The man bowed his head, drove the knife into the turf, and while it
still quivered said: 'This is witness between us that I speak the thing
that has been. Before my Knife and the Naked Chalk I speak. Touch!'
Puck laid a hand on the hilt. It stopped shaking. The children wriggled
a little nearer.
'I am of the People of the Worked Flint. I am the one son of the
Priestess who sells the Winds to the Men of the Sea. I am the Buyer of
the Knife--the Keeper of the People,' the man began, in a sort of
singing shout. 'These are my names in this country of the Naked Chalk,
between the Trees and the Sea.'
'Yours was a great country. Your names are great too,' said Puck.
'One cannot feed some things on names and songs'; the man hit himself on
the chest. 'It is better--always better--to count one's children safe
round the fire, their Mother among them.'
'Ahai!' said Puck. 'I think this will be a very old tale.'
'I warm myself and eat at any fire that I choose, but there is no _one_
to light me a fire or cook my meat. I sold all that when I bought the
Magic Knife for my people. It was not right that The Beast should master
man. What else could I have done?'
'I hear. I know. I listen,' said Puck.
'When I was old enough to take my place in the Sheepguard, The Beast
gnawed all our country like a bone between his teeth. He came in behind
the flocks at watering-time, and watched them round the Dew-ponds; he
leaped into the folds between our knees at the shearing; he walked out
alongside the grazing flocks, and chose his meat on the hoof while our
boys threw flints at him; he crept by night into the huts, and licked
the babe from between the mother's hands; he called his companions and
pulled down men in broad daylight on the Naked Chalk. No--not always did
he do so! _This_ was his cunning! He would go away for a while to let us
forget him. A year--two years perhaps--we neither smelt, nor heard, nor
saw him. When our flocks had increased; when our men did not always look
behind them; when children strayed from the fenced places; when our
women walked alone to draw water--back, back, back came the Curse of the
Chalk, Grey Shepherd, Feet-in-the Night--The Beast, The Beast, The
Beast!
'He laughed at our little brittle arrows and our poor blunt spears. He
learned to run in under the stroke of the hammer. I think he knew when
there was a flaw in the flint. Often it does not show till you bring it
down on his snout. Then--_Pouf!_--the false flint falls all to flinders,
and you are left with the hammer-handle in your fist, and his teeth in
your flank! I have felt them. At evening, too, in the dew, or when it
has misted and rained, your spear-head lashings slack off, though you
have kept them beneath your cloak all day. You are alone--but so close
to the home ponds that you stop to tighten the sinews with hands, teeth,
and a piece of driftwood. You bend over and pull--so! That is the minute
for which he has followed you since the stars went out. "Aarh!" he says.
"Wurr-aarh!" he says.' (Norton's Pit gave back the growl like a pack of
real wolves.) 'Then he is on your right shoulder feeling for the vein in
your neck, and--perhaps your sheep run on without you. To fight The
Beast is nothing, but to be despised by The Beast when he fights
you--that is like his teeth in the heart! Old One, why is it that men
desire so greatly, and can do so little?'
'I do not know. Did you desire so much?' said Puck.
'I desired to master The Beast. It is not right that The Beast should
master man. But my people were afraid. Even my Mother, the Priestess,
was afraid when I told her what I desired. We were accustomed to be
afraid of The Beast. When I was made a man, and a maiden--she was a
Priestess--waited for me at the Dew-ponds, The Beast flitted from off
the Chalk. Perhaps it was a sickness; perhaps he had gone to his Gods to
learn how to do us new harm. But he went, and we breathed more freely.
The women sang again; the children were not so much guarded; our flocks
grazed far out. I took mine yonder'--he pointed inland to the hazy line
of the Weald--'where the new grass was best. They grazed north. I
followed till we were close to the Trees'--he lowered his voice--'close
_there_ where the Children of the Night live,' He pointed north again.
'Ah, now I remember a thing,' said Puck. 'Tell me, why did your people
fear the Trees so extremely?'
'Because the Gods hate the Trees and strike them with lightning. We can
see them burning for days all along the Chalk's edge. Besides, all the
Chalk knows that the Children of the Night, though they worship our
Gods, are magicians. When a man goes into their country, they change his
spirit; they put words into his mouth; they make him like talking water.
But a voice in my heart told me to go toward the north. While I watched
my sheep there I saw three Beasts chasing a man, who ran toward the
Trees. By this I knew he was a Child of the Night. We Flint-workers fear
the Trees more than we fear The Beast. He had no hammer; he carried a
knife like this one. A Beast leaped at him. He stretched out his knife.
The Beast fell dead. The other Beasts ran away howling, which they would
never have done from a Flint-worker. The man went in among the Trees. I
looked for the dead Beast. He had been killed in a new way--by a single
deep, clean cut, without bruise or tear, which had split his bad heart.
Wonderful! So I saw that the man's knife was magic, and I thought how to
get it,--thought strongly how to get it.
'When I brought the flocks to the shearing, my Mother the Priestess
asked me, "What is the new thing which you have seen and I see in your
face?" I said, "It is a sorrow to me"; and she answered, "All new things
are sorrow. Sit in my place, and eat sorrow." I sat down in her place by
the fire, where she talks to the ghosts in winter, and two voices spoke
in my heart. One voice said, "Ask the Children of the Night for the
Magic Knife. It is not fit that The Beast should master man." I listened
to that voice.
'One voice said, "If you go among the Trees, the Children of the Night
will change your spirit. Eat and sleep here." The other voice said, "Ask
for the Knife." I listened to that voice.
'I said to my Mother in the morning, "I go away to find a thing for the
people, but I do not know whether I shall return in my own shape." She
answered, "Whether you live or die, or are made different, I am your
Mother."'
'True,' said Puck. 'The Old Ones themselves cannot change men's mothers
even if they would.'
'Let us thank the Old Ones! I spoke to my Maiden, the Priestess who
waited for me at the Dew-ponds. She promised fine things too.' The man
laughed. 'I went away to that place where I had seen the magician with
the knife. I lay out two days on the short grass before I ventured
among the Trees. I felt my way before me with a stick. I was afraid of
the terrible talking Trees. I was afraid of the ghosts in the branches;
of the soft ground underfoot; of the red and black waters. I was afraid,
above all, of the Change. It came!'
They saw him wipe his forehead once again, and his strong back-muscles
quivered till he laid his hand on the knife-hilt.
'A fire without a flame burned in my head; an evil taste grew in my
mouth; my eyelids shut hot over my eyes; my breath was hot between my
teeth, and my hands were like the hands of a stranger. I was made to
sing songs and to mock the Trees, though I was afraid of them. At the
same time I saw myself laughing, and I was very sad for this fine young
man, who was myself. Ah! The Children of the Night know magic.'
'I think that is done by the Spirits of the Mist. They change a man if
he sleeps among them,' said Puck. 'Had you slept in any mists?'
'Yes--but _I_ know it was the Children of the Night. After three days I
saw a red light behind the Trees, and I heard a heavy noise. I saw the
Children of the Night dig red stones from a hole, and lay them in fires.
The stones melted like tallow, and the men beat the soft stuff with
hammers. I wished to speak to these men, but the words were changed in
my mouth, and all I could say was, "Do not make that noise. It hurts my
head." By this I knew that I was bewitched, and I clung to the Trees,
and prayed the Children of the Night to take off their spells. They were
cruel. They asked me many questions which they would never allow me to
answer. They changed my words between my teeth till I wept. Then they
led me into a hut and covered the floor with hot stones and dashed water
on the stones, and sang charms till the sweat poured off me like water.
I slept. When I waked, my own spirit--not the strange, shouting
thing--was back in my body, and I was like a cool bright stone on the
shingle between the sea and the sunshine. The magicians came to hear
me--women and men--each wearing a Magic Knife. Their Priestess was their
Ears and their Mouth.
'I spoke. I spoke many words that went smoothly along like sheep in
order when their shepherd, standing on a mound, can count those coming,
and those far off getting ready to come. I asked for Magic Knives for my
people. I said that my people would bring meat, and milk, and wool, and
lay them in the short grass outside the Trees, if the Children of the
Night would leave Magic Knives for our people to take away. They were
pleased. Their Priestess said, "For whose sake have you come?" I
answered, "The sheep are the people. If The Beast kills our sheep, our
people die. So I come for a Magic Knife to kill The Beast."
'She said, "We do not know if our God will let us trade with the people
of the Naked Chalk. Wait till we have asked."
'When they came back from the Question place (their Gods are our Gods),
their Priestess said, "The God needs a proof that your words are true."
I said, "What is the proof?" She said, "The God says that if you have
come for the sake of your people you will give him your right eye to be
put out; but if you have come for any other reason you will not give it.
This proof is between you and the God. We ourselves are sorry."
'I said, "This is a hard proof. Is there no other road?"
'She said, "Yes. You can go back to your people with your two eyes in
your head if you choose. But then you will not get any Magic Knives for
your people."
'I said, "It would be easier if I knew that I were to be killed."
'She said, "Perhaps the God knew this too. See! I have made my knife
hot."
'I said, "Be quick, then!" With her knife heated in the flame she put
out my right eye. She herself did it. I am the son of a Priestess. She
was a Priestess. It was not work for any common man.'
'True! Most true,' said Puck. 'No common man's work, that. And,
afterwards?'
'Afterwards I did not see out of that eye any more. I found also that a
one eye does not tell you truly where things are. Try it!'
At this Dan put his hand over one eye, and reached for the flint
arrow-head on the grass. He missed it by inches. 'It's true,' he
whispered to Una. 'You can't judge distances a bit with only one eye.'
Puck was evidently making the same experiment, for the man laughed at
him.
'I know it is so,' said he. 'Even now I am not always sure of my blow. I
stayed with the Children of the Night till my eye healed. They said I
was the son of Tyr, the God who put his right hand in a Beast's mouth.
They showed me how they melted their red stone and made the Magic Knives
of it. They told me the charms they sang over the fires and at the
beatings. I can sing many charms.' Then he began to laugh like a boy.
'I was thinking of my journey home,' he said, 'and of the surprised
Beast. He had come back to the Chalk. I saw him--I smelt his lairs as
soon as ever I left the Trees. He did not know I had the Magic Knife--I
hid it under my cloak--the Knife that the Priestess gave me. Ho! Ho!
That happy day was too short! See! A Beast would wind me. "Wow!" he
would say, "here is my Flint-worker!" He would come leaping, tail in
air; he would roll; he would lay his head between his paws out of
merriness of heart at his warm, waiting meal. He would leap--and, oh,
his eye in mid-leap when he saw--when he saw the knife held ready for
him! It pierced his hide as a rush pierces curdled milk. Often he had no
time to howl. I did not trouble to flay any beasts I killed. Sometimes I
missed my blow. Then I took my little flint hammer and beat out his
brains as he cowered. He made no fight. He knew the knife! But The Beast
is very cunning. Before evening all The Beasts had smelt the blood on
my knife, and were running from me like hares. _They_ knew! Then I
walked as a man should--the Master of The Beast!
'So came I back to my Mother's house. There was a lamb to be killed. I
cut it in two halves with my knife, and I told her all my tale. She
said, "This is the work of a God." I kissed her and laughed. I went to
my Maiden who waited for me at the Dew-ponds. There was a lamb to be
killed. I cut it in two halves with my knife, and told her all my tale.
She said, "It is the work of a God." I laughed, but she pushed me away,
and being on my blind side, ran off before I could kiss her. I went to
the Men of the Sheepguard at watering-time. There was a sheep to be
killed for their meat. I cut it in two halves with my knife, and told
them all my tale. They said, "It is the work of a God." I said, "We talk
too much about Gods. Let us eat and be happy, and to-morrow I will take
you to the Children of the Night, and each man will find a Magic Knife."
'I was glad to smell our sheep again; to see the broad sky from edge to
edge, and to hear the sea. I slept beneath the stars in my cloak. The
men talked among themselves.
'I led them, the next day, to the Trees, taking with me meat, wool, and
curdled milk, as I had promised. We found the Magic Knives laid out on
the grass, as the Children of the Night had promised. They watched us
from among the Trees. Their Priestess called to me and said, "How is it
with your people?" I said, "Their hearts are changed. I cannot see
their hearts as I used to." She said, "That is because you have only one
eye. Come to me and I will be both your eyes." But I said, "I must show
my people how to use their knives against The Beast, as you showed me
how to use my knife." I said this because the Magic Knife does not
balance like the flint. She said, "What you have done, you have done for
the sake of a woman, and not for the sake of your people." I asked of
her, "Then why did the God accept my right eye, and why are you so
angry?" She answered, "Because any man can lie to a God, but no man can
lie to a woman. And I am not angry with you. I am only very sorrowful
for you. Wait a little, and you will see out of your one eye why I am
sorry." So she hid herself.
'I went back with my people, each one carrying his knife, and making it
sing in the air--_tssee-sssse_. The Flint never sings. It
mutters--_ump-ump_. The Beast heard. The Beast saw. _He_ knew!
Everywhere he ran away from us. We all laughed. As we walked over the
grass my Mother's brother--the Chief on the Man's Side--he took off his
Chief's necklace of yellow sea-stones.'
'How? Eh? Oh, I remember! Amber,' said Puck.
'And would have put them on my neck. I said, "No, I am content. What
does my one eye matter if my other eye sees fat sheep and fat children
running about safely?" My Mother's brother said to them, "I told you he
would never take such things." Then they began to sing a song in the
Old Tongue--_The Song of Tyr_. I sang with them, but my Mother's brother
said, "This is _your_ song, oh, Buyer of the Knife. Let _us_ sing it,
Tyr."
'Even then I did not understand, till I saw that--that no man stepped on
my shadow; and I knew that they thought me to be a God, like the God
Tyr, who gave his right hand to conquer a Great Beast.'
'By the Fire in the Belly of the Flint, was that so?' Puck rapped out.
'By my Knife and the Naked Chalk, so it was! They made way for my shadow
as though it had been a Priestess walking to the Barrows of the Dead. I
was afraid. I said to myself, "My Mother and my Maiden will know I am
not Tyr." But _still_ I was afraid with the fear of a man who falls into
a steep flint-pit while he runs, and feels that it will be hard to climb
out.
'When we came to the Dew-ponds all our people were there. The men showed
their knives and told their tale. The sheepguards also had seen The
Beast flying from us. The Beast went west across the river in
packs--howling! He knew the Knife had come to the Naked Chalk at
last--at last! _He_ knew! So my work was done. I looked for my Maiden
among the Priestesses. She looked at me, but she did not smile. She made
the sign to me that our Priestesses must make when they sacrifice to the
Old Dead in the Barrows. I would have spoken, but my Mother's brother
made himself my Mouth, as though I had been one of the Old Dead in the
Barrows for whom our Priests speak to the people on Midsummer mornings.'
'I remember. Well I remember those Midsummer mornings!' said Puck.
'Then I went away angrily to my Mother's house. She would have knelt
before me. Then I was more angry, but she said, "Only a God would have
spoken to me thus, a Priestess. A man would have feared the punishment
of the Gods." I looked at her and I laughed. I could not stop my unhappy
laughing. They called me from the door by the name of Tyr himself. A
young man with whom I had watched my first flocks, and chipped my first
arrow, and fought my first Beast, called me by that name in the Old
Tongue. He asked my leave to take my Maiden. His eyes were lowered, his
hands were on his forehead. He was full of the fear of a God, but of
_me_, a man, he had no fear when he asked. I did not kill him. I said,
"Call the maiden." She came also without fear--this very one that had
waited for me, that had talked with me by our Dew-ponds. Being a
Priestess, she lifted her eyes to me. As I look on a hill or a cloud, so
she looked at me. She spoke in the Old Tongue which Priestesses use when
they make prayers to the Old Dead in the Barrows. She asked leave that
she might light the fire in my companion's house--and that I should
bless their children. I did not kill her. I heard my own voice, little
and cold, say, "Let it be as you desire," and they went away hand in
hand. My heart grew little and cold, a wind shouted in my ears; my eye
darkened. I said to my Mother, "Can a God die?" I heard her say, "What
is it? What is it, my son?" and I fell into darkness full of
hammer-noises. I was not.'
'Oh, poor--poor God!' said Puck. 'And your wise Mother?'
'_She_ knew. As soon as I dropped she knew. When my spirit came back I
heard her whisper on my ear, "Whether you live or die, or are made
different, I am your Mother." That was good--better even than the water
she gave me and the going away of the sickness. Though I was ashamed to
have fallen down, yet I was very glad. She was glad too. Neither of us
wished to lose the other. There is only the one Mother for the one son.
I heaped the fire for her, and barred the doors, and sat at her feet as
before I went away, and she combed my hair, and sang.
'I said at last, "What is to be done to the people who say that I am
Tyr?"
'She said, "He who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a
God. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die.
You cannot drive them off."
'I said, "This is a heavier sheep than I can lift." She said, "In time
it will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any
maiden anywhere. Be wise--be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you
except the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God."'
'Oh, poor God!' said Puck. 'But those are not altogether bad things.'
'I know they are not; but I would sell them all--all--all for one small
child of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.'
He wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood
up.
'And yet, what else could I have done?' he said. 'The sheep are the
people.'
'It is a very old tale,' Puck answered. 'I have heard the like of it not
only on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees--under Oak, and Ash,
and Thorn.'
* * * * *
The afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton's Pit.
The children heard the sheep bells and Young Jim's busy bark above them,
and they scrambled up the slope to the level.
'We let you have your sleep out,' said Mr. Dudeney, as the flock
scattered before them. 'It's making for tea-time now.'
'Look what I've found,' said Dan, and held up a little blue flint
arrow-head as fresh as though it had been chipped that very day.
'Oh,' said Mr. Dudeney, 'the closeter you be to the turf the more you're
apt to see things. I've found 'em often. Some says the fairies made 'em,
but I says they was made by folks like ourselves--only a goodish time
back. They're lucky to keep. Now, you couldn't ever have slept--not to
any profit--among your father's trees same as you've laid out on Naked
Chalk--could you?'
'One doesn't want to sleep in the woods,' said Una.
'Then what's the good of 'em?' said Mr. Dudeney. 'Might as well set in
the barn all day. Fetch 'em 'long, Jim boy!'
The Downs, that looked so bare and hot when they came, were full of
delicious little shadow-dimples; the smell of the thyme and the salt
mixed together on the south-west drift from the still sea; their eyes
dazzled with the low sun, and the long grass under it looked golden. The
sheep knew where their fold was, so Young Jim came back to his master,
and they all four strolled home, the scabious-heads swishing about their
ankles, and their shadows streaking behind them like the shadows of
giants.