NOW May was well worn when the Host came home to Burgdale; and on the
very morrow of men’s home-coming they began to talk eagerly of the
Midsummer Weddings, and how the Maiden Ward would be the greatest and
fairest of all yet seen, whereas battle and the deliverance from battle
stir up the longing and love both of men and maidens; much also men spake
of the wedding of Face-of-god and the Sun-beam; and needs must their
wedding abide to the time of the Maiden Ward at Midsummer, and needs also
must the Sun-beam go on the Ward with the other Brides of the Folk. So
then must Face-of-god keep his soul in patience till those few days were
over, doing what work came to hand; and he held his head high among the
people, and was well looked to of every man.
In all matters the Sun-beam helped him, both in doing and in forbearing;
and now so wonderful and rare was her beauty, that folk looked on her
with somewhat of fear, as though she came from the very folk of the Gods.
Indeed she seemed somewhat changed from what she had been of late; she
was sober of demeanour during these last days of her maidenhood, and sat
amongst the kindred as one communing with herself: of few words she was
and little laughter; but her face clear, not overcast by any gloom or
shaken by passion: soft and kind was she in converse with others, and
sweet were the smiles that came into her face if others’ faces seemed to
crave for them. For it must be said that as some folk eat out their
hearts with fear of the coming evils, even so was she feeding her soul
with the joy of the days to be, whatever trouble might fall upon them,
whereof belike she foreboded some.
So wore the days toward Midsummer, when the wheat was getting past the
blossoming, and the grass in the mown fields was growing deep green again
after the shearing of the scythe; when the leaves were most and biggest;
when the roses were beginning to fall; when the apples were reddening,
and the skins of the grape-berries gathering bloom. High aloft floated
the light clouds over the Dale; deep blue showed the distant fells below
the ice-mountains; the waters dwindled; all things sought the shadow by
daytime, and the twilight of even and the twilight of dawn were but
sundered by three hours of half-dark night.
So in the bright forenoon were seventeen brides assembled in the Gate of
Burgstead (but of the rest of the Dale were twenty and three looked for),
and with these was the Sun-beam, her face as calm as the mountain lake
under a summer sunset, while of the others many were restless, and
babbling like April throstles; and not a few talked to her eagerly, and
in their restless love of her dragged her about hither and thither.
No men were to be seen that morning; for such was the custom, that the
carles either departed to the fields and the acres, or abode within doors
on the morn of the day of the Maiden Ward; but there was a throng of
women about the Gate and down the street of Burgstead, and it may well be
deemed that they kept not silence that hour.
So fared the Brides of Burgstead to the place of the Maiden Ward on the
causeway, whereto were come already the other brides from steads up and
down the Dale, or were even then close at hand on the way; and among them
were Long-coat and her two fellows, with whom Face-of-god had held
converse on that morning whereon he had followed his fate to the
Mountain.
There then were they gathered under the cliff-wall of the Portway; and by
the road-side had their grooms built them up bowers of green boughs to
shelter them from the sun’s burning, which were thatched with bulrushes,
and decked with garlands of the fairest flowers of the meadows and the
gardens.
Forsooth they were a lovely sight to look on, for no fairer women might
be seen in the world; and the eldest of them was scant of five and twenty
winters. Every maiden was clad in as goodly raiment as she might
compass; their sleeves and gown-hems and girdles, yea, their very shoes
and sandals were embroidered so fairly and closely, that as they shifted
in the sun they changed colour like the king-fisher shooting from shadow
to sunshine. According to due custom every maiden bore some weapon. A
few had bows in their hands and quivers at their backs; some had nought
but a sword girt to their sides; some bore slender-shafted spears, so as
not to overburden their shapely hands; but to some it seemed a merry game
to carry long and heavy thrust-spears, or to bear great war-axes over
their shoulders. Most had their flowing hair coifed with bright helms;
some had burdened their arms with shields; some bore steel hauberks over
their linen smocks: almost all had some piece of war-gear on their
bodies; and one, to wit, Steed-linden of the Sickle, a tall and fair
damsel, was so arrayed that no garment could be seen on her but bright
steel war-gear.
As for the Sun-beam, she was clad in a white kirtle embroidered from
throat to hem with work of green boughs and flowers of the goodliest
fashion, and a garland of roses on her head. Dale-warden himself was
girt to her side by a girdle fair-wrought of golden wire, and she bore no
other weapon or war-gear; and she let him lie quiet in his scabbard, nor
touched the hilts once; whereas some of the other damsels would be ever
drawing their swords out and thrusting them back. But all noted that
goodly weapon, the yoke-fellow of so many great deeds.
There then on the Portway, between the water and the rock-wall, rose up
plenteous and gleeful talk of clear voices shrill and soft; and whiles
the maidens sang, and whiles they told tales of old days, and whiles they
joined hands and danced together on the sweet summer dust of the highway.
Then they mostly grew aweary, and sat down on the banks of the road or
under their leafy bowers.
Noon came, and therewithal goodwives of the neighbouring Dale, who
brought them meat and drink, and fruit and fresh flowers from the teeming
gardens; and thereafter for a while they nursed their joy in their
bosoms, and spake but little and softly while the day was at its hottest
in the early afternoon.
Then came out of Burgstead men making semblance of chapmen with a wain
bearing wares, and they made as though they were wending down the Portway
westward to go out of the Dale. Then arose the weaponed maidens and
barred the way to them, and turned them back amidst fresh-springing
merriment.
Again in a while, when the sun was westering and the shadows growing
long, came herdsmen from down the Dale driving neat, and making as though
they would pass by into Burgstead, but to them also did the maidens
gainsay the road, so that needs must they turn back amidst laughter and
mockery, they themselves also laughing and mocking.
And so at last, when the maidens had been all alone a while, and it was
now hard on sunset, they drew together and stood in a ring, and fell to
singing; and one Gold-may of the House of the Bridge, a most sweet
singer, stood amidst their ring and led them. And this is somewhat of
the meaning of their words:
The sun will not tarry; now changeth the light,
Fail the colours that marry the Day to the Night.
Amid the sun’s burning bright weapons we bore,
For this eve of our earning comes once and no more.
For to-day hath no brother in yesterday’s tide,
And to-morrow no other alike it doth hide.
This day is the token of oath and behest
That ne’er shall be broken through ill days and best.
Here the troth hath been given, the oath hath been done,
To the Folk that hath thriven well under the sun.
And the gifts of its giving our troth-day shall win
Are the Dale for our living and dear days therein.
O Sun, now thou wanest! yet come back and see
Amidst all that thou gainest how gainful are we.
O witness of sorrow wide over the earth,
Rise up on the morrow to look on our mirth!
Thy blooms art thou bringing back ever for men,
And thy birds are a-singing each summer again.
But to men little-hearted what winter is worse
Than thy summers departed that bore them the curse?
And e’en such art thou knowing where thriveth the year,
And good is all growing save thralldom and fear.
Nought such be our lovers’ hearts drawing anigh,
While yet thy light hovers aloft in the sky.
Lo the seeker, the finder of Death in the Blade!
What lips shall be kinder on lips of mine laid?
La he that hath driven back tribes of the South!
Sweet-breathed is thine even, but sweeter his mouth.
Come back from the sea then, O sun! come aback,
Look adown, look on me then, and ask what I lack!
Come many a morrow to gaze on the Dale,
And if e’er thou seest sorrow remember its tale!
For ’twill be of a story to tell how men died
In the garnering of glory that no man may hide.
O sun sinking under! O fragrance of earth!
O heart! O the wonder whence longing has birth!
So they sang, and the sun sank indeed; and amidst their singing the eve
was still about them, though there came a happy murmur from the face of
the meadows and the houses of the Thorp aloof. But as their song fell
they heard the sound of footsteps a many on the road; so they turned and
stood with beating hearts in such order as when a band of the valiant
draw together to meet many foes coming on them from all sides, and they
stand back to back to face all comers. And even therewith, their raiment
gleaming amidst the gathering dusk, came on them the young men of the
Dale newly delivered from the grief of war.
Then in very deed the fierce mouths of the raisers of the war-shout were
kind on the faces of tender maidens. Then went spear and axe and helm
and shield clattering to the earth, as the arms of the new-comers went
round about the bodies of the Brides, weary with the long day of
sunshine, and glee and loving speech, and the maidens suffered the young
men to lead them whither they would, and twilight began to draw round
about them as the Maiden Band was sundered.
Some, they were led away westward down the Portway to the homesteads
thereabout; and for divers of these the way was long to their halls, and
they would have to wend over long stretches of dewy meadows, and hear the
night-wind whisper in many a tree, and see the east begin to lighten with
the dawn before they came to the lighted feast that awaited them. But
some turned up the Portway straight towards Burgstead; and short was
their road to the halls where even now the lights were being kindled for
their greeting.
As for the Sun-beam, she had been very quiet the day long, speaking as
little as she might do, laughing not at all, and smiling for kindness’
sake rather than for merriment; and when the grooms came seeking their
maidens, she withdrew herself from the band, and stood alone amidst the
road nigher to Burgstead than they; and her heart beat hard, and her
breath came short and quick, as though fear had caught her in its grip;
and indeed for one moment of time she feared that he was not coming to
her. For he had gone with the other grooms to that gathered band, and
had passed from one to the other, not finding her, till he had got him
through the whole company, and beheld her awaiting him. Then indeed he
bounded toward her, and caught her by the hands, and then by the
shoulders, and drew her to him, and she nothing loth; and in that while
he said to her:
‘Come then, my friend; lo thou! they go each their own way toward the
halls of their houses; and for thee have I chosen a way—a way over the
foot-bridge yonder, and over the dewy meadows on this best even of the
year.’
‘Nay, nay,’ she said, ‘it may not be. Surely the Burgstead grooms look
to thee to lead them to the gate; and surely in the House of the Face
they look to see thee before any other. Nay, Gold-mane, my dear, we must
needs go by the Portway.’
He said: ‘We shall be home but a very little while after the first, for
the way I tell of is as short as the Portway. But hearken, my sweet!
When we are in the meadows we shall sit down for a minute on a bank under
the chestnut trees, and thence watch the moon coming up over the southern
cliffs. And I shall behold thee in the summer night, and deem that I see
all thy beauty; which yet shall make me dumb with wonder when I see it
indeed in the house amongst the candles.’
‘O nay,’ she said, ‘by the Portway shall we go; the torch-bearers shall
be abiding thee at the gate.’
Spake Face-of-god: ‘Then shall we rise up and wend first through a wide
treeless meadow, wherein amidst the night we shall behold the kine moving
about like odorous shadows; and through the greyness of the moonlight
thou shalt deem that thou seest the pink colour of the eglantine
blossoms, so fragrant they are.’
‘O nay,’ she said, ‘but it is meet that we go by the Portway.’
But he said: ‘Then from the wide meadow come we into a close of corn, and
then into an orchard-close beyond it. There in the ancient walnut-tree
the owl sitteth breathing hard in the night-time; but thou shalt not hear
him for the joy of the nightingales singing from the apple-trees of the
close. Then from out of the shadowed orchard shall we come into the open
town-meadow, and over its daisies shall the moonlight be lying in a grey
flood of brightness.
‘Short is the way across it to the brim of the Weltering Water, and
across the water lieth the fair garden of the Face; and I have dight for
thee there a little boat to waft us across the night-dark waters, that
shall be like wavering flames of white fire where the moon smites them,
and like the void of all things where the shadows hang over them. There
then shall we be in the garden, beholding how the hall-windows are
yellow, and hearkening the sound of the hall-glee borne across the
flowers and blending with the voice of the nightingales in the trees.
There then shall we go along the grass paths whereby the pinks and the
cloves and the lavender are sending forth their fragrance, to cheer us,
who faint at the scent of the over-worn roses, and the honey-sweetness of
the lilies.
‘All this is for thee, and for nought but for thee this even; and many a
blossom whereof thou knowest nought shall grieve if thy foot tread not
thereby to-night; if the path of thy wedding which I have made, be void
of thee, on the even of the Chamber of Love.
‘But lo! at last at the garden’s end is the yew-walk arched over for
thee, and thou canst not see whereby to enter it; but I, I know it, and I
lead thee into and along the dark tunnel through the moonlight, and thine
hand is not weary of mine as we go. But at the end shall we come to a
wicket, which shall bring us out by the gable-end of the Hall of the
Face. Turn we about its corner then, and there are we blinking on the
torches of the torch-bearers, and the candles through the open door, and
the hall ablaze with light and full of joyous clamour, like the bale-fire
in the dark night kindled on a ness above the sea by fisher-folk
remembering the Gods.’
‘O nay,’ she said, ‘but by the Portway must we go; the straightest way to
the Gate of Burgstead.’
In vain she spake, and knew not what she said; for even as he was
speaking he led her away, and her feet went as her will went, rather than
her words; and even as she said that last word she set her foot on the
first board of the foot-bridge; and she turned aback one moment, and saw
the long line of the rock-wall yet glowing with the last of the sunset of
midsummer, while as she turned again, lo! before her the moon just
beginning to lift himself above the edge of the southern cliffs, and
betwixt her and him all Burgdale, and Face-of-god moreover.
Thus then they crossed the bridge into the green meadows, and through the
closes and into the garden of the Face and unto the Hall-door; and other
brides and grooms were there before them (for six grooms had brought home
brides to the House of the Face); but none deemed it amiss in the
War-leader of the folk and the love that had led him. And old Stone-face
said: ‘Too many are the rows of bee-skeps in the gardens of the Dale that
we should begrudge wayward lovers an hour’s waste of candle-light.’
So at last those twain went up the sun-bright Hall hand in hand in all
their loveliness, and up on to the daïs, and stood together by the middle
seat; and the tumult of the joy of the kindred was hushed for a while as
they saw that there was speech in the mouth of the War-leader.
Then he spread his hands abroad before them all and cried out: ‘How then
have I kept mine oath, whereas I swore on the Holy Boar to wed the
fairest woman of the world?’
A mighty shout went rattling about the timbers of the roof in answer to
his word; and they that looked up to the gable of the Hall said that they
saw the ray-ringed image of the God smile with joy over the gathered
folk.
But spake Iron-face unheard amidst the clamour of the Hall: ‘How fares it
now with my darling and my daughter, who dwelleth amongst strangers in
the land beyond the wild-wood?’