matters better ’twixt me and all of them than when yesternight I
resolved to leave them.”
The Lady Mevrian was silent, a cloud in her face. Then, “I am alone,”
she said. “Therefore think it not little-hearted in me, nor forgetful
of past benefits, if I will be further certified of thee ere I suffer
thee to rise. Swear to me thou wilt not betray me.”
But Gro said, “How should an oath from me avail thee, madam? Oaths bind
not an ill man. Were I minded to do thee wrong, lightly should I swear
thee all oaths thou mightest require, and lightly o’ the next instant
be forsworn.”
“That is not well said,” said Mevrian. “Nor helpeth not thy safety. You
men do say that women’s hearts be faint and feeble, but I shall show
thee the contrary is in me. Study to satisfy me. Else will I assuredly
smite thee to death with thine own sword.”
The Lord Gro lay back, clasping his slender hands behind his head.
“Stand, I pray thee,” said he, “o’ the other side of me, that I may see
thy face.”
She did so, still threatening him with the sword. And he said smiling,
“Divine lady, all my days have I had danger for my bedfellow, and
peril of death for my familiar friend; whilom leading a delicate life
in princely court, where murther sitteth in the wine-cup and in the
alcove; whilom journeying alone in more perilous lands than this,
as witness the Moruna, where the country is full of venomous beasts
and crawling poisoned serpents, and the divels be as abundant there
as grasshoppers on a hot hillside in summer. He that feareth is a
slave, were he never so rich, were he never so powerful. But he that
is without fear is king of all the world. Thou hast my sword. Strike.
Death shall be a sweet rest to me. Thraldom, not death, should terrify
me.”
She paused awhile, then said unto him, “My Lord Gro, thou didst do me
once a right great good turn. Surely I may build my safety on this,
that never yet did kite bring forth a good flying hawk.” She shifted
her hold on his sword, and very prettily gave it him hilt-foremost,
saying, “I give it thee back, my lord, nothing doubting that that which
was given in honour thou wilt honourably use.”
But he, rising up, said, “Madam, this and thy noble words hath given
such rootfastness to the pact of faith betwixt us that it may now
unfold what blossom of oaths thou wilt; for oaths are the blossom of
friendship, not the root. And thou shalt find me a true holder of my
vowed amity unto thee without spot or wrinkle.”
• • • • •
For sundry nights and days abode Gro and Mevrian in that place, hunting
at whiles to get their sustenance, drinking of the sweet spring-water,
sleeping a-nights she in her cave beneath the holly bushes and the
rowans beside the waterfall, he in a cleft of the rocks a little below
in the gully, where the moss made cushions soft and resilient as the
great stuffed beds in Carcë. In those days she told him of her farings
since that night of April when she escaped out of Krothering: how
first she found harbourage at By in Westmark, but hearing in a day or
two of a hue and cry fled east again, and sojourning awhile beside
Throwater came at length about a month ago upon this cave beside the
little fountain, and here abode. Her mind had been to win over the
mountains to Galing, but she had after the first attempt given over
that design, for fear of companies of the enemy whose hands she barely
escaped when she came forth into the lower valleys that open on the
eastern coast-lands. So she had turned again to this hiding place in
the hills, as secret and remote as any in Demonland. For this dale she
let him know was Neverdale, where no road ran save the way of the deer
and the mountain goats, and no garth opened on that dale, and the reek
of no man’s hearthstone burdened the winds that blew thither. And that
gable-crested peak at the head of the dale was the southernmost of
the Forks of Nantreganon, nursery of the vulture and the eagle. And a
hidden way was round the right shoulder of that peak, over the toothed
ridge by Neverdale Hause to the upper waters of Tivarandardale.
On an afternoon of sultry summer heat it so befell that they rested
below the hause on a bastion of rock that jutted from the south-western
slope. Beneath their feet precipices fell suddenly away from a giddy
verge, sweeping round in a grand cirque above which the mountain rose
like some Tartarian fortress, ponderous, cruel as the sea and sad,
scarred and gashed with great lines of cleavage as though the face of
the mountain had been slashed away by the axe-stroke of a giant. In the
depths the waters of Dule Tarn slept placid and fathomless.
Gro was stretched on the brink of the cliff, face downward, propped
on his two elbows, studying those dark waters. “Surely,” he said,
“the great mountains of the world are a present remedy if men did but
know it against our modern discontent and ambitions. In the hills is
wisdom’s fount. They are deep in time. They know the ways of the sun
and the wind, the lightning’s fiery feet, the frost that shattereth,
the rain that shroudeth, the snow that putteth about their nakedness
a softer coverlet than fine lawn: which if their large philosophy
question not if it be a bridal sheet or a shroud, hath not this
unpolicied calm his justification ever in the returning year, and is it
not an instance to laugh our carefulness out of fashion? of us, little
children of the dust, children of a day, who with so many burdens do
burden us with taking thought and with fears and desires and devious
schemings of the mind, so that we wax old before our time and fall
weary ere the brief day be spent and one reaping-hook gather us home at
last for all our pains.”
He looked up and she met the gaze of his great eyes; deep pools of
night they seemed, where strange matters might move unseen, disturbing
to look on, yet filled with a soft slumbrous charm that lulled and
soothed.
“Thou’st fallen a-dreaming, my lord,” said Mevrian. “And for me ’tis a
hard thing to walk with thee in thy dreams, who am awake in the broad
daylight and would be a-doing.”
“Certes it is an ill thing,” said Lord Gro, “that thou, who hast not
been nourished in mendicity or poverty but in superfluity of honour and
largesse, shouldst be made fugitive in thine own dominions, to lodge
with foxes and beasts of the wild mountain.”
Said she, “It is yet a sweeter lodging than is to-day in Krothering.
It is therefore I chafe to do somewhat. To win through to Galing, that
were something.”
“What profit is in Galing,” said Gro, “without Lord Juss?”
She answered, “Thou wilt tell me it is even as Krothering without my
brother.”
Looking sidelong up at her, where she sat armed beside him, he beheld a
tear a-tremble on her eyelid. He said gently, “Who shall foreknow the
ways of Fate? Your highness is better here belike.”
Lady Mevrian stood up. She pointed to a print in the living rock before
her feet. “The hippogriff’s hoofmark!” she cried, “stricken in the
rock ages ago by that high bird which presideth from of old over the
predestined glory of our line, to point us on to a fame advanced above
the region of the glittering stars. True is the word that that land
which is in the governance of a woman only is not surely kept. I will
abide idly here no more.”
Gro, beholding her so stand all armed on that high brink of crag,
setting with so much perfection in womanly beauty manlike valour,
bethought him that here was that true embodiment of morn and eve, that
charm which called him from Krothering, and for which the prophetic
spirits of mountain and wood and field had pointed his path with a
heavenly benison, meaning to bid him go northward to his heart’s
true home. He kneeled down and caught her hand in his, embracing and
kissing it as of her in whom all his hopes were placed, and saying
passionately, “Mevrian, Mevrian, let me but be armed in thy good grace
and I defy whatever there is or can be against me. Even as the sun
lighteth broad heaven at noon-day, and that giveth light unto this
dreary earth, so art thou the true light of Demonland which because of
thee maketh the whole world glorious. Welcome unto me be all miseries,
so only unto thee I may be welcome.”
She sprang back, snatching away her hand. Her sword leapt singing
from the scabbard. But Gro, that was so ravished and abused that he
remembered of nothing worldly but only that he beheld his lady’s face,
abode motionless. She cried, “Back to back! Swift, or ’tis too late!”
He leaped up, barely in time. Six stout fellows, soldiers of Witchland
stolen softly upon them at unawares, closed now upon them. No breath to
waste in parley, but the clank of steel: he and Mevrian back to back
on a table of rock, those six setting on from either side. “Kill the
Goblin,” said they. “Take the lady unhurt: ’tis death to all if she be
touched.”
So for a time those two defended them of all their power. Yet at such
odds could not the issue stand long in doubt, nor Gro’s high mettle
make up what he lacked of strength bodily and skill in arms. Cunning of
fence indeed was the Lady Mevrian, as they guessed not to their hurt;
for the first of them, a great chuff-headed fellow that thought to bear
her down with rushing in upon her, she with a deft thrust passing his
guard ran clean through the throat; by whose taking off, his fellows
took some lesson of caution. But Gro being at length brought to earth
with many wounds, they had the next instant caught Mevrian from behind
whiles others engaged her in the face, when in the nick of time as by
the intervention of heaven was all their business taken in reverse, and
all five in a moment laid bleeding on the stones beside their fellows.
Mevrian, looking about and seeing what she saw, fell weak and faint in
her brother’s arms, overcome with so much radiant joy after that stress
of action and peril; beholding now with her own eyes that home-coming
whereof the genii of that land had had foreknowledge and in Gro’s sight
shown themselves wild with joy thereof: Brandoch Daha and Juss come
home to Demonland, like men arisen from the dead.
“Not touched,” she answered them. “But look to my Lord Gro: I fear he
be hurt. Look to him well, for he hath approved him our friend indeed.”
XXVI: THE BATTLE OF KROTHERING SIDE
HOW WORD WAS BROUGHT UNTO THE LORD CORINIUS THAT THE LORDS JUSS
AND BRANDOCH DAHA WERE COME AGAIN INTO THE LAND, AND HOW HE
RESOLVED TO GIVE THEM BATTLE ON THE SIDE, UNDER ERNGATE END;
AND OF THE GREAT FLANK MARCH OF LORD BRANDOCH DAHA OVER THE
MOUNTAINS FROM TRANSDALE; AND OF THE GREAT BATTLE, AND OF THE
ISSUE THEREOF.
Laxus and those sons of Corund walked on an afternoon in Krothering
home mead. The sky above them was hot and coloured of lead, presaging
thunder. No wind stirred in the trees that were livid-green against
that leaden pall. The noise of mattock and crow-bar came without
intermission from the castle. Where gardens had been and arbours of
shade and sweetness, was now but wreck: broken columns and smashed
porphyry vases of rare workmanship, mounds of earth and rotting
vegetation. And those great cedars, emblems of their lord’s estate and
pride, lay prostrate now with their roots exposed, a tangle of sere
foliage and branches broken, withered and lifeless. Over this death-bed
of ruined loveliness the towers of onyx showed ghastly against the sky.
“Is there not a virtue in seven?” said Cargo. “Last week was the sixth
time we thought we had gotten the eel by the tail in yon fly-blown
hills of Mealand and came empty home. When think’st, Laxus, shall’s run
’em to earth indeed?”
“When egg-pies shall grow on apple-trees,” answered Laxus. “Nay, the
general setteth greater store by his proclamations concerning the young
woman (who likely never heareth of them, and assuredly will not be by
them ’ticed home again), and by these toys of revenge, than by sound
soldiership. Hark! there goeth this day’s work.”
They turned at a shout from the gates, to behold the northern of those
two golden hippogriffs totter and crash down the steeps into the moat,
sending up a great smoke from the stones and rubble which poured in its
wake.
Lord Laxus’s brow was dark. He laid hand on Heming’s arm, saying, “The
times need all sage counsel we can reach unto, O ye sons of Corund, if
our Lord the King shall have indeed from this expedition into Demonland
the victory at last of all his evil-willers. Remember, that was a great
miss to our strength when the Goblin went.”
“Out upon the viper!” said Cargo. “Corinius was right in this, not to
warrant him the honesty of such slippery cattle. He had not served
above a month or two, but that he ran to the enemy.”
“Corinius,” said Laxus, “is yet but green in his estate. Doth he
suppose the rest of his reign shall be but play and the enjoying of
a kingdom? Those left-handed strokes of fortune may yet o’erthrow
him, the while that he streameth out his youth in wine and venery and
manageth his private spite against this lady. Slipper youth must be
under-propped with elder counsel, lest all go miss.”
“A most reverend old counsellor art thou!” said Cargo; “of
six-and-thirty years of age.”
Said Heming, “We be three. Take command thyself. I and my brother will
back thee.”
“I will that thou swallow back those words,” said Laxus, “as though
they had never been spoke. Remember Corsus and Gallandus. Besides,
albeit he seemeth now rather to be a man straught than one that hath
his wits, yet is Corinius in his sober self a valiant and puissant
soldier, a politic and provident captain as is not found besides in
Demonland, no, nor in Witchland neither, and it were not your noble
father; and this one in his youthly age.”
“That is true,” said Heming. “Thou hast justly reproved me.”
Now while they were a-talking, came one from the castle and made
obeisance unto Laxus saying, “You are inquired for, O king, so please
you to walk into the north chamber.”
Said Laxus, “Is it he that was newly ridden from the east country?”
“So it is, so please you,” with a low leg he made answer.
“Hath he not had audience with King Corinius?”
“He hath sought audience,” said the man, “but was denied. The matter
presseth, and he urged me therefore seek unto your lordship.”
As they walked toward the castle Heming said in Laxus’s ear, “Knowest
thou not this brave new piece of court ceremony? O’ these days, when
he hath ’stroyed an hostage to spite the Lady Mevrian, as to-day was
’stroyed the horse-headed eagle, he giveth not audience till sun-down.
For, the deed of vengeance done, a retireth himself to his own chamber
and a wench with him, the daintiest and gamesomest he may procure;
and so, for two hours or three drowned in the main sea of his own
pleasures, he abateth some little deal for a season the pang of love.”
Now when Laxus was come forth from talking with the messenger from the
east, he fared without delay to Corinius’s chamber. There, thrusting
aside the guards, he flung wide the shining doors, and found the Lord
Corinius merrily disposed. He was reclined on a couch deep-cushioned
with dark green three-pile velvet. An ivory table inlaid with silver
and ebony stood at his elbow bearing a crystal flagon already two parts
emptied of the foaming wine, and a fair gold goblet beside it. He wore
a long loose sleeveless gown of white silk edged with a gold fringe;
this, fallen open at the neck, left naked his chest and one strong arm
that in that moment when Laxus entered reached out to grasp the wine
cup. Upon his knee he held a damosel of some seventeen years, fair and
fresh as a rose, with whom he was plainly on the point to pass from
friendly converse to amorous privacy. He looked angrily upon Laxus, who
without ceremony spoke and said, “The whole east is in a tumult. The
burg is forced which we built astride the Stile. Spitfire hath passed
into Breakingdale to victual Galing, and hath overthrown our army that
sat in siege thereof.”
Corinius drank a draught and spat. “Phrut!” said he. “Much bruit,
little fruit. I would know by what warrant thou troublest me with
this tittle-tattle, and I pleasantly disposing myself to mirth and
recreation. Could it not wait till supper time?”
Ere Laxus might say more, was a great clatter heard without on the
stairs, and in came those sons of Corund.
“Am I a king?” said Corinius, gathering his robe about him, “and shall
I be forced? Avoid the chamber.” Then marking them stand silent with
disordered looks, “What’s the matter?” he said. “Are ye ta’en with the
swindle or the turn-sickness? Or are ye out of your wits?”
Heming answered and said, “Not mad, my lord. Here’s Didarus that held
the Stile-burg for us, ridden from the east as fast as his horse might
wallop, and gotten here hard o’ the heels of the former messenger with
fresh and more certain advertisement, fresher by four days than that
one’s. I pray you hear him.”
“I’ll hear him,” said Corinius, “at supper time. Nought sooner, if the
roof were afire.”
“The land beneath thy feet’s afire!” cried Heming. “Juss and Brandoch
Daha home again, and half the country lost thee ere thou heard’st
on’t. These devils are home again! Shall we hear that and still be
swill-bowls?”
Corinius listened with folded arms. His great jaw was lifted up. His
nostrils widened. For a minute he abode in silence, his cold blue eyes
fixed as it were on somewhat afar. Then, “Home again?” said he. “And
the east in a hubbub? And not unlikely. Thank Didarus for his tidings.
He shall sweeten mine ears with some more at supper. Till then, leave
me, unless ye mean to be stretched.”
But Laxus, with sad and serious brow, stood beside him and said, “My
lord, forget not that you are here the vicar and legate of the King.
Let the crown upon your head put perils in your thoughts, so as you may
harken peaceably to them that are willing to lesson you with sound and
sage advice. If we take order to-night to march by Switchwater, we may
very well shut back this danger and stifle it ere it wax to too much
bigness. If o’ the contrary we suffer them to enter into these western
parts, like enough without let or stay they will overrun the whole
country.”
Corinius rolled his eye upon him. “Can nothing,” he said, “prescribe
unto thee obedience? Look to thine own charge. Is the fleet in proper
trim? For there’s the strength, ease, and anchor of our power, whether
for victualling, or to shift our weight against ’em which way we
choose, or to give us sure asylum if it were come to that. What ails
thee? Have we not these four months desired nought better than that
these Demons should take heart to strike a field with us? If it be true
that Juss himself and Brandoch Daha have thrown down the castles and
strengths which I had i’ the east and move with an army against us, why
then I have them in the forge already, and shall now bring them to the
hammer. And be satisfied, I’ll choose mine own ground to fight them.”
“There’s yet matter for haste in this,” said Laxus. “A day’s march, and
we oppose ’em not, will bring them before Krothering.”
“That,” answered Corinius, “jumpeth pat with mine own design. I’ll not
go a league to bar their way, but receive ’em here where the ground
lieth most favourable to meet an enemy. Which advantage I’ll employ to
the greatest stretch of service, standing on Krothering Side, resting
my flank against the mountain. The fleet shall ride in Aurwath haven.”
Laxus stroked his beard and was silent a minute, considering this. Then
he looked up and said, “This is sound generalship, I may not gainsay
it.”
“It is a purpose, my lord,” said Corinius, “I have long had in myself,
stored by for the event. Let me alone, therefore, to do that my right
is. There’s this good in it, too, as it befalleth: ’twill suffer that
dive-dapper to behold his home again afore I kill him. A shall find it
a sight for sore eyes, I think, after my tending on’t.”
• • • • •
The third day after these doings, the farmer at Holt stood in his porch
that opened westward on Tivarandardale. An old man was he, crooked like
a mountain thorn. But a bright black eye he had, and the hair curled
crisp yet above his brow. It was late afternoon and the sky overcast.
Tousle-haired sheep-dogs slept before the door. Swallows gathered in
the sky. Near to him sat a damosel, dainty as a meadow-pipit, lithe as
an antelope; and she was grinding grain in a hand-mill, singing the
while:
Grind, mill, grind,
Corinius grinds us all;
Kinging it in widowed Krothering.
The old man was furbishing a shield and morion-cap, and other tackle of
war lay at his feet.
“I wonder thou wilt still be busy with thy tackle, O my father,” said
she, looking up from her singing and grinding. “If ill tide ill again
what should an old man do but grieve and be silent?”
“There shall be time for that hereafter,” said the old man. “But a
little while is hand fain of blow.”
“They’ll be for firing the roof-tree, likely, if they come back,” said
she, still grinding.
“Thou’rt a disobedient lass. If thou’dst but flit as I bade thee to the
shiel-house up the dale, I’d force not a bean for their burnings.”
“Let it burn,” said she, “if he be taken. What avail then for thee or
for me to be a-tarrying? Thou that art an old man and full of good
days, and I that will not be left so.”
A great dog awoke beside her and shook himself, then drew near and laid
his nose in her lap, looking up at her with kind solemn eyes.
The old man said, “Thou’rt a disobedient lass, and but for thee, come
sword, come fire, not a straw care I; knowing it shall be but a passing
storm, now that my Lord is home again.”
“They took the land from Lord Spitfire,” said she.
“Ay, hinny,” said the old man, “and thou shalt see my Lord shall take
it back again.”
“Ay?” said she. And still she ground and still she sang:
Grind, mill, grind,
Corinius grinds us all.
After a time, “Hist!” said the old man, “was not that a horse-tread i’
the lane? Get thee within-doors till I know if all be friendly.” And
he stooped painfully to take up his weapon. Woefully it shook in his
feeble hand.
But she, as one that knew the step, heeding nought else, leapt up with
face first red then pale then flushed again, and ran to the gate of
the garth. And the sheep-dogs bounded before her. There in the gate
she was met with a young man riding a weary horse. He was garbed like
a soldier, and horse and man were so bedraggled with mire and dust and
all manner of defilement they were a sorry sight to see, and so jaded
both that scarce it seemed they had might to journey another furlong.
They halted within the gate, and all those dogs jumped up upon them,
whining and barking for joy.
Ere the soldier was well down from the saddle he had a sweet armful.
“Softly, my heart,” said he, “my shoulder’s somewhat raw. Nay, ’tis
nought to speak on. I’ve brought thee all my limbs home.”
“Was there a battle?” said the old man.
“Was there a battle, father?” cried he. “I’ll tell thee, Krothering
Side is thicker with dead men slain than our garth with sheep i’ the
shearing time.”
“Alack and alack, ’tis a most horrid wound, dear,” said the girl. “Go
in, and I’ll wash it and lay to it millefoil pounded with honey; ’tis
most sovran against pain and loss of blood, and drieth up the lips of
the wound and maketh whole thou’dst not credit how soon. Thou hast bled
over-much, thou foolish one. And how couldst thou thrive without thy
wife to tend thee?”
The farmer put an arm about him, saying, “Was the field ours, lad?”
“I’ll tell you all orderly, old man,” answered he, “but I must stable
him first,” and the horse nuzzled his breast. “And ye must ballast me
first. God shield us, ’tis not a tale for an empty man to tell.”
“’Las, father,” said the damosel, “have we not one sweet sippet i’ the
mouth, that we hold him here once more? And, sweet or sour, let him
take his time to fetch us the next.”
So they washed his hurt and laid kindly herbs thereto, and bound
it with clean linen, and put fresh raiment upon him, and made him
sit on the bench without the porch and gave him to eat and drink:
cakes of barley meal and dark heather-honey, and rough white wine of
Tivarandardale. The dogs lay close about him as if there was warmth
there and safety whereas he was. His young wife held his hand in hers,
as if that were enough if it should last for aye. And that old man,
eating down his impatience like a schoolboy chafing for the bell,
fingered his partisan with trembling hand.
“Thou hadst the word I sent thee, father, after the fight below Galing?”
“Ay. ’Twas good.”