glow. After a time he spake more soberly. “It is not these few ships
burnt in the north should trouble me; and indeed Laxus hath not five
hundred men to man his whole fleet withal. But he holdeth the sea,
and ever since his putting out into the deep with thirty sail from
Lookinghaven I do expect fresh succours out of Witchland. ’Tis that
maketh me champ still on the bit till this hold be won again; for then
were we free at least to meet their landing. But ’twere most unfit at
this time of the year to carry on a siege in low and watery grounds,
the enemy’s army being on foot and unengaged. Wherefore, this is my
mind, O my friend, that thou go with haste over the Stile and fetch me
supply of men. Leave force to ward our ships a-building, wheresoever
they be; and a good force in Krothering and thereabout, for I will not
be found a false steward of his lady sister’s safety. And in thine
own house make sure. But these things being provided, shear up the
war-arrow and bring me out of the west fifteen or eighteen hundred
men-at-arms. For I do think that by me and thee and such a head of men
of Demonland as we shall then command Owlswick gates may be brast open
and Corsus plucked out of Owlswick like a whilk out of his shell.”
Zigg answered him, “I’ll be gone at point of day.”
Now they rose up and took their weapons and muffled themselves in their
great campaigning cloaks and went forth with torch-bearers to walk
through the lines, as every night ere he went to rest it was Spitfire’s
wont to do, visiting his captains and setting the guard. The rain fell
gentlier. The night was without a star. The wet sands gleamed with the
lights of Owlswick Castle, and from the castle came by fits the sound
of feasting heard above the wash and moan of the sullen sleepless sea.
When they had made all sure and were come nigh again to Spitfire’s tent
and Zigg was upon saying good-night, there rose up out of the shadow
of the tent an ancient man and came betwixt them into the glare of the
torches. Shrivelled and wrinkled and bowed he seemed as with extreme
age. His hair and his beard hung down in elf-locks adrip with rain.
His mouth was toothless, his eyes like a dead fish’s eyes. He touched
Spitfire’s cloak with his skinny hand, saying in a voice like the
night-raven’s, “Spitfire, beware of Thremnir’s Heugh.”
Spitfire said, “What have we here? And which way the devil came he into
my camp?”
But that aged man still held him by the cloak, saying, “Spitfire, is
not this thine house of Owlswick? And is it not the most strong and
fair place that ever man saw in this countree?”
“Filth, unhand me,” said Spitfire, “else shall I presently thrust thee
through with my sword, and send thee to the Tartarus of hell, where I
doubt not the devils there too long await thee.”
But that aged man said again, “Hot stirring heads are too easily
entrapped. Hold fast, Spitfire, to that which is thine, and beware of
Thremnir’s Heugh.”
Now was Lord Spitfire wood angry, and because the old carle still held
him by the cloak and would not let him go, plucked forth his sword,
thinking to have stricken him about the head with the flat of his
sword. But with that stroke went a gust of wind about them, so that
the torch-flames were nigh blown out. And that was strange, of a still
windless night. And in that gust was the old man vanished away like a
cloud passing in the night.
Zigg spake: “The thin habit of spirits is beyond the force of weapons.”
“Pish!” said Spitfire. “Was this a spirit? I hold it rather a
simulacrum or illusion prepared for us by Witchland’s cunning, to
darken our counsel and shake our resolution.”
• • • • •
On the morrow while yet sunrise was red, Lord Zigg went down to the
sea-shore to bathe in the great rock pools that face southward across
the little bay of Owlswick. The salt air was fresh after the rain. The
wind that had veered to the east blew in cold and pinching gusts. In a
rift between slate-blue clouds the low sun flamed blood-red. Far to the
south-east where the waters of Micklefirth open on the main, the low
cliffs of Lookinghaven-ness loomed shadowy as a bank of cloud.
Zigg laid down his sword and spear and looked south-east across the
firth; and behold, a ship in full sail rounding the ness and steering
northward on the larboard tack. And when he had put off his kirtle he
looked again, and behold, two more ships a-steering round the ness and
sailing hard in the wake of the first. So he donned his kirtle again
and took his weapons, and by then were fifteen sail a-steering up the
firth in line ahead, dragons of war.
So he fared hastily to Spitfire’s tent, and found him yet abed,
for sweet sleep yet nursed in her bosom impetuous Spitfire; his
head was thrown back on the broidered pillow, displaying his strong
shaven throat and chin; his fierce mouth beneath his bristling fair
moustachios was relaxed in slumber, and his fierce eyes closed in
slumber beneath their yellow bristling eyebrows.
Zigg took him by the foot and waked him and told him all the matter:
“Fifteen ships, and every ship (as I might plainly see as they drew
nigh) as full of men as there be eggs in a herring’s roe. So cometh our
expectation to the birth.”
“And so,” said Spitfire, leaping from the couch, “cometh Laxus again to
Demonland, with fresh meat to glut our swords withal.”
He caught up his weapons and ran to a little knoll that stood above
the beach over against Owlswick Castle. And all the host ran to behold
those dragons of war sail up the firth at dawn of day.
“They dowse sail,” said Spitfire, “and put in for Scaramsey. ’Tis not
for nothing I taught these Witchlanders on the Rapes of Brima. Laxus,
since he witnessed that downthrow of their army, now accounteth islands
more wholesomer than the mainland, well knowing we have nor sails nor
wings to strike across the firth at him. Yet scarcely by skulking in
the islands shall he break up the siege of Owlswick.”
Zigg said, “I would know where be his fifteen other ships.”
“In fifteen ships,” said Spitfire, “it is not possible he beareth more
than sixteen hundred or seventeen hundred men of war. Against so many I
am strong enough to-day, should they adventure a landing, to throw ’em
into the sea and still contain Corsus if he make a sally. If more be
added, I am the less secure. Therefore occasion calleth but the louder
for thy purposed faring to the west.”
So the Lord Zigg called him out a dozen men-at-arms and went
a-horseback. By then were all the ships rowed ashore under the southern
spit of Scaramsey, where is good anchorage for ships. They were there
hidden from view, all save their masts that showed over the spit, so
that the Demons might observe nought of their disembarking.
Spitfire rode with Zigg three miles or four, as far as the brow of
the descent to the fords of Ethreywater, and there bade him farewell.
“Lightning shall be slow to my hasting,” said Zigg, “till I be back
again. Meantime, I would have thee be not too scornfully unmindful of
that old man.”
“Chirking of sparrows!” said Spitfire. “I have forgot his brabble.”
Nevertheless his glance shifted southward beyond Owlswick to the great
bluff of tree-hung precipice that stands like a sentinel above the
meadows of Lower Tivarandardale, leaving but a narrow way betwixt its
lowest crags and the sea. He laughed: “O my friend, I am yet a boy in
thine eyes it seemeth, albeit I am well-nigh twenty-nine years old.”
“Laugh at me and thou wilt,” said Zigg. “Without this word said I could
not leave thee.”
“Well,” said Spitfire, “to lull thy fears, I’ll not go a-birdsnesting
on Thremnir’s Heugh till thou come back again.”
• • • • •
Now for a week or more was nought to tell of save that Spitfire’s army
sat before Owlswick, and they on the island sent ever and again three
or four ships to land suddenly about Lookinghaven or at the head of
the firth, or southaway beyond Drepaby, as far as the coastlands under
Rimon Armon, harrying and burning. And as oft as force was gathered
against them, they fared aboard again and sailed back to Scaramsey. In
those days came Volle from the west with an hundred men and joined him
with Spitfire.
The eighth day of November the weather worsened, and clouds gathered
from the west and south, till all the sky was a welter of huge watery
leaden clouds, separated one from another by oily streaks of white. The
wind grew fitful as the day wore. The sea was dark like dull iron. Rain
began to fall in big drops. The mountains showed monstrous and shadowy:
some dark inky blue, others in the west like walls and bastions of
clotted mist against the hueless mist of heaven behind them. Evening
closed with thunder and rain and lightning-torn banks of vapour. All
night long the thunder roared in sullen intermission, and all night
long new banks of thunder-cloud swung together and parted and swung
together again. And the light of the moon was abated, and no light seen
save the levin-brand, and the camp-fires before Owlswick, and the light
of revelry within. So that the Demons camped before the castle were not
ware of those fifteen ships that put out from Scaramsey on that wild
sea and landed two or three miles to the southward by the great bluff
of Thremnir’s Heugh. Nor were they ware at all of them that landed
from the ships: fifteen or sixteen hundred men-at-arms with Heming of
Witchland and his young brother Cargo for their leaders. And the ships
rowed back to Scaramsey through the loud storm and fury of the weather,
all save one that foundered in Bothrey Sound.
But on the morn, when the tempest was abated, might all behold the
putting forth of fourteen ships of war from Scaramsey, every ship of
them laden with men-at-arms. They had passage swiftly over the firth,
and came aland two miles south of Owlswick. And the ships stood off
again from the land, but the army marshalled for battle on the meads
above Mingarn Hope.
Now Lord Spitfire let draw up his men and moved out southward from the
lines before Owlswick. When they were come within some half mile’s
distance of the Witchland army, so that they might see clearly their
russet kirtles and their shields and body-armour of bronze, and the
dull glint of their sword-blades and the heads of their spears, Volle,
that rode by Spitfire, spake and said, “Markest thou him, O Spitfire,
that rideth back and forth before their battle, marshalling them? So
ever rode Corinius; and well mayst thou know him even afar off by his
showiness and jaunting carriage. Yet see a great wonder now: for who
ever heard tell of this young hotspur giving back from the fight? And
now, or ever we be gotten within spear-shot——”
“By the bright eye of day,” cried Spitfire, “’tis so! Will he baulk me
quite of a battle? I’ll loose a handful of horse upon them to delay
their haste ere they be flown beyond sight and finding.”
Therewith he gave command to his horsemen to ride forth upon the enemy.
And they rode forth with Astar of Rettray, that was brother-in-law
to Lord Zigg, for their leader. But the Witchland horse met them by
the shallows of Aron Pow and held them in the shallows while Corinius
with his main army won across the river. And when the main body of
the Demons were come up and the passage forced, the Witchlanders were
gotten clean away across the water-meadows to the pass betwixt the
shore and the steeps of Thremnir’s Heugh.
Then said Spitfire, “They stay not to form even i’ the narrow way
’twixt the sea and the Heugh. And that were their safety, if they had
but the heart to turn and stand us.” And he shouted with a great shout
upon his men to charge the enemy, and suffer not a Witch to overlive
that slaughter.
So the footmen caught hold of the stirrup-leathers of the horsemen,
and running and riding they poured into the narrow pass; and ever was
Spitfire foremost among his men, hewing to left and to right among the
press, riding on that whelming battle-tide that seemed to bear him on
to triumph.
But now on a sudden was he, who with but twelve hundred men had so
hotly followed fifteen hundred into the strait passage under Thremnir’s
Heugh, made ware too late that he must have to do with three thousand:
Corinius rallying his folk and turning like a wolf in the pass, while
Corund’s sons, that had landed as aforesaid in the storm in the mirk
of night, swept down with their battalions from the wooded slopes
behind the Heugh. In such wise that Spitfire wist not sooner of any
foreshadowing of disaster than of disaster’s self: the thunder of the
blow in flank and front and rear.
Then befell great manslaying between the sea-cliffs and the sea. The
Demons, taken at that advantage, were like a man tripped in mid-stride
by a rope across the way. By the sore onset of the Witches they were
driven down into the shallows of the sea, and the spume of the sea
was red with blood. And the Lord Corinius, now that he had done with
feigned retreat, fared through the battle like a stream of unquenchable
wildfire, that none might sustain his strokes that were about him.
Now was Spitfire’s horse slain under him with a spear-thrust, as riding
fetlock-deep in the yielding sand he rallied his men to fling back
Heming. But Bremery of Shaws brought him another horse, and so mightily
went he forth against the Witches that the sons of Corund were fain to
give back before his onslaught, and that wing of the Witchland army was
pressed back against the broken ground below the Heugh. Yet was that
of little avail, for Corinius brake through from the north, thrusting
the Demons with great slaughter back from the sea, so that they were
penned betwixt him and Heming. Therewith Spitfire turned with some
picked companies against Corinius; and well it seemed for awhile that
a great force of the Witches must be whelmed or drowned in the salt
waves. And Corinius himself stood now in great peril of his life, for
his horse was bogued in the soft sands and might not win free for all
his plunging.
In that nick of time came Spitfire through the stour, with a band of
Demons about him, slaying as he came. He shouted with a terrible voice,
“O Corinius, hateful to me and mine as are the gates of Hell, now will
I kill thee, and thy dead carcase shall fatten the sweet meads of
Owlswick.”
Corinius answered him, “Bloody Spitfire, last of three whelps, for thy
brothers are by now dead and rotten, I shall give thee a choke-pear.”
Therewith Spitfire shot a twirl-spear at him. It missed the man but
smote the great horse in the shoulder so that he plunged and fell in
a heap, hurt to the death. But the Lord Corinius lighting nimbly on
his feet caught Spitfire’s horse by the bridle rein and smote it on
the muzzle, even as he rode at him, so that the horse reared up and
swerved. Spitfire made a great blow at him with an axe, but it came
slantwise on the helmet ridge and glented aside in air. Then Corinius
thrust up under Spitfire’s shield with his sword, and the point entered
the big muscle of the arm near the armpit, and glancing against the
bone tore up through the muscles of the shoulder. And that was a great
wound.
Nevertheless Spitfire slacked not from the fight, but smote at him
again, thinking to have hewn off his arm the hand whereof still
clutched the bridle-rein. Corinius caught the axe on his shield, but
his fingers loosed the rein, and almost he fell to earth under that
mighty stroke, and the good bronze shield was dented and battered in.
Now with the loosing of the reins was Spitfire’s horse plunged forward,
carrying him past Corinius toward the sea. But he turned and hailed
him, crying, “Get thee an horse. For I count it unworthy to fight with
thee bearing this advantage over thee, I a-horseback and thou on foot.”
Corinius cried out and answered, “Come down from thine horse then, and
meet me foot to foot. And know it, my pretty throstle-cock, that I am
king in Demonland, which dignity I hold of the King of Kings, Gorice of
Witchland, mine only overlord. Meet it is that I show thee in combat
singular, that vauntest thyself greatest among the rebels yet left
alive in this my kingdom, how much greater is my might than thine.”
“These be great and thumping words,” said Spitfire. “I shall thrust
them down thy throat again.”
Therewith he made as if to light down from his horse; but as he strove
to light down, a mist went before his eyes and he reeled in his saddle.
His men rushed in betwixt him and Corinius, and the captain of his
bodyguard bare him up, saying, “You are hurt, my lord. You must not
fight no more with Corinius, for your highness is unmeet for fighting
and may not stand alone.”
So they that were about him bare up great Spitfire. And the mellay that
was stayed while those lords dealt together in single combat brake
forth afresh in that place. But all the while had furious war swung
and ravened below Thremnir’s Heugh, and wondrous was the valour of the
Demons; for many hundred were slain or wounded to the death, and but a
small force were they that yet remained to bear up the battle against
the Witches.
• • • • •
Now those that were with Spitfire departed with him in the secretest
manner that they could out of the fight, wrapping about him a
watchet-coloured cloak to hide his shining armour. They stanched the
blood that ran from the great wound in his shoulder and bound it
up carefully, and carried him a-horseback by Volle’s command into
Tremmerdale by secret mountain paths up to a desolate corrie east of
Sterry Gap, under the great scree-shoot that flanks the precipices of
the south summit of Dina. A long time he lay there senseless, like
to one dead. For many hurts had he taken in the unequal fight, and
greatly was he bruised and battered, but worst of all was the sore hurt
Corinius gave him ere they parted betwixt the limits of land and sea.
And when night was fallen and all the ways were darkened, came the Lord
Volle with a few companions utterly wearied to that lonely corrie. The
night was still and cloudless, and the maiden moon walked high heaven,
blackening the shadows of the great peaks that were like sharks’ teeth
against the night. Spitfire lay on a bed of ling and cloaks in the lee
of a great boulder. Ghastly pale was his face in the silver moonlight.
Volle leaned upon his spear looking earnestly upon him. They asked him
tidings. And Volle answered, “All lost,” and still looked upon Spitfire.
They said, “My lord, we have stanched the blood and bound up the wound,
but his lordship abideth yet senseless. And greatly we fear for his
life, lest this great hurt yet prove his bane-sore.”
Volle kneeled beside him on the cold sharp stones and tended him as
a mother might her sick child, applying to the wound leaves of black
horehound and millefoil and other healing simples, and giving him to
drink out of a flask of precious wine of Arshalmar, ripened for an
age in the deep cellars below Krothering. So that in a while Spitfire
opened his eyes and said, “Draw back the curtains of the bed, for ’tis
many a day since I woke up in Owlswick. Or is it night indeed? How went
the fight, then?”
His eyes stared at the naked rocks and the naked sky beyond them. Then
with a great groan he lifted himself on his right elbow. Volle put a
strong arm about him, saying, “Drink the good wine, and have patience.
There be great doings toward.”
Spitfire stared round him awhile, then said violently, “Shall we be
foxes and fugitive men to dwell in holes o’ the hollow mountain side?
So the bright day is done, ha? Then off with these trammels.” And he
fell a-tearing at the bandage on his wounds.
But Volle prevented him with strong hands, saying, “Bethink thee how on
thee alone, O glorious Spitfire, and on thy wise heart and valiant soul
that delighteth in furious war, resteth all our hope to ward off from
our lady wives and dear children and all our good land and fee the fury
of the men of Witchland, and to save alive the great name of Demonland.
Let not thy proud heart be capable of despair.”
But Spitfire groaned and said, “Certain it was that woe and evil hap
must be to Demonland until my kinsmen be gotten home again. And that
day I think shall never dawn.” And he cried, “Boasted he not that he is
king in Demonland? and yet I had not my sword in his umbles. And thou
thinkest I’ll live in shame?”
Therewithal he strove again to tear off the bandages, but Volle
prevented him. And he raved and said, “Who was it forced me from the
battle? ’Tis pity of his life, to have abused me so. Better dead than
run from Corinius like a beaten puppy. Let me go, false traitors! I
will amend this. I will die fighting. Let me go back.”
Volle said, “Lift up thine eyes, great Spitfire, and behold the lady
moon, how virgin free she walketh the wide fields of heaven, and the
glory of the stars of heaven which in their multitudes attend her. And
as little as earthly mists and storms do dim her, but though she be hid
awhile yet when the tempest is abated and the sky swept bare of clouds
there she appeareth again in her steadfast course, mistress of tides
and seasons and swayer of the fates of mortal men: even such is the
glory of sea-girt Demonland, and the glory of thine house, O Spitfire.
And as little as commotions in the heavens should avail to remove these
everlasting mountains, so little availeth disastrous war, though it be
a great fight lost as was to-day, to shake down our greatness, that are
mightiest with the spear from of old and able to make all earth bow to
our glory.”
So said Volle. And the Lord Spitfire looked out across the mist-choked
sleeping valley to the great rock-faces dim in the moonlight and the
lean peaks grand and silent beneath the moon. He spake not, whether for
strengthlessness or as charmed to silence by the mighty influences of
night and the mountain solitudes and by Volle’s voice speaking deep and
quiet in his ear, like the voice of night herself calming earth-born
tumults and despairs.
After a time Volle spake once more: “Thy brethren shall come home
again: doubt it not. But till then art thou our strength. Therefore
have patience; heal thy wounds; and raise forces again. But shouldst
thou in desperate madness destroy thy life, then were we shent indeed.”
XX: KING CORINIUS
OF THE ENTRY OF THE LORD CORINIUS INTO OWLSWICK AND HOW HE WAS
CROWNED IN SPITFIRE’S SAPPHIRE CHAIR AS VICEROY OF GORICE THE
KING AND KING IN DEMONLAND: AND HOW ALL THAT WERE IN OWLSWICK
CASTLE DID SO RECEIVE AND ACKNOWLEDGE HIM.
Corinius, having completed this great victory, came with his army north
again to Owlswick as daylight began to fade. The drawbridge was let
down for him and the great gates flung wide, that were studded with
silver and ribbed with adamant; and in great pomp rode he and his into
Owlswick Castle, over the causey builded of the living rock and great
blocks of hewn granite out of Tremmerdale. The more part of his army
lay in Spitfire’s camp before the castle, but a thousand were with him
in his entry into Owlswick with Corund’s sons and the lords Gro and
Laxus besides, for the fleet had put across to anchor there when they
saw the day was won.
Corsus greeted them well, and would have brought them to their lodgings
near his own chamber, that they might put off their harness and don
clean linen and festival garments before supper. But Corinius excused
himself, saying he had eat nought since breakfast-time: “Let us
therefore not pass for ceremony, but bring us I pray you forthright to
the banquet house.”
Corinius went in with Corsus before them all, putting lovingly about
his shoulder his arm all befouled with dust and clotted blood. For he
had not so much as stayed for washing of his hands. And that was scarce
good for the broidered cloak of purple taffety the Duke Corsus wore
about his shoulders. Howbeit, Corsus made as if he marked it not.
When they were come into the hall, Corsus looked about him and said,
“So it is, my Lord Corinius, that this hall is something little for the
great press that here befalleth. Many of mine own folk that be of some
account should by long custom sit down with us. And here be no seats
left for them. Prithee command some of the common sort that came in
with thee to give place, that all may be done orderly. Mine officers
must not scramble in the buttery.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” answered Corinius, “but needs must that we
bethink us o’ these lads of mine which have chiefly borne the toil of
battle, and well I weet thou’lt not deny them this honour to sit at
meat with us: these that thou hast most to thank for opening Owlswick
gates and raising the siege our enemies held so long against you.”
So they took their seats, and supper was set before them: kids stuffed
with walnuts and almonds and pistachios; herons in sauce cameline;
chines of beef; geese and bustards; and great beakers and jars of
ruby-hearted wine. Right fain of the good banquet were Corinius and his
folk, and silence was in the hall for awhile save for the clatter of
dishes and the champing of the mouths of the feasters.
At length Corinius, quaffing down at one draught a mighty goblet of
wine, spake and said, “There was battle in the meads by Thremnir’s
Heugh to-day, my lord Duke. Wast thou at that battle?”
Corsus’s heavy cheeks flushed somewhat red. He answered, “Thou knowest
I was not. And I should account it most blameable hotheadedness to have
sallied forth when it seemed Spitfire had the victory.”
“O my lord,” said Corinius, “think not I made this a quarrel to thee.
The rather let me show thee how much I hold thee in honour.”