NOW tells the tale of Folk-might, that he went his ways from the Hall to
the house where the Bride lay; and the swain who had brought the message
went along with him, and he was proud of walking beside so mighty a
warrior, and he talked to Folk-might as they went; and the sound of his
voice was irksome to the chieftain, but he made as though he hearkened.
Yet when they came to the door of the house, which was just out of the
Place on the Southern road (for thereby had the Bride fallen to earth),
he could withhold his grief no longer, but turned on the threshold and
laid his head on the door-jamb, and sobbed and wept till the tears fell
down like rain. And the boy stood by wondering, and wishing that
Folk-might would forbear weeping, but durst not speak to him.
In a while Folk-might left weeping and went in, and found a fair hall
sore befouled by the felons, and in the corner on a bed covered with furs
the wounded woman; and at first sight he deemed her not so pale as he
looked to see her, as she lay with her long dark-red hair strewed over
the pillow, her head moving about wearily. A linen cloth was thrown over
her body, but her arms lay out of it before her. Beside her sat the
Alderman, his face sober enough, but not as one in heavy sorrow; and
anigh him was another chair as if someone had but just got up from it.
There was no one else in the hall save two women of the Woodlanders, one
of whom was cooking some potion on the hearth, and another was sweeping
the floor anigh of bran or some such stuff, which had been thrown down to
sop up the blood.
So Folk-might went up to the Bride, sorely dreading the image of death
which she had grown to be, and sorely loving the woman she was and would
be.
He knelt down by the bedside, heeding Iron-face little, though he nodded
friendly to him, and he held his face close to hers; but she had her eyes
shut and did not open them till he had been there a little while; and
then they opened and fixed themselves on his without surprise or change.
Then she lifted her right hand (for it was in her left shoulder and side
that she had been hurt) and slowly laid it on his head, and drew his face
to hers and kissed it fondly, as she both smiled and let the tears run
over from her eyes. Then she spake in a weak voice:
‘Thou seest, chieftain and dear friend, that I may not stand by thy
victorious side to-day. And now, though I were fain if thou wouldst
never leave me, yet needs must thou go about thy work, since thou art
become the Alderman of the Folk of Silver-dale. Yea, and even if thou
wert not to go from me, yet in a manner should I go from thee. For I am
grievously hurt, and I know by myself, and also the leeches have told me,
that the fever is a-coming on me; so that presently I shall not know
thee, but may deem thee to be a woman, or a hound, or the very Wolf that
is the image of the Father of thy kindred; or even, it may be, someone
else—that I have played with time agone.’
Her voice faltered and faded out here, and she was silent a while; then
she said:
‘So depart, kind friend and dear love, bearing this word with thee, that
should I die, I call on Iron-face my kinsman to bear witness that I bid
thee carry me to bale in Silver-dale, and lay mine ashes with the ashes
of thy Fathers, with whom thine own shall mingle at the last, since I
have been of the warriors who have helped to bring thee aback to the land
of thy folk.’
Then she smiled and shut her eyes and said: ‘And if I live, as indeed I
hope, and how glad and glad I shall be to live, then shalt thou bring me
to thy house and thy bed, that I may not depart from thee while both our
lives last.’
And she opened her eyes and looked at him; and he might not speak for a
while, so ravished as he was betwixt joy and sorrow. But the Alderman
arose and took a gold ring from off his arm, and spake:
‘This is the gold ring of the God of the Face, and I bear it on mine arm
betwixt the Folk and the God in all man-motes, and I bore it through the
battle to-day; and it is as holy a ring as may be; and since ye are
plighting troth, and I am the witness thereof, it were good that ye held
this ring together and called the God to witness, who is akin to the God
of the Earth, as we all be. Take the ring, Folk-might, for I trust thee;
and of all women now alive would I have this woman happy.’
So Folk-might took the ring and thrust his hand through it, and took her
hand, and said:
‘Ye Fathers, thou God of the Face, thou Earth-god, thou Warrior, bear
witness that my life and my body are plighted to this woman, the Bride of
the House of the Steer!’
His face was flushed and bright as he spoke, but as his words ceased he
noted how feebly her hand lay in his, and his face fell, and he gazed on
her timidly. But she lay quiet, and said softly and slowly:
‘O Fathers of my kindred! O Warrior and God of the Earth! bear witness
that I plight my troth to this man, to lie in his grave if I die, and in
his bed if I live.’
And she smiled on him again, and then closed her eyes; but opened them
presently once more, and said:
‘Dear friend, how fared it with Gold-mane to-day?’
Said Folk-might: ‘So well he did, that none might have done better. He
fared in the fight as if he had been our Father the Warrior: he is a
great chieftain.’
She said: ‘Wilt thou give him this message from me, that in no wise he
forget the oath which he swore upon the finger-ring as it lay on the
sundial of the Garden of the Face? And say, moreover, that I am sorry
that we shall part, and have between us such breadth of wild-wood and
mountain-neck.’
‘Yea, surely will I give thy message,’ said Folk-might; and in his heart
he rejoiced, because he heard her speak as if she were sure of life.
Then she said faintly:
‘It is now thy work to depart from me, and to do as it behoveth a
chieftain of the people and the Alderman of Silver-dale. Depart, lest
the leeches chide me: farewell, my dear!’
So he laid his face to hers and kissed her, and rose up and embraced
Iron-face, and went his ways without looking back.
But just over the threshold he met old Hall-ward of the House of the
Steer, who was at point to enter, and he greeted him kindly. The old man
looked on him steadily, and said: ‘To-morrow or the day after I will
utter a word to thee, O Chief of the Wolf.’
‘In a good hour,’ said Folk-might, ‘for all thy words are true.’
Therewith he gat him away from the house, and came to Face-of-god, where
he sat before the altar of the Crooked Sword; and now were the chiefs
come back from their meat, and were sitting with him; there also were
Wood-father and Wood-wont; but Bow-may was with the Sun-beam, who was
resting softly in the fair meadow after all the turmoil.
So men made place for Folk-might beside the War-leader, who looked upon
his face, and saw that it was sober and unsmiling, but not heavy or moody
with grief. So he deemed that all was as well as it might be with the
Bride, and with a good heart fell to taking counsel with the others; and
kindly and friendly were the redes which they held there, with no
gainsaying of man by man, for the whole folk was glad at heart.
So there they ordered all matters duly for that present time, and by then
they had made an end, it was past sunset, and men were lodged in the
chief houses about the Market-stead.
Albeit, though they ate their meat with all joy of heart, and were merry
in converse one with the other, the men of the Wolf would by no means
feast in their Hall again till it had been cleansed and hallowed anew.