laughed and shook the spear aloft, and
deemed it not over strong; but he said to himself that the spears of
the others would be much the same.

Now the horn blew up thrice, and at the latest blast Ralph pricked
forth, as one well used to the tilt, but held his horse well in hand;
and he saw a man come driving against him with his spear in the rest,
and deemed him right big; but this withal he saw, that the man was ill
arrayed, and was pulling on his horse as one not willing to trust him
to the rush; and indeed he came on so ill that it was clear that he
would never strike Ralph's shield fairly. So he swerved as they met,
so that his spear-point was never near to Ralph, who turned his horse
toward him a little, and caught his foeman by the gear about his neck,
and spurred on, so that he dragged him clean out of his saddle, and let
him drop, and rode back quietly to his place, and got off his horse to
see to his girths; and he heard great laughter rising up from the ring
of men, and from the women also. But the Lord of Utterbol cried out:
"Bring forth some one who doth not eat my meat for nothing: and set
that wretch and dastard aside till the tilting be over, and then he
shall pay a little for his wasted meat and drink."

Ralph got into his saddle again, and saw a very big man come forth at
the other end of the lists, and wondered if he should be overthrown of
him; but noted that his horse seemed not over good. Then the horn blew
up and he spurred on, and his foeman met him fairly in the midmost of
the lists: yet he laid his spear but ill, and as one who would thrust
and foin with it rather than letting it drive all it might, so that
Ralph turned the point with his shield that it glanced off, but he
himself smote the other full on the shoulder, and the shaft brake, but
the point had pierced the man's armour, and the truncheon stuck in the
wound: yet since the spear was broken he kept his saddle. The Lord
cried out, "Well, Black Anselm, this is better done; yet art thou a big
man and a well-skilled to be beaten by a stripling."

So the man was helped away and Ralph went back to his place again.

Then another man was gotten to run against Ralph, and it went the
same-like way: for Ralph smote him amidst of the shield, and the spear
held, so that he fell floundering off his horse.

Six of the stoutest men of Utterbol did Ralph overthrow or hurt in this
wise; and then he ran three courses with Otter, and in the first two
each brake his spear fairly on the other; but in the third Otter smote
not Ralph squarely, but Ralph smote full amidst of his shield, and so
dight him that he well-nigh fell, and could not master his horse, but
yet just barely kept his saddle.

Then the Lord cried out: "Now make we an end of it! We have no might
against this youngling, man to man: or else would Otter have done it.
This comes of learning a craft diligently."

So Ralph got off his horse, and did off his helm and awaited tidings;
and anon comes to him the surly sergeant, and brought him a cup of
wine, and said: "Youngling, thou art to drink this, and then go to my
Lord; and I deem that thou art in favour with him. So if thou art not
too great a man, thou mightest put in a word for poor Redhead, that
first man that did so ill. For my Lord would have him set up, and head
down and buttocks aloft, as a target for our bowmen. And it will be
his luck if he be sped with the third shot, and last not out to the
twentieth."

"Yea, certes," said Ralph, "I will do no less, even if it anger the
Lord." "O thou wilt not anger him," said the man, "for I tell thee,
thou art in favour. Yea, and for me also thou mightest say a word
also, when thou becomest right great; for have I not brought thee a
good bowl of wine?" "Doubt it not, man," said Ralph, "if I once get
safe to Utterbol: weary on it and all its ways!" Said the sergeant:
"That is an evil wish for one who shall do well at Utterbol. But come,
tarry not."

So he brought Ralph to the Lord, who still sat in his chair beside that
fair woman, and Ralph did obeysance to him; yet he had a sidelong
glance also for that fair seeming-queen, and deemed her both
proud-looking, and so white-skinned, that she was a wonder, like the
queen of the fays: and it was just this that he had noted of the Queen
as he stood before her earlier in the day when they first came into the
vale; therefore he had no doubt of this damsel's queenship.

Now the Lord spake to him and said: "Well, youngling, thou hast done
well, and better than thy behest: and since ye have been playing at
sharps, I deem thou would'st not do ill in battle, if it came to that.
So now I am like to make something other of thee than I was minded to
at first: for I deem that thou art good enough to be a man. And if
thou wilt now ask a boon of me, if it be not over great, I will grant
it thee."

Ralph put one knee to the ground, and said: "Great Lord, I thank thee:
but whereas I am in an alien land and seeking great things, I know of
no gift which I may take for myself save leave to depart, which I deem
thou wilt not grant me. Yet one thing thou mayst do for my asking if
thou wilt. If thou be still angry with the carle whom I first
unhorsed, I pray thee pardon him his ill-luck."

"Ill-luck!" said the Lord, "Why, I saw him that he was downright afraid
of thee. And if my men are to grow blenchers and soft-hearts what is
to do then? But tell me, Otter, what is the name of this carle?" Said
Otter, "Redhead he hight, Lord." Said the Lord: "And what like a man
is he in a fray?" "Naught so ill, Lord," said Otter. "This time, like
the rest of us, he knew not this gear. It were scarce good to miss him
at the next pinch. It were enough if he had the thongs over his back a
few dozen times; it will not be the first day of such cheer to him."

"Ha!" said the Lord, "and what for, Otter, what for?" "Because he was
somewhat rough-handed, Lord," said Otter. "Then shall we need him and
use him some day. Let him go scot free and do better another bout.
There is thy boon granted for thee, knight; and another day thou mayst
ask something more. And now shall David have a care of thee. And when
we come to Utterbol we shall see what is to be done with thee."

Then Ralph rose up and thanked him, and David came forward, and led him
to his tent. And he was wheedling in his ways to him, as if Ralph were
now become one who might do him great good if so his will were.

But the Lord went back again into the Tower.

As to the Lady, she abode in her pavilion amidst many fears and
desires, till Agatha entered and said: "My Lady, so far all has gone
happily." Said the Lady: "I deemed from the noise and the cry that he
was doing well. But tell me, how did he?" "My Lady," quoth Agatha,
"he knocked our folk about well-favouredly, and seemed to think little
of it."

"And Joyce," said the Lady, "how did she?" "She looked a queen, every
inch of her, and she is tall," said Agatha: "soothly some folk stared
on her, but not many knew of her, since she is but new into our house.
Though it is a matter of course that all save our new-come knight knew
that it was not thou that sat there. And my Lord was well-pleased, and
now he hath taken her by the hand and led her into the Tower."

The Lady reddened and scowled, and said: "And he... did he come anigh
her?" "O yea," said Agatha, "whereas he stood before my Lord a good
while, and then kneeled to him to pray pardon for one of our men who
had done ill in the tilting: yea, he was nigh enough to her to touch
her had he dared, and to smell the fragrance of her raiment. And he
seemed to think it good to look out of the corners of his eyes at her;
though I do not say that she smiled on him." The Lady sprang up, her
cheeks burning, and walked about angrily a while, striving for words,
till at last she said: "When we come home to Utterbol, my lord will
see his new thrall again, and will care for Joyce no whit: then will I
have my will of her; and she shall learn, she, whether I am verily the
least of women at Utterbol! Ha! what sayest thou? Now why wilt thou
stand and smile on me?--Yea, I know what is in thy thought; and in very
sooth it is good that the dear youngling hath not seen this new thrall,
this Ursula. Forsooth, I tell thee that if I durst have her in my
hands I would have a true tale out of her as to why she weareth ever
that pair of beads about her neck."

"Now, our Lady," said Agatha, "thou art marring the fairness of thy
face again. I bid thee be at peace, for all shall be well, and other
than thou deemest. Tell me, then, didst thou get our Lord to swear
immunity for me?" Said the Lady: "Yea, he swore on the edge of the
sword that thou mightest say what thou wouldst, and neither he nor any
other should lay hand on thee."

"Good," said Agatha; "then will I go to him to-morrow morning, when
Joyce has gone from him. But now hold up thine heart, and keep close
for these two days that we shall yet abide in Tower Dale: and trust me
this very evening I shall begin to set tidings going that shall work
and grow, and shall one day rejoice thine heart."

So fell the talk betwixt them.



CHAPTER 38

A Friend Gives Ralph Warning


On the morrow Ralph wandered about the Dale where he would, and none
meddled with him. And as he walked east along the stream where the
valley began to narrow, he saw a man sitting on the bank fishing with
an angle, and when he drew near, the man turned about, and saw him.
Then he lays down his angling rod and rises to his feet, and stands
facing Ralph, looking sheepish, with his hands hanging down by his
sides; and Ralph, who was thinking of other folk, wondered what he
would. So he said: "Hail, good fellow! What wouldst thou?" Said the
man: "I would thank thee." "What for?" said Ralph, but as he looked on
him he saw that it was Redhead, whose pardon he had won of the Lord
yesterday; so he held out his hand, and took Redhead's, and smiled
friendly on him. Redhead looked him full in the face, and though he
was both big and very rough-looking, he had not altogether the look of
a rascal.

He said: "Fair lord, I would that I might do something for thine
avail, and perchance I may: but it is hard to do good deeds in Hell,
especially for one of its devils."

"Yea, is it so bad as that?" said Ralph. "For thee not yet," said
Redhead, "but it may come to it. Hearken, lord, there is none anigh us
that I can see, so I will say a word to thee at once. Later on it may
be over late: Go thou not to Utterbol whatever may betide."

"Yea," said Ralph, "but how if I be taken thither?" Quoth Redhead: "I
can see this, that thou art so favoured that thou mayst go whither thou
wilt about the camp with none to hinder thee. Therefore it will be
easy for thee to depart by night and cloud, or in the grey of morning,
when thou comest to a good pass, whereof I will tell thee. And still I
say, go thou not to Utterbol: for thou art over good to be made a devil
of, like to us, and therefore thou shalt be tormented till thy life is
spoilt, and by that road shalt thou be sent to heaven."

"But thou saidst even now," said Ralph, "that I was high in the Lord's
grace." "Yea," said Redhead, "that may last till thou hast command to
do some dastard's deed and nay-sayest it, as thou wilt: and then
farewell to thee; for I know what my Lord meaneth for thee." "Yea,"
said Ralph, "and what is that?" Said Redhead; "He hath bought thee to
give to his wife for a toy and a minion, and if she like thee, it will
be well for a while: but on the first occasion that serveth him, and
she wearieth of thee (for she is a woman like a weather-cock), he will
lay hand on thee and take the manhood from thee, and let thee drift
about Utterbol a mock for all men. For already at heart he hateth
thee."

Ralph stood pondering this word, for somehow it chimed in with the
thought already in his heart. Yet how should he not go to Utterbol
with the Damsel abiding deliverance of him there: and yet again, if
they met there and were espied on, would not that ruin everything for
her as well as for him?

At last he said: "Good fellow, this may be true, but how shall I know
it for true before I run the risk of fleeing away, instead of going on
to Utterbol, whereas folk deem honour awaiteth me."

Said Redhead: "There is no honour at Utterbol save for such as are
unworthy of honour. But thy risk is as I say, and I shall tell thee
whence I had my tale, since I love thee for thy kindness to me, and thy
manliness. It was told me yester-eve by a woman who is in the very
privity of the Lady of Utterbol, and is well with the Lord also: and it
jumpeth with mine own thought on the matter; so I bid thee beware: for
what is in me to grieve would be sore grieved wert thou cast away."

"Well," said Ralph, "let us sit down here on the bank and then tell me
more; but go on with thine angling the while, lest any should see us."

So they sat down, and Redhead did as Ralph bade; and he said: "Lord, I
have bidden thee to flee; but this is an ill land to flee from, and
indeed there is but one pass whereby ye may well get away from this
company betwixt this and Utterbol; and we shall encamp hard by it on
the second day of our faring hence. Yet I must tell thee that it is no
road for a dastard; for it leadeth through the forest up into the
mountains: yet such as it is, for a man bold and strong like thee, I
bid thee take it: and I can see to it that leaving this company shall
be easy to thee: only thou must make up thy mind speedily, since the
time draws so nigh, and when thou art come to Utterbol with all this
rout, and the house full, and some one or other dogging each footstep
of thine, fleeing will be another matter. Now thus it is: on that same
second night, not only is the wood at hand to cover thee, but I shall
be chief warder of the side of the camp where thou lodgest, so that I
can put thee on the road: and if I were better worth, I would say, take
me with thee, but as it is, I will not burden thee with that prayer."

"Yea," said Ralph, "I have had one guide in this country-side and he
bewrayed me. This is a matter of life and death, so I will speak out
and say how am I to know but that thou also art going about to bewray
me?"

Redhead lept up to his feet, and roared out: "What shall I say? what
shall I say? By the soul of my father I am not bewraying thee. May
all the curses of Utterbol be sevenfold heavier on me if I am thy
traitor and dastard."

"Softly lad, softly," said Ralph, "lest some one should hear thee.
Content thee, I must needs believe thee if thou makest so much noise
about it."

Then Redhead sat him down again, and for all that he was so rough and
sturdy a carle he fell a-weeping.

"Nay, nay," said Ralph, "this is worse in all wise than the other
noise. I believe thee as well as a man can who is dealing with one who
is not his close friend, and who therefore spareth truth to his friend
because of many years use and wont. Come to thyself again and let us
look at this matter square in the face, and speedily too, lest some
unfriend or busybody come on us. There now! Now, in the first place
dost thou know why I am come into this perilous and tyrannous land?"

Said Redhead: "I have heard it said that thou art on the quest of the
Well at the World's End."

"And that is but the sooth," said Ralph. "Well then," quoth Redhead,
"there is the greater cause for thy fleeing at the time and in the
manner I have bidden thee. For there is a certain sage who dwelleth in
the wildwood betwixt that place and the Great Mountains, and he hath so
much lore concerning the Mountains, yea, and the Well itself, that if
he will tell thee what he can tell, thou art in a fair way to end thy
quest happily. What sayest thou then?"

Said Ralph, "I say that the Sage is good if I may find him. But there
is another cause why I have come hither from Goldburg." "What is that?"
said Redhead. "This," said Ralph, "to come to Utterbol." "Heaven help
us!" quoth Redhead, "and wherefore?"

Ralph said: "Belike it is neither prudent nor wise to tell thee, but I
do verily trust thee; so hearken! I go to Utterbol to deliver a friend
from Utterbol; and this friend is a woman--hold a minute--and this
woman, as I believe, hath been of late brought to Utterbol, having been
taken out of the hands of one of the men of the mountains that lie
beyond Cheaping Knowe."

Redhead stared astonished, and kept silence awhile; then he said: "Now
all the more I say, flee! flee! flee! Doubtless the woman is there,
whom thou seekest; for it would take none less fair and noble than that
new-come thrall to draw to her one so fair and noble as thou art. But
what availeth it? If thou go to Utterbol thou wilt destroy both her
and thee. For know, that we can all see that the Lord hath set his
love on this damsel; and what better can betide, if thou come to
Utterbol, but that the Lord shall at once see that there is love
betwixt you two, and then there will be an end of the story."

"How so?" quoth Ralph. Said Redhead: "At Utterbol all do the will of
the Lord of Utterbol, and he is so lustful and cruel, and so false
withal, that his will shall be to torment the damsel to death, and to
geld and maim thee; so that none hereafter shall know how goodly and
gallant thou hast been."

"Redhead," quoth Ralph much moved, "though thou art in no knightly
service, thou mayst understand that it is good for a friend to die with
a friend."

"Yea, forsooth," said Redhead, "If he may do no more to help than that!
Wouldst thou not help the damsel? Now when thou comest back from the
quest of the Well at the World's End, thou wilt be too mighty and
glorious for the Lord of Utterbol to thrust thee aside like to an over
eager dog; and thou mayst help her then. But now I say to thee, and
swear to thee, that three days after thou hast met thy beloved in
Utterbol she will be dead. I would that thou couldst ask someone else
nearer to the Lord than I have been. The tale would be the same as
mine."

Now soothly to say it, this was even what Ralph had feared would be,
and he could scarce doubt Redhead's word. So he sat there pondering
the matter a good while, and at last he said: "My friend, I will trust
thee with another thing; I have a mind to flee to the wildwood, and yet
come to Utterbol for the damsel's deliverance." "Yea," said Redhead,
"and how wilt thou work in the matter?" Said Ralph; "How would it be if
I came hither in other guise than mine own, so that I should not be
known either by the damsel or her tyrants?"

Said Redhead: "There were peril in that; yet hope also. Yea, and in
one way thou mightest do it; to wit, if thou wert to find that Sage,
and tell him thy tale: if he be of good will to thee, he might then
change not thy gear only, but thy skin also; for he hath exceeding
great lore."

"Well," said Ralph, "Thou mayst look upon it as certain that on that
aforesaid night, I will do my best to shake off this company of tyrant
and thralls, unless I hear fresh tidings, so that I must needs change
my purpose. But I will ask thee to give me some token that all holds
together some little time beforehand." Quoth Redhead: "Even so shall
it be; thou shalt see me at latest on the eve of the night of thy
departure; but on the night before that if it be anywise possible."

"Now will I go away from thee," said Ralph, "and I thank thee heartily
for thine help, and deem thee my friend. And if thou think better of
fleeing with me, thou wilt gladden me the more." Redhead shook his head
but spake not, and Ralph went his ways down the dale.



CHAPTER 39

The Lord of Utterbol Makes Ralph a Free Man


He went to and fro that day and the next, and none meddled with him;
with Redhead he spake not again those days, but had talk with Otter and
David, who were blithe enough with him. Agatha he saw not at all; nor
the Lady, and still deemed that the white-skinned woman whom he had
seen sitting by the Lord after the tilting was the Queen.

As for the Lady she abode in her pavilion, and whiles lay in a heap on
the floor weeping, or dull and blind with grief; whiles she walked up
and down mad wroth with whomsoever came in her way, even to the dealing
out of stripes and blows to her women.

But on the eve before the day of departure Agatha came into her, and
chid her, and bade her be merry: "I have seen the Lord and told him
what I would, and found it no hard matter to get him to yeasay our
plot, which were hard to carry out without his goodwill. Withal the
seed that I have sowed two days or more ago is bearing fruit; so that
thou mayst look to it that whatsoever plight we may be in, we shall
find a deliverer."

"I wot not thy meaning," quoth the Lady, "but I deem thou wilt now tell
me what thou art planning, and give me some hope, lest I lay hands on
myself."

Then Agatha told her without tarrying what she was about doing for her,
the tale of which will be seen hereafter; and when she had done, the
Lady mended her cheer, and bade bring meat and drink, and was once more
like a great and proud Lady.

On the morn of departure, when Ralph arose, David came to him and said:
"My Lord is astir already, and would see thee for thy good." So Ralph
went with David, who brought him to the Tower, and there they found the
Lord sitting in a window, and Otter stood before him, and some others
of his highest folk. But beside him sat Joyce, and it seemed that he
thought it naught but good to hold her hand and play with the fingers
thereof, though all those great men were by; and Ralph had no thought
of her but that she was the Queen.

So Ralph made obeisance to the Lord and stood awaiting his word; and
the Lord said: "We have been thinking of thee, young man, and have
deemed thy lot to be somewhat of the hardest, if thou must needs be a
thrall, since thou art both young and well-born, and so good a man of
thine hands. Now, wilt thou be our man at Utterbol?"

Ralph delayed his answer a space and looked at Otter, who seemed to him
to frame a Yea with his lips, as who should say, take it. So he said:
"Lord, thou art good to me, yet mayst thou be better if thou wilt."

"Yea, man!" said the Lord knitting his brows; "What shall it be? say
thy say, and be done with it."

"Lord," said Ralph, "I pray thee to give me my choice, whether I shall
go with thee to Utterbol or forbear going?"

"Why, lo you!" said the Lord testily, and somewhat sourly; "thou hast
the choice. Have I not told thee that thou art free?" Then Ralph knelt
before him, and said: "Lord, I thank thee from a full heart, in that
thou wilt suffer me to depart on mine errand, for it is a great one."
The scowl deepened on the Lord's face, and he turned away from Ralph,
and said presently: "Otter take the Knight away and let him have all
his armour and weapons and a right good horse; and then let him do as
he will, either ride with us, or depart if he will, and whither he
will. And if he must needs ride into the desert, and cast himself away
in the mountains, so be it. But whatever he hath a mind to, let none
hinder him, but further him rather; hearest thou? take him with thee."

Then was Ralph overflowing with thanks, but the Lord heeded him naught,
but looked askance at him and sourly. And he rose up withal, and led
the damsel by the hand into another chamber; and she minced in her gait
and leaned over to the Lord and spake softly in his ear and laughed,
and he laughed in his turn and toyed with her neck and shoulders.

But the great men turned and went their ways from the Tower, and Ralph
went with Otter and was full of glee, and as merry as a bird. But
Otter looked on him, and said gruffly: "Yea now, thou art like a
song-bird but newly let out of his cage. But I can see the string
which is tied to thy leg, though thou feelest it not."

"Why, what now?" quoth Ralph, making as though he were astonished.
"Hearken," said Otter: "there is none nigh us, so I will speak
straight out; for I love thee since the justing when we tried our might
together. If thou deemest that thou art verily free, ride off on the
backward road when we go forward; I warrant me thou shalt presently
meet with an adventure, and be brought in a captive for the second
time." "How then," said Ralph, "hath not the Lord good will toward me?"

Said Otter: "I say not that he is now minded to do thee a mischief for
cruelty's sake; but he is minded to get what he can out of thee. If he
use thee not for the pleasuring of his wife (so long as her pleasure in
thee lasteth) he will verily use thee for somewhat else. And to speak
plainly, I now deem that he will make thee my mate, to use with me, or
against me as occasion may serve; so thou shalt be another captain of
his host." He laughed withal, and said again: "But if thou be not
wary, thou wilt tumble off that giddy height, and find thyself a thrall
once more, and maybe a gelding to boot." Now waxed Ralph angry and
forgat his prudence, and said: "Yea, but how shall he use me when I am
out of reach of his hand?" "Oho, young man," said Otter, "whither away
then, to be out of his reach?"

"Why," quoth Ralph still angrily, "is thy Lord master of all the
world?" "Nay," said the captain, "but of a piece thereof. In short,
betwixt Utterbol and Goldburg, and Utterbol and the mountains, and
Utterbol and an hundred miles north, and an hundred miles south, there
is no place where thou canst live, no place save the howling
wilderness, and scarcely there either, where he may not lay hand on
thee if he do but whistle. What, man! be not downhearted! come with us
to Utterbol, since thou needs must. Be wise, and then the Lord shall
have no occasion against thee; above all, beware of crossing him in any
matter of a woman. Then who knows" (and here he sunk his voice well
nigh to a whisper) "but thou and I together may rule in Utterbol and
make better days there."

Ralph was waxen master of himself by now, and was gotten wary indeed,
so he made as if he liked Otter's counsel well, and became exceeding
gay; for indeed the heart within him was verily glad at the thought of
his escaping from thralldom; for more than ever now he was fast in his
mind to flee at the time appointed by Redhead.

So Otter said: "Well, youngling, I am glad that thou takest it thus,
for I deem that if thou wert to seek to depart, the Lord would make it
an occasion against thee."

"Such an occasion shall he not have, fellow in arms," quoth Ralph.
"But tell me, we ride presently, and I suppose are bound for Utterness
by the shortest road?" "Yea," said Otter, "and anon we shall come to
the great forest which lieth along our road all the way to Utterness
and beyond it; for the town is, as it were, an island in the sea of
woodland which covers all, right up to the feet of the Great Mountains,
and does what it may to climb them whereso the great wall or its
buttresses are anywise broken down toward our country; but the end of
it lieth along our road, as I said, and we do but skirt it. A woeful
wood it is, and save for the hunting of the beasts, which be there in
great plenty, with wolves and bears, yea, and lions to boot, which come
down from the mountains, there is no gain in it. No gain, though
forsooth they say that some have found it gainful."

"How so?" said Ralph. Said Otter: "That way lieth the way to the Well
at the World's End, if one might find it. If at any time we were clear
of Utterbol, I have a mind for the adventure along with thee, lad, and
so I deem hast thou from all the questions thou hast put to me
thereabout."

Ralph mastered himself so that his face changed not, and he said:
"Well, Captain, that may come to pass; but tell me, are there any
tokens known whereby a man shall know that he is on the right path to
the Well?"

"The report of folk goeth," said Otter, "concerning one token, where is
the road and the pass through the Great Mountains, to wit, that on the
black rock thereby is carven the image of a Fighting Man, or monstrous
giant, of the days long gone by. Of other signs I can tell thee
naught; and few of men are alive that can. But there is a Sage
dwelleth in the wood under the mountains to whom folk seek for his
diverse lore; and he, if he will, say men, can set forth all the way,
and its perils, and how to escape them. Well, knight, when the time
comes, thou and I will go find him together, for he at least is not
hard to find, and if he be gracious to us, then will we on our quest.
But as now, see ye, they have struck our tents and the Queen's pavilion
also; so to horse, is the word."

"Yea," quoth Ralph, looking curiously toward the place where the
Queen's pavilion had stood; "is not yonder the Queen's litter taking
the road?" "Yea, surely," said Otter.

"Then the litter will be empty," said Ralph. "Maybe, or maybe not,"
said Otter; "but now I must get me gone hastily to my folk; doubtless
we shall meet upon the road to Utterbol."

So he turned and went his ways; and Ralph also ran to his horse,
whereby was David already in the saddle, and so mounted, and the whole
rout moved slowly from out of Vale Turris, Ralph going ever by David.
The company was now a great one, for many wains were joined to them,
laden with meal, and fleeces, and other household stuff, and withal
there was a great herd of neat, and of sheep, and of goats, which the
Lord's men had been gathering in the fruitful country these two days;
but the Lord was tarrying still in the tower.



CHAPTER 40

They Ride Toward Utterness From Out of Vale Turris


So they rode by a good highway, well beaten, past the Tower and over
the ridge of the valley, and came full upon the terrible sight of the
Great Mountains, and the sea of woodland lay before them, swelling and
falling, and swelling again, till it broke grey against the dark blue
of the mountain wall. They went as the way led, down hill, and when
they were at the bottom, thence along their highway parted the tillage
and fenced pastures from the rough edges of the woodland like as a
ditch sunders field from field. They had the wildwood ever on their
right hand, and but a little way from where they rode the wood
thickened for the more part into dark and close thicket, the trees
whereof were so tall that they hid the overshadowing mountains whenso
they rode the bottoms, though when the way mounted on the ridges, and
the trees gave back a little, they had sight of the woodland and the
mountains. On the other hand at whiles the thicket came close up to
the roadside.

Now David biddeth press on past the wains and the driven beasts, which
were going very slowly. So did they, and at last were well nigh at the
head of the Lord's company, but when Ralph would have pressed on still,
David refrained him, and said that they must by no means outgo the
Queen's people, or even mingle with them; so they rode on softly. But
as the afternoon was drawing toward evening they heard great noise of
horns behind them, and the sound of horses galloping. Then David drew
Ralph to the side of the way, and everybody about, both before and
behind them, drew up in wise at the wayside, and or ever Ralph could
ask any question, came a band of men-at-arms at the gallop led by
Otter, and after them the Lord on his black steed, and beside him on a
white palfrey the woman whom Ralph had seen in the Tower, and whom he
had taken for the Queen, her light raiment streaming out from her, and
her yellow hair flying loose. They passed in a moment of time, and
then David and Ralph and the rest rode on after them.

Then said Ralph: "The Queen rideth well and hardily." "Yea," said
David, screwing his face into a grin, would he or no. Ralph beheld
him, and it came into his mind that this was not the Queen whom he had
looked on when they first came into Vale Turris, and he said: "What
then! this woman is not the Queen?"

David spake not for a while, and then he answered: "Sir Knight, there
be matters whereof we servants of my Lord say little or nothing, and
thou wert best to do the like." And no more would he say thereon.



CHAPTER 41

Redhead Keeps Tryst


They rode not above a dozen miles that day, and pitched their tents and
pavilions in the fair meadows by the wayside looking into the thick of
the forest. There this betid to tell of, that when Ralph got off his
horse, and the horse-lads were gathered about the men-at-arms and high
folk, who should take Ralph's horse but Redhead, who made a sign to him
by lifting his eyebrows as if he were asking him somewhat; and Ralph
took it as a question as to whether his purpose held to flee on the
morrow night; so he nodded a yeasay, just so much as Redhead might note
it; and naught else befell betwixt them.

When it was barely dawn after that night, Ralph awoke with the sound of
great stir in the camp, and shouting of men and lowing and bleating of
beasts; so he looked out, and saw that the wains and the flocks and
herds were being got on to the road, so that they might make good way
before the company of the camp took the road. But he heeded it little
and went to sleep again.

When it was fully morning he arose, and found that the men were not
hastening their departure, but were resting by the wood-side and
disporting them about the meadow; so he wandered about amongst the
men-at-arms and serving-men, and came across Redhead and hailed him;
and there was no man very nigh to them; so Redhead looked about him
warily, and then spake swiftly and softly: "Fail not to-night! fail
not! For yesterday again was I told by one who wotteth surely, what
abideth thee at Utterbol if thou go thither. I say if thou fail, thou
shalt repent but once--all thy life long to wit."

Ralph nodded his head, and said: "Fear not, I will not fail thee." And
therewith they turned away from each other lest they should be noted.

About two hours before noon they got to horse again, and, being no more
encumbered with the wains and the beasts, rode at a good pace. As on
the day before the road led them along the edge of the wildwood, and
whiles it even went close to the very thicket. Whiles again they
mounted somewhat, and looked down on the thicket, leagues and leagues
thereof, which yet seemed but a little space because of the hugeness of
the mountain wall which brooded over it; but oftenest the forest hid
all but the near trees.

Thus they rode some twenty miles, and made stay at sunset in a place
that seemed rather a clearing of the wood than a meadow; for they had
trees on their left hand at a furlong's distance, as well as on their
right at a stone's throw.

Ralph saw not Redhead as he got off his horse, and David according to
his wont went with him to his tent. But after they had supped
together, and David had made much of Ralph, and had drank many cups to
his health, he said to him: "The night is yet young, yea, but new-born;
yet must I depart from thee, if I may, to meet a man who will sell me a
noble horse good cheap; and I may well leave thee now, seeing that thou
hast become a free man; so I bid thee goodnight."

Therewith he departed, and was scarce gone out ere Redhead cometh in,
and saith in his wonted rough loud voice: "Here, knight, here is the
bridle thou badest me get mended; will the cobbling serve?" Then seeing
no one there, he fell to speaking softer and said: "I heard the old
pimp call thee a free man e'en now: I fear me that thou art not so free
as he would have thee think. Anyhow, were I thou, I would be freer in
two hours space. Is it to be so?"

"Yea, yea," said Ralph. Redhead nodded: "Good is that," said he; "I
say in two hours' time all will be quiet, and we are as near the
thicket as may be; there is no moon, but the night is fair and the
stars clear; so all that thou hast to do is to walk out of this tent,
and turn at once to thy right hand: come out with me now quietly, and I
will show thee."

They went out together and Redhead said softly: "Lo thou that doddered
oak yonder; like a piece of a hay-rick it looks under the stars; if
thou seest it, come in again at once."

Ralph turned and drew Redhead in, and said when they were in the tent
again: "Yea, I saw it: what then?"

Said Redhead: "I shall be behind it abiding thee." "Must I go afoot?"
said Ralph, "or how shall I get me a horse?" "I have a horse for thee,"
said Redhead, "not thine own, but a better one yet, that hath not been
backed to-day. Now give me a cup of wine, and let me go."

Ralph filled for him and took a cup himself, and said: "I pledge thee,
friend, and wish thee better luck; and I would have thee for my fellow
in this quest."

"Nay," said Redhead, "it may not be: I will not burden thy luck with
my ill-luck...and moreover I am seeking something which I may gain at
Utterbol, and if I have it, I may do my best to say good-night to that
evil abode."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and I wish thee well therein." Said Redhead,
stammering somewhat; "It is even that woman of the Queen's whereof I
told thee. And now one last word, since I must not be over long in thy
tent, lest some one come upon us. But, fair sir, if thy mind misgive
thee for this turning aside from Utterbol; though it is not to be
doubted that the damsel whom thou seekest hath been there, it is not
all so sure that thou wouldst have found her there. For of late, what
with my Lord and my Lady being both away, the place hath been scant of
folk; and not only is the said damsel wise and wary, but there be
others who have seen her besides my Lord, and who so hath seen her is
like to love her; and such is she, that whoso loveth her is like to do
her will. So I bid thee in all case be earnest in thy quest; and think
that if thou die on the road thy damsel would have died for thee; and
if thou drink of the Well and come back whole and safe, I know not why
thou shouldest not go straight to Utterbol and have the damsel away
with thee, whosoever gainsay it. For they (if there be any such) who
have drunk of the Well at the World's End are well looked to in this
land. Now one more word yet; when I come to Utterbol, if thy damsel be
there still, fear not but I will have speech of her, and tell of thee,
and what thou wert looking to, and how thou deemedst of her."

Therewith he turned and departed hastily.

But Ralph left alone was sorely moved with hope and fear, and a longing
that grew in him to see the damsel. For though he was firmly set on
departure, and on seeking the sage aforesaid, yet his heart was drawn
this way and that: and it came into his mind how the damsel would fare
when the evil Lord came home to Utterbol; and he could not choose but
make stories of her meeting of the tyrant, and her fear and grief and
shame, and the despair of her heart. So the minutes went slow to him,
till he should be in some new place and doing somewhat toward bringing
about the deliverance of her from thralldom, and the meeting of him and
her.





BOOK THREE

The Road To The Well At World's End.



CHAPTER 1

An Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountains


Now was the night worn to the time appointed, for it was two hours
after midnight, so he stepped out of his tent clad in all his war gear,
and went straight to the doddered oak, and found Redhead there with but
one horse, whereby Ralph knew that he held to his purpose of going his
ways to Utterbol: so he took him by the shoulders and embraced him,
rough carle as he was, and Redhead kneeled to him one moment of time
and then arose and went off into the night. But Ralph got a-horseback
without delay and rode his ways warily across the highway and into the
wood, and there was none to hinder him. Though it was dark but for the
starlight, there was a path, which the horse, and not Ralph, found, so
that he made some way even before the first glimmer of dawn, all the
more as the wood was not very thick after the first mile, and there
were clearings here and there.

So rode Ralph till the sun was at point to rise, and he was about the
midst of one of those clearings or wood-lawns, on the further side
whereof there was more thicket, as he deemed, then he had yet come to;
so he drew rein and looked about him for a minute. Even therewith he
deemed he heard a sound less harsh than the cry of the jay in the
beech-trees, and shriller than the moaning of the morning breeze in the
wood. So he falls to listening with both ears, and this time deems
that he hears the voice of a woman: and therewith came into his mind
that old and dear adventure of the Wood Perilous; for he was dreamy
with the past eagerness of his deeds, and the long and lonely night.
But yet he doubted somewhat of the voice when it had passed his ears,
so he shook his rein, for he thought it not good to tarry.

Scarce then had his horse stepped out, ere there came a woman running
out of the thicket before him and made toward him over the lawn. So he
gat off his horse at once and went to meet her, leading his horse; and
as he drew nigh he could see that she was in a sorry plight; she had
gathered up her skirts to run the better, and her legs and feet were
naked: the coif was gone from her head and her black hair streamed out
behind her: her gown was rent about the shoulders and bosom, so that
one sleeve hung tattered, as if by the handling of some one.

So she ran up to him crying out: "Help, knight, help us!" and sank
down therewith at his feet panting and sobbing. He stooped down to
her, and raised her up, and said in a kind voice: "What is amiss, fair
damsel, that thou art in such a plight; and what may I for thine avail?
Doth any pursue thee, that thou fleest thus?"

She stood sobbing awhile, and then took hold of his two hands and said:
"O fair lord, come now and help my lady! for as for me, since I am with
thee, I am safe."

"Yea," said he, "Shall I get to horse at once?" And therewith he made
as if he would move away from her; but she still held his hands, and
seemed to think it good so to do, and she spake not for a while but
gazed earnestly into his face. She was a fair woman, dark and sleek
and lithe...for in good sooth she was none other than Agatha, who is
afore told of.

Now Ralph is somewhat abashed by her eagerness, and lets his eyes fall
before hers; and he cannot but note that despite the brambles and
briars of the wood that she had run through, there were no scratches on
her bare legs, and that her arm was unbruised where the sleeve had been
rent off.

At last she spake, but somewhat slowly, as if she were thinking of what
she had to say: "O knight, by thy knightly oath I charge thee come to
my lady and help and rescue her: she and I have been taken by evil men,
and I fear that they will put her to shame, and torment her, ere they
carry her off; for they were about tying her to a tree when I escaped:
for they heeded not me who am but the maid, when they had the mistress
in their hands." "Yea," said he, "and who is thy mistress?" Said the
damsel: "She is the Lady of the Burnt Rock; and I fear me that these
men are of the Riders of Utterbol; and then will it go hard with her;
for there is naught but hatred betwixt my lord her husband and the
tyrant of Utterbol." Said Ralph: "And how many were they?" "O but
three, fair sir, but three," she said; "and thou so fair and strong,
like the war-god himself."

Ralph laughed: "Three to one is long odds," quoth he, "but I will come
with thee when thou hast let go my hands so that I may mount my horse.
But wilt thou not ride behind me, fair damsel; so wearied and spent as
thou wilt be by thy night."

She looked on him curiously, and laid a hand on his breast, and the
hauberk rings tinkled beneath the broidered surcoat; then she said:
"Nay, I had best go afoot before thee, so disarrayed as I am."

Then she let him go, but followed him still with her eyes as he gat him
into the saddle. She walked on beside his horse's head; and Ralph
marvelled of her that for all her haste she had been in, she went
somewhat leisurely, picking her way daintily so as to tread the smooth,
and keep her feet from the rough.

Thus they went on, into the thicket and through it, and the damsel put
the thorns and briars aside daintily as she stepped, and went slower
still till they came to a pleasant place of oak-trees with greensward
beneath them; and then she stopped, and turning, faced Ralph, and spoke
with another voice than heretofore, whereas there was naught rueful or
whining therein, but somewhat both of glee and of mocking as it seemed.
"Sir knight," she said, "I have a word or two for thy ears; and this is
a pleasant place, and good for us to talk together, whereas it is
neither too near to her, nor too far from her, so that I can easily
find my way back to her. Now, lord, I pray thee light down and listen
to me." And therewith she sat down on the grass by the bole of a great
oak.

"But thy lady," said Ralph, "thy lady?" "O sir," she said; "My lady
shall do well enough: she is not tied so fast, but she might loose
herself if the need were pressing. Light down, dear lord, light down!"

But Ralph sat still on his horse, and knit his brows, and said: "What
is this, damsel? hast thou been playing a play with me? Where is thy
lady whom thou wouldst have me deliver? If this be but game and play,
let me go my ways; for time presses, and I have a weighty errand on
hand."

She rose up and came close to him, and laid a hand on his knee and
looked wistfully into his face as she said: "Nay then, I can tell thee
all the tale as thou sittest in thy saddle; for meseems short will be
thy farewell when I have told it." And she sighed withal.

Then Ralph was ashamed to gainsay her, and she now become gentle and
sweet and enticing, and sad withal; so he got off his horse and tied
him to a tree, and went and stood by the damsel as she lay upon the
grass, and said: "I prithee tell thy tale and let me depart if there be
naught for me to do."

Then she said: "This is the first word, that as to the Red Rock, I
lied; and my lady is the Queen of Utterbol, and I am her thrall, and it
is I who have drawn thee hither from the camp."

The blood mounted to Ralph's brow for anger; when he called to mind how
he had been led hither and thither on other folk's errands ever since
he left Upmeads. But he said naught, and Agatha looked on him timidly
and said: "I say I am her thrall, and I did it to serve her and because
she bade me." Said Ralph roughly: "And Redhead, him whom I saved from
torments and death; dost thou know him? didst thou know him?"

"Yea," she said, "I had from him what he had learned concerning thee
from the sergeants and others, and then I put words into his mouth."
"Yea then," quoth Ralph, "then he also is a traitor!" "Nay, nay," she
said, "he is a true man and loveth thee, and whatever he hath said to
thee he troweth himself. Moreover, I tell thee here and now that all
that he told thee of the affairs of Utterbol, and thine outlook there,
is true and overtrue."

She sprang to her feet therewith, and stood before him and clasped her
hands before him and said: "I know that thou seekest the Well at the
World's End and the deliverance of the damsel whom the Lord ravished
from the wild man: now I swear it by thy mouth, that if thou go to
Utterbol thou art undone and shalt come to the foulest pass there, and
moreover that so going thou shalt bring the uttermost shame and
torments on the damsel."

Said Ralph: "Yea, but what is her case as now? tell me."

Quoth Agatha: "She is in no such evil case; for my lady hateth her not
as yet, or but little; and, which is far more, my lord loveth her after
his fashion, and withal as I deem feareth her; for though she hath
utterly gainsaid his desire, he hath scarce so much as threatened her.
A thing unheard of. Had it been another woman she had by this time
known all the bitterness that leadeth unto death at Utterbol." Ralph
paled and he scowled on her, then he said: "And how knowest thou all
the privity of the Lord of Utterbol? who telleth thee of all this?"
She smiled and spake daintily: "Many folk tell me that which I would
know; and that is because whiles I conquer the tidings with my wits,
and whiles buy it with my body. Anyhow what I tell thee is the very
sooth concerning this damsel, and this it is: that whereas she is but
in peril, she shall be in deadly peril, yea and that instant, if thou
go to Utterbol, thou, who art her lover..." "Nay," said Ralph angrily,
"I am not her lover, I am but her well-willer." "Well," quoth Agatha
looking down and knitting her brows, "when thy good will towards her
has become known, then shall she be thrown at once into the pit of my
lord's cruelty. Yea, to speak sooth, even as it is, for thy sake (for
her I heed naught) I would that the lord might find her gone when he
cometh back to Utterbol."

"Yea," said Ralph, reddening, "and is there any hope for her getting
clear off?" "So I deem," said Agatha. She was silent awhile and then
spake in a low voice: "It is said that each man that seeth her loveth
her; yea, and will befriend her, even though she consent not to his
desire. Maybe she hath fled from Utterbol."

Ralph stood silent awhile with a troubled face; and then he said: "Yet
thou hast not told me the why and wherefore of this play of thine, and
the beguiling me into fleeing from the camp. Tell it me that I may
pardon thee and pass on."

She said: "By thine eyes I swear that this is sooth, and that there is
naught else in it than this: My lady set her love, when first she set
her eyes upon thee--as forsooth all women must: as for me, I had not
seen thee (though I told my lady that I had) till within this hour that
we met in the wood."

She sighed therewith, and with her right hand played with the rent
raiment about her bosom. Then she said: "She deemed that if thou
camest a mere thrall to Utterbol, though she might command thy body,
yet she would not gain thy love; but that if perchance thou mightest
see her in hard need, and evilly mishandled, and mightest deliver her,
there might at least grow up pity in thee for her, and that love might
come thereof, as oft hath happed aforetime; for my lady is a fair
woman. Therefore I, who am my lady's servant and thrall, and who, I
bid thee remember, had not seen thee, took upon me to make this
adventure, like to a minstrel's tale done in the flesh. Also I spake
to my lord and told him thereof; and though he jeered at my lady to me,
he was content, because he would have her set her heart on thee
utterly; since he feared her jealousy, and would fain be delivered of
it, lest she should play some turn to his newly beloved damsel and do
her a mischief. Therefore did he set thee free (in words) meaning,
when he had thee safe at Utterbol again (as he nowise doubted to have
thee) to do as he would with thee, according as occasion might serve.
For at heart he hateth thee, as I could see well. So a little before
thou didst leave the camp, we, the Queen and I, went privily into a
place of the woods but a little way hence. There I disarrayed both my
lady and myself so far as was needful for the playing out the play
which was to have seemed to thee a real adventure. Then came I to thee
as if by chance hap, that I might bring thee to her; and if thou hadst
come, we had a story for thee, whereby thou mightest not for very
knighthood forbear to succour her and bring her whither she would,
which in the long run had been Utterbol, but for the present time was
to have been a certain strong-house appertaining to Utterbol, and nigh
unto it. This is all the tale, and now if thou wilt, thou mayst pardon
me; or if thou wilt, thou mayst draw out thy sword and smite off my
head. And forsooth I deem that were the better deed."

She knelt down before him and put her palms together, and looked up at
him beseechingly. His face darkened as he beheld her thus, but it
cleared at last, and he said: "Damsel, thou wouldst turn out but a
sorry maker, and thy play is naught. For seest thou not that I should
have found out all the guile at Utterbol, and owed thy lady hatred
rather than love thereafter."

"Yea," she said, "but my lady might have had enough of thy love by
then, and would belike have let thee alone to fall into the hands of
the Lord. Lo now! I have delivered thee from this, so that thou art
quit both of the Lord and the lady and me: and again I say that thou
couldst scarce have missed, both thou and thy damsel, of a miserable
ending at Utterbol."

"Yea," said Ralph, softly, and as if speaking to himself, "yet am I
lonely and unholpen." Then he turned to Agatha and said: "The end of
all this is that I pardon thee, and must depart forthwith; for when ye
two come back to the camp, then presently will the hunt be up."

She rose from her knees, and stood before him humbly and said: "Nay, I
shall requite thee thy pardon thus far, that I will fashion some tale
for my lady which will keep us in the woods two days or three; for we
have provided victual for our adventure."

Said Ralph: "I may at least thank thee for that, and will trust in
thee to do so much." Quoth she: "Then might I ask a reward of thee:
since forsooth other reward awaiteth me at Utterbol."

"Thou shalt have it," said Ralph. She said: "The reward is that thou
kiss me ere we part."

"It must needs be according to my word," said Ralph, "yet I must tell
thee that my kiss will bear but little love with it."

She answered naught but laid her hands on his breast and put up her
face to him, and he kissed her lips. Then she said: "Knight, thou hast
kissed a thrall and a guileful woman, yet one that shall smart for
thee; therefore grudge not the kiss nor repent thee of thy kindness."

"How shalt thou suffer?" said he. She looked on him steadfastly a
moment, and said: "Farewell! may all good go with thee." Therewith she
turned away and walked off slowly through the wood, and somewhat he
pitied her, and sighed as he got into his saddle; but he said to
himself: "How might I help her? Yet true it is that she may well be
in an evil case: I may not help everyone." Then he shook his rein and
rode his ways.