Redhead Keeps Tryst
They rode not above a dozen miles that day, and pitched their tents and
pavilions in the fair meadows by the wayside looking into the thick of
the forest. There this betid to tell of, that when Ralph got off his
horse, and the horse-lads were gathered about the men-at-arms and high
folk, who should take Ralph's horse but Redhead, who made a sign to him
by lifting his eyebrows as if he were asking him somewhat; and Ralph
took it as a question as to whether his purpose held to flee on the
morrow night; so he nodded a yeasay, just so much as Redhead might note
it; and naught else befell betwixt them.
When it was barely dawn after that night, Ralph awoke with the sound of
great stir in the camp, and shouting of men and lowing and bleating of
beasts; so he looked out, and saw that the wains and the flocks and
herds were being got on to the road, so that they might make good way
before the company of the camp took the road. But he heeded it little
and went to sleep again.
When it was fully morning he arose, and found that the men were not
hastening their departure, but were resting by the wood-side and
disporting them about the meadow; so he wandered about amongst the
men-at-arms and serving-men, and came across Redhead and hailed him;
and there was no man very nigh to them; so Redhead looked about him
warily, and then spake swiftly and softly: "Fail not to-night! fail
not! For yesterday again was I told by one who wotteth surely, what
abideth thee at Utterbol if thou go thither. I say if thou fail, thou
shalt repent but once--all thy life long to wit."
Ralph nodded his head, and said: "Fear not, I will not fail thee." And
therewith they turned away from each other lest they should be noted.
About two hours before noon they got to horse again, and, being no more
encumbered with the wains and the beasts, rode at a good pace. As on
the day before the road led them along the edge of the wildwood, and
whiles it even went close to the very thicket. Whiles again they
mounted somewhat, and looked down on the thicket, leagues and leagues
thereof, which yet seemed but a little space because of the hugeness of
the mountain wall which brooded over it; but oftenest the forest hid
all but the near trees.
Thus they rode some twenty miles, and made stay at sunset in a place
that seemed rather a clearing of the wood than a meadow; for they had
trees on their left hand at a furlong's distance, as well as on their
right at a stone's throw.
Ralph saw not Redhead as he got off his horse, and David according to
his wont went with him to his tent. But after they had supped
together, and David had made much of Ralph, and had drank many cups to
his health, he said to him: "The night is yet young, yea, but new-born;
yet must I depart from thee, if I may, to meet a man who will sell me a
noble horse good cheap; and I may well leave thee now, seeing that thou
hast become a free man; so I bid thee goodnight."
Therewith he departed, and was scarce gone out ere Redhead cometh in,
and saith in his wonted rough loud voice: "Here, knight, here is the
bridle thou badest me get mended; will the cobbling serve?" Then seeing
no one there, he fell to speaking softer and said: "I heard the old
pimp call thee a free man e'en now: I fear me that thou art not so free
as he would have thee think. Anyhow, were I thou, I would be freer in
two hours space. Is it to be so?"
"Yea, yea," said Ralph. Redhead nodded: "Good is that," said he; "I
say in two hours' time all will be quiet, and we are as near the
thicket as may be; there is no moon, but the night is fair and the
stars clear; so all that thou hast to do is to walk out of this tent,
and turn at once to thy right hand: come out with me now quietly, and I
will show thee."
They went out together and Redhead said softly: "Lo thou that doddered
oak yonder; like a piece of a hay-rick it looks under the stars; if
thou seest it, come in again at once."
Ralph turned and drew Redhead in, and said when they were in the tent
again: "Yea, I saw it: what then?"
Said Redhead: "I shall be behind it abiding thee." "Must I go afoot?"
said Ralph, "or how shall I get me a horse?" "I have a horse for thee,"
said Redhead, "not thine own, but a better one yet, that hath not been
backed to-day. Now give me a cup of wine, and let me go."
Ralph filled for him and took a cup himself, and said: "I pledge thee,
friend, and wish thee better luck; and I would have thee for my fellow
in this quest."
"Nay," said Redhead, "it may not be: I will not burden thy luck with
my ill-luck...and moreover I am seeking something which I may gain at
Utterbol, and if I have it, I may do my best to say good-night to that
evil abode."
"Yea," said Ralph, "and I wish thee well therein." Said Redhead,
stammering somewhat; "It is even that woman of the Queen's whereof I
told thee. And now one last word, since I must not be over long in thy
tent, lest some one come upon us. But, fair sir, if thy mind misgive
thee for this turning aside from Utterbol; though it is not to be
doubted that the damsel whom thou seekest hath been there, it is not
all so sure that thou wouldst have found her there. For of late, what
with my Lord and my Lady being both away, the place hath been scant of
folk; and not only is the said damsel wise and wary, but there be
others who have seen her besides my Lord, and who so hath seen her is
like to love her; and such is she, that whoso loveth her is like to do
her will. So I bid thee in all case be earnest in thy quest; and think
that if thou die on the road thy damsel would have died for thee; and
if thou drink of the Well and come back whole and safe, I know not why
thou shouldest not go straight to Utterbol and have the damsel away
with thee, whosoever gainsay it. For they (if there be any such) who
have drunk of the Well at the World's End are well looked to in this
land. Now one more word yet; when I come to Utterbol, if thy damsel be
there still, fear not but I will have speech of her, and tell of thee,
and what thou wert looking to, and how thou deemedst of her."
Therewith he turned and departed hastily.
But Ralph left alone was sorely moved with hope and fear, and a longing
that grew in him to see the damsel. For though he was firmly set on
departure, and on seeking the sage aforesaid, yet his heart was drawn
this way and that: and it came into his mind how the damsel would fare
when the evil Lord came home to Utterbol; and he could not choose but
make stories of her meeting of the tyrant, and her fear and grief and
shame, and the despair of her heart. So the minutes went slow to him,
till he should be in some new place and doing somewhat toward bringing
about the deliverance of her from thralldom, and the meeting of him and
her.
BOOK THREE
The Road To The Well At World's End.
CHAPTER 1
An Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountains
Now was the night worn to the time appointed, for it was two hours
after midnight, so he stepped out of his tent clad in all his war gear,
and went straight to the doddered oak, and found Redhead there with but
one horse, whereby Ralph knew that he held to his purpose of going his
ways to Utterbol: so he took him by the shoulders and embraced him,
rough carle as he was, and Redhead kneeled to him one moment of time
and then arose and went off into the night. But Ralph got a-horseback
without delay and rode his ways warily across the highway and into the
wood, and there was none to hinder him. Though it was dark but for the
starlight, there was a path, which the horse, and not Ralph, found, so
that he made some way even before the first glimmer of dawn, all the
more as the wood was not very thick after the first mile, and there
were clearings here and there.
So rode Ralph till the sun was at point to rise, and he was about the
midst of one of those clearings or wood-lawns, on the further side
whereof there was more thicket, as he deemed, than he had yet come to;
so he drew rein and looked about him for a minute. Even therewith he
deemed he heard a sound less harsh than the cry of the jay in the
beech-trees, and shriller than the moaning of the morning breeze in the
wood. So he falls to listening with both ears, and this time deems
that he hears the voice of a woman: and therewith came into his mind
that old and dear adventure of the Wood Perilous; for he was dreamy
with the past eagerness of his deeds, and the long and lonely night.
But yet he doubted somewhat of the voice when it had passed his ears,
so he shook his rein, for he thought it not good to tarry.
Scarce then had his horse stepped out, ere there came a woman running
out of the thicket before him and made toward him over the lawn. So he
gat off his horse at once and went to meet her, leading his horse; and
as he drew nigh he could see that she was in a sorry plight; she had
gathered up her skirts to run the better, and her legs and feet were
naked: the coif was gone from her head and her black hair streamed out
behind her: her gown was rent about the shoulders and bosom, so that
one sleeve hung tattered, as if by the handling of some one.
So she ran up to him crying out: "Help, knight, help us!" and sank
down therewith at his feet panting and sobbing. He stooped down to
her, and raised her up, and said in a kind voice: "What is amiss, fair
damsel, that thou art in such a plight; and what may I for thine avail?
Doth any pursue thee, that thou fleest thus?"
She stood sobbing awhile, and then took hold of his two hands and said:
"O fair lord, come now and help my lady! for as for me, since I am with
thee, I am safe."
"Yea," said he, "Shall I get to horse at once?" And therewith he made
as if he would move away from her; but she still held his hands, and
seemed to think it good so to do, and she spake not for a while but
gazed earnestly into his face. She was a fair woman, dark and sleek
and lithe...for in good sooth she was none other than Agatha, who is
afore told of.
Now Ralph is somewhat abashed by her eagerness, and lets his eyes fall
before hers; and he cannot but note that despite the brambles and
briars of the wood that she had run through, there were no scratches on
her bare legs, and that her arm was unbruised where the sleeve had been
rent off.
At last she spake, but somewhat slowly, as if she were thinking of what
she had to say: "O knight, by thy knightly oath I charge thee come to
my lady and help and rescue her: she and I have been taken by evil men,
and I fear that they will put her to shame, and torment her, ere they
carry her off; for they were about tying her to a tree when I escaped:
for they heeded not me who am but the maid, when they had the mistress
in their hands." "Yea," said he, "and who is thy mistress?" Said the
damsel: "She is the Lady of the Burnt Rock; and I fear me that these
men are of the Riders of Utterbol; and then will it go hard with her;
for there is naught but hatred betwixt my lord her husband and the
tyrant of Utterbol." Said Ralph: "And how many were they?" "O but
three, fair sir, but three," she said; "and thou so fair and strong,
like the war-god himself."
Ralph laughed: "Three to one is long odds," quoth he, "but I will come
with thee when thou hast let go my hands so that I may mount my horse.
But wilt thou not ride behind me, fair damsel; so wearied and spent as
thou wilt be by thy flight."
She looked on him curiously, and laid a hand on his breast, and the
hauberk rings tinkled beneath the broidered surcoat; then she said:
"Nay, I had best go afoot before thee, so disarrayed as I am."
Then she let him go, but followed him still with her eyes as he gat him
into the saddle. She walked on beside his horse's head; and Ralph
marvelled of her that for all her haste she had been in, she went
somewhat leisurely, picking her way daintily so as to tread the smooth,
and keep her feet from the rough.
Thus they went on, into the thicket and through it, and the damsel put
the thorns and briars aside daintily as she stepped, and went slower
still till they came to a pleasant place of oak-trees with greensward
beneath them; and then she stopped, and turning, faced Ralph, and spoke
with another voice than heretofore, whereas there was naught rueful or
whining therein, but somewhat both of glee and of mocking as it seemed.
"Sir knight," she said, "I have a word or two for thy ears; and this is
a pleasant place, and good for us to talk together, whereas it is
neither too near to her, nor too far from her, so that I can easily
find my way back to her. Now, lord, I pray thee light down and listen
to me." And therewith she sat down on the grass by the bole of a great
oak.
"But thy lady," said Ralph, "thy lady?" "O sir," she said; "My lady
shall do well enough: she is not tied so fast, but she might loose
herself if the need were pressing. Light down, dear lord, light down!"
But Ralph sat still on his horse, and knit his brows, and said: "What
is this, damsel? hast thou been playing a play with me? Where is thy
lady whom thou wouldst have me deliver? If this be but game and play,
let me go my ways; for time presses, and I have a weighty errand on
hand."
She rose up and came close to him, and laid a hand on his knee and
looked wistfully into his face as she said: "Nay then, I can tell thee
all the tale as thou sittest in thy saddle; for meseems short will be
thy farewell when I have told it." And she sighed withal.
Then Ralph was ashamed to gainsay her, and she now become gentle and
sweet and enticing, and sad withal; so he got off his horse and tied
him to a tree, and went and stood by the damsel as she lay upon the
grass, and said: "I prithee tell thy tale and let me depart if there be
naught for me to do."
Then she said: "This is the first word, that as to the Red Rock, I
lied; and my lady is the Queen of Utterbol, and I am her thrall, and it
is I who have drawn thee hither from the camp."
The blood mounted to Ralph's brow for anger; when he called to mind how
he had been led hither and thither on other folk's errands ever since
he left Upmeads. But he said naught, and Agatha looked on him timidly
and said: "I say I am her thrall, and I did it to serve her and because
she bade me." Said Ralph roughly: "And Redhead, him whom I saved from
torments and death; dost thou know him? didst thou know him?"
"Yea," she said, "I had from him what he had learned concerning thee
from the sergeants and others, and then I put words into his mouth."
"Yea then," quoth Ralph, "then he also is a traitor!" "Nay, nay," she
said, "he is a true man and loveth thee, and whatever he hath said to
thee he troweth himself. Moreover, I tell thee here and now that all
that he told thee of the affairs of Utterbol, and thine outlook there,
is true and overtrue."
She sprang to her feet therewith, and stood before him and clasped her
hands before him and said: "I know that thou seekest the Well at the
World's End and the deliverance of the damsel whom the Lord ravished
from the wild man: now I swear it by thy mouth, that if thou go to
Utterbol thou art undone and shalt come to the foulest pass there, and
moreover that so going thou shalt bring the uttermost shame and
torments on the damsel."
Said Ralph: "Yea, but what is her case as now? tell me."
Quoth Agatha: "She is in no such evil case; for my lady hateth her not
as yet, or but little; and, which is far more, my lord loveth her after
his fashion, and withal as I deem feareth her; for though she hath
utterly gainsaid his desire, he hath scarce so much as threatened her.
A thing unheard of. Had it been another woman she had by this time
known all the bitterness that leadeth unto death at Utterbol." Ralph
paled and he scowled on her, then he said: "And how knowest thou all
the privity of the Lord of Utterbol? who telleth thee of all this?"
She smiled and spake daintily: "Many folk tell me that which I would
know; and that is because whiles I conquer the tidings with my wits,
and whiles buy it with my body. Anyhow what I tell thee is the very
sooth concerning this damsel, and this it is: that whereas she is but
in peril, she shall be in deadly peril, yea and that instant, if thou
go to Utterbol, thou, who art her lover..." "Nay," said Ralph angrily,
"I am not her lover, I am but her well-willer." "Well," quoth Agatha
looking down and knitting her brows, "when thy good will towards her
has become known, then shall she be thrown at once into the pit of my
lord's cruelty. Yea, to speak sooth, even as it is, for thy sake (for
her I heed naught) I would that the lord might find her gone when he
cometh back to Utterbol."
"Yea," said Ralph, reddening, "and is there any hope for her getting
clear off?" "So I deem," said Agatha. She was silent awhile and then
spake in a low voice: "It is said that each man that seeth her loveth
her; yea, and will befriend her, even though she consent not to his
desire. Maybe she hath fled from Utterbol."
Ralph stood silent awhile with a troubled face; and then he said: "Yet
thou hast not told me the why and wherefore of this play of thine, and
the beguiling me into fleeing from the camp. Tell it me that I may
pardon thee and pass on."
She said: "By thine eyes I swear that this is sooth, and that there is
naught else in it than this: My lady set her love, when first she set
her eyes upon thee--as forsooth all women must: as for me, I had not
seen thee (though I told my lady that I had) till within this hour that
we met in the wood."
She sighed therewith, and with her right hand played with the rent
raiment about her bosom. Then she said: "She deemed that if thou
camest a mere thrall to Utterbol, though she might command thy body,
yet she would not gain thy love; but that if perchance thou mightest
see her in hard need, and evilly mishandled, and mightest deliver her,
there might at least grow up pity in thee for her, and that love might
come thereof, as oft hath happed aforetime; for my lady is a fair
woman. Therefore I, who am my lady's servant and thrall, and who, I
bid thee remember, had not seen thee, took upon me to make this
adventure, like to a minstrel's tale done in the flesh. Also I spake
to my lord and told him thereof; and though he jeered at my lady to me,
he was content, because he would have her set her heart on thee
utterly; since he feared her jealousy, and would fain be delivered of
it, lest she should play some turn to his newly beloved damsel and do
her a mischief. Therefore did he set thee free (in words) meaning,
when he had thee safe at Utterbol again (as he nowise doubted to have
thee) to do as he would with thee, according as occasion might serve.
For at heart he hateth thee, as I could see well. So a little before
thou didst leave the camp, we, the Queen and I, went privily into a
place of the woods but a little way hence. There I disarrayed both my
lady and myself so far as was needful for the playing out the play
which was to have seemed to thee a real adventure. Then came I to thee
as if by chance hap, that I might bring thee to her; and if thou hadst
come, we had a story for thee, whereby thou mightest not for very
knighthood forbear to succour her and bring her whither she would,
which in the long run had been Utterbol, but for the present time was
to have been a certain strong-house appertaining to Utterbol, and nigh
unto it. This is all the tale, and now if thou wilt, thou mayst pardon
me; or if thou wilt, thou mayst draw out thy sword and smite off my
head. And forsooth I deem that were the better deed."
She knelt down before him and put her palms together, and looked up at
him beseechingly. His face darkened as he beheld her thus, but it
cleared at last, and he said: "Damsel, thou wouldst turn out but a
sorry maker, and thy play is naught. For seest thou not that I should
have found out all the guile at Utterbol, and owed thy lady hatred
rather than love thereafter."
"Yea," she said, "but my lady might have had enough of thy love by
then, and would belike have let thee alone to fall into the hands of
the Lord. Lo now! I have delivered thee from this, so that thou art
quit both of the Lord and the lady and me: and again I say that thou
couldst scarce have missed, both thou and thy damsel, of a miserable
ending at Utterbol."
"Yea," said Ralph, softly, and as if speaking to himself, "yet am I
lonely and unholpen." Then he turned to Agatha and said: "The end of
all this is that I pardon thee, and must depart forthwith; for when ye
two come back to the camp, then presently will the hunt be up."
She rose from her knees, and stood before him humbly and said: "Nay, I
shall requite thee thy pardon thus far, that I will fashion some tale
for my lady which will keep us in the woods two days or three; for we
have provided victual for our adventure."
Said Ralph: "I may at least thank thee for that, and will trust in
thee to do so much." Quoth she: "Then might I ask a reward of thee:
since forsooth other reward awaiteth me at Utterbol."
"Thou shalt have it," said Ralph. She said: "The reward is that thou
kiss me ere we part."
"It must needs be according to my word," said Ralph, "yet I must tell
thee that my kiss will bear but little love with it."
She answered naught but laid her hands on his breast and put up her
face to him, and he kissed her lips. Then she said: "Knight, thou hast
kissed a thrall and a guileful woman, yet one that shall smart for
thee; therefore grudge not the kiss nor repent thee of thy kindness."
"How shalt thou suffer?" said he. She looked on him steadfastly a
moment, and said: "Farewell! may all good go with thee." Therewith she
turned away and walked off slowly through the wood, and somewhat he
pitied her, and sighed as he got into his saddle; but he said to
himself: "How might I help her? Yet true it is that she may well be
in an evil case: I may not help everyone." Then he shook his rein and
rode his ways.
CHAPTER 2
Ralph Rides the Wood Under the Mountains
A long way now rode Ralph, and naught befell him but the fashion of the
wood. And as he rode, the heart within him was lightened that he had
escaped from all the confusion and the lying of those aliens, who knew
him not, nor his kindred, and yet would all use him each for his own
ends: and withal he was glad that he was riding all alone upon his
quest, but free, unwounded, and well weaponed.
The wood was not very thick whereas he rode, so that he could see the
whereabouts of the sun, and rode east as far as he could judge it.
Some little victual he had with him, and he found woodland fruit
ripening here and there, and eked out his bread therewith; neither did
water fail him, for he rode a good way up along a woodland stream that
cleft the thicket, coming down as he deemed from the mountains, and
thereby he made the more way: but at last he deemed that he must needs
leave it, as it turned overmuch to the north. The light was failing
when he came into a woodlawn amidst of which was a pool of water, and
all that day he had had no adventure with beast or man, since he had
sundered from Agatha. So he lay down and slept there with his naked
sword by his side, and awoke not till the sun was high in the heavens
next morning. Then he arose at once and went on his way after he had
washed him, and eaten a morsel.
After a little the thick of the wood gave out, and the land was no
longer flat, as it had been, but was of dales and of hills, not blinded
by trees. In this land he saw much deer, as hart and wild swine; and
he happened also on a bear, who was about a honey tree, and had taken
much comb from the wild bees. On him Ralph drew his sword and drave
him exceeding loth from his purchase, so that the knight dined off the
bear's thieving. Another time he came across a bent where on the south
side grew vines well fruited, and the grapes a-ripening; and he ate
well thereof before he went on his way.
Before nightfall he came on that same stream again, and it was now
running straight from the east; so he slept that night on the bank
thereof. On the morrow he rode up along it a great way, till again it
seemed to be coming overmuch from the north; and then he left it, and
made on east as near as he could guess it by the sun.
Now he passed through thickets at whiles not very great, and betwixt
them rode hilly land grassed mostly with long coarse grass, and with
whin and thorn-trees scattered about. Thence he saw again from time to
time the huge wall of the mountains rising up into the air like a great
black cloud that would swallow up the sky, and though the sight was
terrible, yet it gladdened him, since he knew that he was on the right
way. So far he rode, going on the whole up-hill, till at last there
was a great pine-wood before him, so that he could see no ending to it
either north or south.
It was now late in the afternoon, and Ralph pondered whether he should
abide the night where he was and sleep the night there, or whether he
should press on in hope of winning to some clear place before dark. So
whereas he was in a place both rough and waterless, he deemed it better
to go on, after he had rested his horse and let him bite the herbage a
while. Then he rode his ways, and entered the wood and made the most
of the way.
CHAPTER 3
Ralph Meeteth With Another Adventure in the Wood Under the Mountain
Soon the wood grew very thick of pine-trees, though there was no
undergrowth, so that when the sun sank it grew dark very speedily; but
he still rode on in the dusk, and there were but few wild things, and
those mostly voiceless, in the wood, and it was without wind and very
still. Now he thought he heard the sound of a horse going behind him
or on one side, and he wondered whether the chace were up, and hastened
what he might, till at last it grew black night, and he was constrained
to abide. So he got off his horse, and leaned his back against a tree,
and had the beast's reins over his arm; and now he listened again
carefully, and was quite sure that he could hear the footsteps of some
hard-footed beast going nowise far from him. He laughed inwardly, and
said to himself: "If the chacer were to pass but three feet from my
nose he should be none the wiser but if he hear me or my horse." And
therewith he cast a lap of his cloak over the horse's head, lest he
should whinny if he became aware of the other beast; and so there he
stood abiding, and the noise grew greater till he could hear clearly
the horse-hoofs drawing nigh, till they came very nigh, and then
stopped.
Then came a man's voice that said: "Is there a man anigh in the wood?"
Ralph held his peace till he should know more; and the voice spake
again in a little while: "If there be a man anigh let him be sure that
I will do him no hurt; nay, I may do him good, for I have meat with
me." Clear was the voice, and as sweet as the April blackbird sings.
It spake again: "Naught answereth, yet meseemeth I know surely that a
man is anigh; and I am aweary of the waste, and long for fellowship."
Ralph hearkened, and called to mind tales of way-farers entrapped by
wood-wives and evil things; but he thought: "At least this is no
sending of the Lord of Utterbol, and, St. Nicholas to aid, I have
little fear of wood-wights. Withal I shall be but a dastard if I answer
not one man, for fear of I know not what." So he spake in a loud and
cheerful voice: "Yea, there is a man anigh, and I desire thy
fellowship, if we might but meet. But how shall we see each other in
the blackness of the wildwood night?"
The other laughed, and the laugh sounded merry and sweet, and the voice
said: "Hast thou no flint and fire-steel?" "No," said Ralph. "But I
have," said the voice, "and I am fain to see thee, for thy voice
soundeth pleasant to me. Abide till I grope about for a stick or two."
Ralph laughed in turn, as he heard the new-comer moving about; then he
heard the click of the steel on the flint, and saw the sparks showering
down, so that a little piece of the wood grew green again to his eyes.
Then a little clear flame sprang up, and therewith he saw the
tree-stems clearly, and some twenty yards from him a horse, and a man
stooping down over the fire, who sprang up now and cried out: "It is a
knight-at-arms! Come hither, fellow of the waste; it is five days since
I have spoken to a child of Adam; so come nigh and speak to me, and as
a reward of thy speech thou shalt have both meat and firelight."
"That will be well paid," said Ralph laughing, and he stepped forward
leading his horse, for now the wood was light all about, as the fire
waxed and burned clear; so that Ralph could see that the new-comer was
clad in quaintly-fashioned armour after the fashion of that land, with
a bright steel sallet on the head, and a long green surcoat over the
body armour. Slender of make was the new-comer, not big nor tall of
stature.
Ralph went up to him hastily, and merrily put his hand on his shoulder,
and kissed him, saying: "The kiss of peace in the wilderness to thee!"
And he found him smooth-faced and sweet-breathed.
But the new comer took his hand and led him to where the firelight was
brightest and looked on him silently a while; and Ralph gave back the
look. The strange-wrought sallet hid but little of the new comer's
face, and as Ralph looked thereon a sudden joy came into his heart, and
he cried out: "O, but I have kissed thy face before! O, my friend, my
friend!"
Then spake the new-comer and said: "Yea, I am a woman, and I was thy
friend for a little while at Bourton Abbas, and at the want-ways of the
Wood Perilous."
Then Ralph cast his arms about her and kissed her again; but she
withdrew her from him, and said: "Help me, my friend, that we may
gather sticks to feed our fire, lest it die and the dark come again so
that we see not each other's faces, and think that we have but met in a
dream."
Then she busied herself with gathering the kindling; but presently she
looked up at him, and said: "Let us make the wood shine wide about,
for this is a feastful night."
So they gathered a heap of wood and made the fire great; and then Ralph
did off his helm and hauberk and the damsel did the like, so that he
could see the shapeliness of her uncovered head. Then they sat down
before the fire, and the damsel drew meat and drink from her
saddle-bags, and gave thereof to Ralph, who took it of her and her hand
withal, and smiled on her and said: "Shall we be friends together as
we were at Bourton Abbas and the want-ways of the Wood Perilous?" She
shook her head and said: "If it might be! but it may not be. Not many
days have worn since then; but they have brought about changed days."
He looked on her wistfully and said: "But thou wert dear to me then."
"Yea," she said, "and thou to me; but other things have befallen, and
there is change betwixt."
"Nay, what change?" said Ralph.
Even by the firelight he saw that she reddened as she answered: "I was
a free woman then; now am I but a runaway thrall." Then Ralph laughed
merrily, and said, "Then are we brought the nigher together, for I also
am a runaway thrall."
She smiled and looked down: then she said: "Wilt thou tell me how
that befell?"
"Yea," said he, "but I will ask thee first a question or two." She
nodded a yeasay, and looked on him soberly, as a child waiting to say
its task.
Said Ralph: "When we parted at the want-ways of the Wood Perilous thou
saidst that thou wert minded for the Well at the World's End, and to
try it for life or death. But thou hadst not then the necklace, which
now I see thee bear, and which, seest thou! is like to that about my
neck. Wilt thou tell me whence thou hadst it?"
She said: "Yea; it was given unto me by a lady, mighty as I deem, and
certainly most lovely, who delivered me from an evil plight, and a
peril past words, but whereof I will tell thee afterwards. And she it
was who told me of the way to the Well at the World's End, and many
matters concerning them that seek it, whereof thou shalt wot soon."
Said Ralph: "As to how thou wert made a thrall thou needest not to
tell me; for I have learned that of those that had to do with taking
thee to Utterbol. But tell me; here are met we two in the pathless
wilds, as if it were on the deep sea, and we two seeking the same
thing. Didst thou deem that we should meet, or that I should seek
thee?"
Now was the fire burning somewhat low, but he saw that she looked on
him steadily; yet withal her sweet voice trembled a little as she
answered: "Kind friend, I had a hope that thou wert seeking me and
wouldst find me: for indeed that fairest of women who gave me the beads
spake to me of thee, and said that thou also wouldst turn thee to the
quest of the Well at the World's End; and already had I deemed thine
eyes lucky as well as lovely. But tell me, my friend, what has
befallen that lady that she is not with thee? For in such wise she
spake of thee, that I deemed that naught would sunder you save death."
"It is death that hath sundered us," said Ralph.
Then she hung her head, and sat silent a while, neither did he speak
till she had risen up and cast more wood upon the fire; and she stood
before it with her back towards him. Then he spake to her in a
cheerful voice and said: "Belike we shall be long together: tell me
thy name; is it not Dorothy?" She turned about to him with a smiling
face, and said: "Nay lord, nay: did I not tell thee my name before?
They that held me at the font bid the priest call me Ursula, after the
Friend of Maidens. But what is thy name?"
"I am Ralph of Upmeads," quoth he; and sat a while silent, pondering
his dream and how it had betrayed him as to her name, when it had told
him much that he yet deemed true.
She came and sat down by him again, and said to him: "Thy questions I
have answered; but thou hast not yet told me the tale of thy
captivity." Her voice sounded exceeding sweet to him, and he looked on
her face and spake as kindly as he knew how, and said: "A short tale
it is to-night at least: I came from Whitwall with a Company of
Chapmen, and it was thee I was seeking and the Well at the World's End.
All went well with me, till I came to Goldburg, and there I was
betrayed by a felon, who had promised to lead me safe to Utterness, and
tell me concerning the way unto the Well. But he sold me to the Lord
of Utterbol, who would lead me to his house; which irked me not, at
first, because I looked to find thee there. Thereafter, if for shame I
may tell the tale, his lady and wife cast her love upon me, and I was
entangled in the nets of guile: yet since I was told, and believed that
it would be ill both for thee and for me if I met thee at Utterbol, I
took occasion to flee away, I will tell thee how another while."
She had turned pale as she heard him, and now she said: "It is indeed
God's mercy that thou camest not to Utterbol nor foundest me there, for
then had both we been undone amidst the lusts of those two; or that
thou camest not there to find me fled, else hadst thou been undone. My
heart is sick to think of it, even as I sit by thy side."
Said Ralph: "Thy last word maketh me afraid and ashamed to ask thee a
thing. But tell me first, is that Lord of Utterbol as evil as men's
fear would make him? for no man is feared so much unless he is deemed
evil."
She was silent a while, and then she said: "He is so evil that it
might be deemed that he has been brought up out of hell."
Then Ralph looked sore troubled, and he said: "Dear friend, this is
the thing hard for me to say. In what wise did they use thee at
Utterbol? Did they deal with thee shamefully?" She answered him
quietly: "Nay," she said, "fear not! no shame befell me, save that I
was a thrall and not free to depart. Forsooth," she said, smiling, "I
fled away timely before the tormentors should be ready. Forsooth it is
an evil house and a mere piece of hell. But now we are out of it and
free in the wildwood, so let us forget it; for indeed it is a grief to
remember it. And now once more let us mend the fire, for thy face is
growing dim to me, and that misliketh me. Afterwards before we lie
down to sleep we will talk a little of the way, whitherward we shall
turn our faces to-morrow."
So they cast on more wood, and pineapples, and sweet it was to Ralph to
see her face come clear again from out the mirk of the wood. Then they
sat down again together and she said: "We two are seeking the Well at
the World's End; now which of us knows more of the way? who is to lead,
and who to follow?" Said Ralph: "If thou know no more than I, it is
little that thou knowest. Sooth it is that for many days past I have
sought thee that thou mightest lead me."
She laughed sweetly, and said: "Yea, knight, and was it for that cause
that thou soughtest me, and not for my deliverance?" He said soberly:
"Yet in very deed I set myself to deliver thee." "Yea," she said, "then
since I am delivered, I must needs deem of it as if it were through thy
deed. And as I suppose thou lookest for a reward therefor, so thy
reward shall be, that I will lead thee to the Well at the World's End.
Is it enough?" "Nay," said Ralph. They held their peace a minute, then
she said: "Maybe when we have drunk of that Water and are coming back,
it will be for thee to lead. For true it is that I shall scarce know
whither to wend; since amidst of my dreaming of the Well, and
of...other matters, my home that was is gone like a dream."
He looked at her, but scarce as if he were heeding all her words. Then
he spoke: "Yea, thou shalt lead me. I have been led by one or another
ever since I have left Upmeads." Now she looked on him somewhat
ruefully, and said: "Thou wert not hearkening e'en now; so I say it
again, that the time shall come when thou shalt lead me."
In Ralph's mind had sprung up again that journey from the Water of the
Oak-tree; so he strove with himself to put the thought from him, and
sighed and said: "Dost thou verily know much of the way?" She nodded
yeasay. "Knowest thou of the Rock of the Fighting Man?" "Yea," she
said. "And of the Sage that dwelleth in this same wood?" "Most
surely," she said, "and to-morrow evening or the morrow after we shall
find him; for I have been taught the way to his dwelling; and I wot
that he is now called the Sage of Swevenham. Yet I must tell thee that
there is some peril in seeking to him; whereas his dwelling is known of
the Utterbol riders, who may follow us thither. And yet again I deem
that he will find some remedy thereto."
Said Ralph: "Whence didst thou learn all this, my friend?" And his
face grew troubled again; but she said simply: "She taught it to me who
spake to me in the wood by Hampton under Scaur."
She made as if she noted not the trouble in his face, but said: "Put
thy trust in this, that here and with me thou art even now nigher to
the Well at the World's End than any other creature on the earth. Yea,
even if the Sage of Swevenham be dead or gone hence, yet have I tokens
to find the Rock of the Fighting Man, and the way through the
mountains, though I say not but that he may make it all clearer. But
now I see thee drooping with the grief of days bygone; and I deem also
that thou art weary with the toil of the way. So I rede thee lie down
here in the wilderness and sleep, and forget grief till to-morrow is a
new day."
"Would it were come," said he, "that I might see thy face the clearer;
yet I am indeed weary."
So he went and fetched his saddle and lay down with his head thereon;
and was presently asleep. But she, who had again cast wood on the
fire, sat by his head watching him with a drawn sword beside her, till
the dawn of the woodland began to glimmer through the trees: then she
also laid herself down and slept.
CHAPTER 4
They Ride the Wood Under the Mountains
When Ralph woke on the morrow it was broad day as far as the trees
would have it so. He rose at once, and looked about for his fellow,
but saw her not, and for some moments of time he thought he had but
dreamed of her; but he saw that the fire had been quickened from its
embers, and close by lay the hauberk and strange-fashioned helm, and
the sword of the damsel, and presently he saw her coming through the
trees barefoot, with the green-sleeved silken surcoat hanging below the
knees and her hair floating loose about her. She stepped lightly up to
Ralph with a cheerful smiling countenance and a ruddy colour in her
cheeks, but her eyes moist as if she could scarce keep back the tears
for joy of the morning's meeting. He thought her fairer than erst, and
made as if he would put his arms about her, but she held a little aloof
from him, blushing yet more. Then she said in her sweet clear voice:
"Hail fellow-farer! now begins the day's work. I have been down
yonder, and have found a bright woodland pool, to wash the night off
me, and if thou wilt do in likewise and come back to me, I will dight
our breakfast meantime, and will we speedily to the road." He did as
she bade him, thinking of her all the while till he came back to her
fresh and gay. Then he looked to their horses and gave them fodder
gathered from the pool-side, and so turned to Ursula and found her with
the meat ready dight; so they ate and were glad.
When they had broken their fast Ralph went to saddle the horses, and
coming back found Ursula binding up her long hair, and she smiled on
him and said: "Now we are for the road I must be an armed knight again:
forsooth I unbound my hair e'en now and let my surcoat hang loose about
me in token that thou wottest my secret. Soothly, my friend, it irks
me that now we have met after a long while, I must needs be clad thus
graceless. But need drave me to it, and withal the occasion that was
given to me to steal this gay armour from a lad at Utterbol, the nephew
of the lord; who like his eme was half my lover, half my tyrant. Of
all which I will tell thee hereafter, and what wise I must needs steer
betwixt stripes and kisses these last days. But now let us arm and to
horse. Yet first lo you, here are some tools that in thine hands shall
keep us from sheer famine: as for me I am no archer; and forsooth no
man-at-arms save in seeming."
Therewith she showed him a short Turk bow and a quiver of arrows, which
he took well pleased. So then they armed each the other, and as she
handled Ralph's wargear she said: "How well-wrought and trusty is this
hauberk of thine, my friend; my coat is but a toy to it, with its gold
and silver rings and its gemmed collar: and thy plates be thick and
wide and well-wrought, whereas mine are little more than adornments to
my arms and legs."
He looked on her lovingly and loved her shapely hands amidst the dark
grey mail, and said: "That is well, dear friend, for since my breast
is a shield for thee it behoves it to be well covered." She looked at
him, and her lips trembled, and she put out her hand as if to touch his
cheek, but drew it back again and said: "Come now, let us to horse,
dear fellow in arms."
So they mounted and went their ways through a close pine-wood, where
the ground was covered with the pine-tree needles, and all was still
and windless. So as they rode said Ursula: "I seek tokens of the way
to the Sage of Swevenham. Hast thou seen a water yesterday?" "Yea,"
said Ralph, "I rode far along it, but left it because I deemed that it
turned north overmuch." "Thou wert right," she said, "besides that thy
turning from it hath brought us together; for it would have brought
thee to Utterbol at last. But now have we to hit upon another that
runneth straight down from the hills: not the Great Mountains, but the
high ground whereon is the Sage's dwelling. I know not whether the
ride be long or short; but the stream is to lead us."
On they rode through the wood, wherein was little change for hours; and
as they rested Ursula gave forth a deep breath, as one who has cast off
a load of care. And Ralph said: "Why sighest thou, fellow-farer?"
"O," she said, "it is for pleasure, and a thought that I had: for a
while ago I was a thrall, living amongst fears that sickened the heart;
and then a little while I was a lonely wanderer, and now...Therefore I
was thinking that if ever I come back to mine own land and my home, the
scent of a pine-wood shall make me happy."
Ralph looked on her eagerly, but said naught for a while; but at last
he spoke: "Tell me, friend," said he, "if we be met by strong-thieves
on the way, what shall we do then?"
"It is not like to befall," she said, "for men fear the wood, therefore
is there little prey for thieves therein: but if we chance on them,
the token of Utterbol on mine armour shall make them meek enough."
Then she fell silent a while, and spoke again: "True it is that we may
be followed by the Utterbol riders; for though they also fear the wood,
they fear it not so much as they fear their Lord. Howbeit, we be well
ahead, and it is little like that we shall be overtaken before we have
met the Sage; and then belike he shall provide."
"Yea," said Ralph, "but what if the chase come up with us: shall we
suffer us to be taken alive?" She looked on him solemnly, laid her
hand on the beads about her neck, and answered: "By this token we must
live as long as we may, whatsoever may befall; for at the worst may
some road of escape be opened to us. Yet O, how far easier it were to
die than to be led back to Utterbol!"
A while they rode in silence, both of them: but at last spake Ralph,
but slowly and in a dull and stern voice: "Maybe it were good that
thou told me somewhat of the horrors and evil days of Utterbol?"
"Maybe," she said, "but I will not tell thee of them. Forsooth there
are some things which a man may not easily tell to a man, be he never
so much his friend as thou art to me. But bethink thee" (and she
smiled somewhat) "that this gear belieth me, and that I am but a woman;
and some things there be which a woman may not tell to a man, nay, not
even when he hath held her long in his arms." And therewith she flushed
exceedingly. But he said in a kind voice: "I am sorry that I asked
thee, and will ask thee no more thereof." She smiled on him friendly,
and they spake of other matters as they rode on.
But after a while Ralph said: "If it were no misease to thee to tell
me how thou didst fall into the hands of the men of Utterbol, I were
fain to hear the tale."
She laughed outright, and said: "Why wilt thou be forever harping on
the time of my captivity, friend? And thou who knowest the story
somewhat already? Howbeit, I may tell thee thereof without
heart-burning, though it be a felon tale."
He said, somewhat shame-facedly: "Take it not ill that I am fain to
hear of thee and thy life-days, since we are become fellow-farers."
"Well," she said, "this befell outside Utterbol, so I will tell thee.
"After I had stood in the thrall-market at Cheaping Knowe, and not been
sold, the wild man led me away toward the mountains that are above
Goldburg; and as we drew near to them on a day, he said to me that he
was glad to the heart-root that none had cheapened me at the said
market; and when I asked him wherefore, he fell a weeping as he rode
beside me, and said: 'Yet would God that I had never taken thee.' I
asked what ailed him, though indeed I deemed that I knew. He said:
'This aileth me, that though thou art not of the blood wherein I am
bound to wed, I love thee sorely, and would have thee to wife; and now
I deem that thou wilt not love me again.' I said that he guessed
aright, but that if he would do friendly with me, I would be no less
than a friend to him. 'That availeth little,' quoth he; 'I would have
thee be mine of thine own will.' I said that might not be, that I could
love but one man alone. 'Is he alive?' said he. 'Goodsooth, I hope
so,' said I, 'but if he be dead, then is desire of men dead within me.'
"So we spake, and he was downcast and heavy of mood; but thenceforward
was he no worse to me than a brother. And he proffered it to lead me
back, if I would, and put me safely on the way to Whitwall; but, as
thou wottest, I had need to go forward, and no need to go back.
"Thus we entered into the mountains of Goldburg; but one morning, when
he arose, he was heavier of mood than his wont, and was restless
withal, and could be steadfast neither in staying nor going, nor aught
else. So I asked what ailed him, and he said: 'My end draweth nigh; I
have seen my fetch, and am fey. My grave abideth me in these
mountains.' 'Thou hast been dreaming ugly dreams,' said I, 'such
things are of no import.' And I spoke lightly, and strove to comfort
him. He changed not his mood for all that; but said: 'This is ill for
thee also; for thou wilt be worser without me than with me in these
lands.' Even so I deemed, and withal I was sorry for him, for though he
were uncouth and ungainly, he was no ill man. So against my will I
tumbled into the samelike mood as his, and we both fared along
drearily. But about sunset, as we came round a corner of the cliffs of
those mountains, or ever we were ware we happed upon a half-score of
weaponed men, who were dighting a camp under a big rock thereby: but
four there were with them who were still a-horseback; so that when Bull
Nosy (for that was his name) strove to flee away with me, it was of no
avail; for the said horsemen took us, and brought us before an
evil-looking man, who, to speak shortly, was he whom thou hast seen, to
wit, the Lord of Utterbol: he took no heed of Bull Nosy, but looked on
me closely, and handled me as a man doth with a horse at a cheaping, so
that I went nigh to smiting him, whereas I had a knife in my bosom, but
the chaplet refrained me. To make a short tale of it, he bade Bull
sell me to him, which Bull utterly naysaid, standing stiff and stark
before the Lord, and scowling on him. But the Lord laughed in his face
and said: 'So be it, for I will take her without a price, and thank
thee for sparing my gold.' Then said Bull: 'If thou take her as a
thrall, thou wert best take me also; else shall I follow thee as a free
man and slay thee when I may. Many are the days of the year, and on
some one of them will betide the occasion for the knife.'
"Thereat the Lord waxed very pale, and spake not, but looked at that
man of his who stood by Bull with a great sword in his fist, and lifted
up his hand twice, and let it fall twice, whereat that man stepped back
one pace, and swung his sword, and smote Bull, and clave his skull.
"Then the colour came into the Lord's face again, and he said: 'Now,
vassals, let us dine and be merry, for at least we have found something
in the mountains.' So they fell to and ate and drank, and victual was
given to me also, but I had no will to eat, for my soul was sick and my
heart was heavy, foreboding the uttermost evil. Withal I was sorry for
Bull Nosy, for he was no ill man and had become my friend.
"So they abode there that night, leaving Bull lying like a dog unburied
in the wilderness; and on the morrow they took the road to Utterbol,
and went swiftly, having no baggage, and staying but for victual, and
for rest every night. The Lord had me brought to him on that first
evening of our journey, and he saw me privily and spake to me, bidding
me do shameful things, and I would not; wherefore he threatened me
grievously; and, I being alone with him, bade him beware lest I should
slay him or myself. Thereat he turned pale, as he had done before Bull
Nosy, yet sent for none to slay me, but only bade me back to my
keepers. And so I came to Utterbol unscathed."
"And at Utterbol," said Ralph, "what befell thee there?" Ursula smiled
on him, and held up her finger; yet she answered: "Utterbol is a very
great house in a fair land, and there are sundry roofs and many fair
chambers. There was I brought to a goodly chamber amidst a garden; and
women servants were given me who led me to the bath and clad me in
dainty raiment, and gave me to eat and to drink, and all that I needed.
That is all my tale for this time."
CHAPTER 5
They Come on the Sage of Swevenham
Night was at hand before they came to the stream that they sought.
They found it cleaving the pine-wood, which held on till the very bank
of it, and was thick again on the further side in a few yards' space.
The stream was high-banked and ran deep and strong. Said Ursula as
they came up to it: "We may not cross it, but it matters not; and it is
to-morrow that we must ride up along it."
So they abode there, and made a fire by the waterside, and watched
there, turn and turn about, till it was broad day. Naught befell to
tell of, save that twice in the night Ralph deemed that he heard a lion
roar.
They got to horse speedily when they were both awake, and rode up the
stream, and began to go up hill, and by noon were come into a rough and
shaggy upland, whence from time to time they could see the huge wall of
the mountains, which yet seemed to Ralph scarce nigher, if at all, than
when he had beheld it ere he had come to Vale Turris. The way was
rough day-long, and now and again they found it hard to keep the stream
in sight, as especially when it cleft a hill, and ran between sheer
cliffs with no low shore on either side.
They made way but slowly, so that at last Ralph lost patience somewhat,
and said that he had but little hope of falling in with the Sage that
day or any day. But Ursula was of good cheer, and mocked him merrily
but sweetly, till his heart was lightened again. Withal she bade him
seek some venison, since they were drawing out the time, and she knew
not how long it would be ere they came to the Sage's dwelling.
Therefore he betook him to the Turk bow, and shot a leash of
heath-fowl, and they supped on the meat merrily in the wilderness.
But if they were merry, they were soon weary; for they journeyed on
after sunset that night, since the moon was up, and there was no thick
wood to turn dusk into dark for them. Their resting-place was a smooth
piece of greensward betwixt the water and a half circle of steep bent
that well nigh locked it about.
There then they abode, and in the stillness of the night heard a
thundering sound coming down the wind to them, which they deemed was
the roaring of distant waters; and when they went to the lip of the
river they saw flocks of foam floating by, wherefore they thought
themselves to be near some great mountain-neck whereover the water was
falling from some high place. But with no to-do they lay down upon the
greensward this second night of their fellowship, and waked later than
on the day before; for so weary had they been, that they had kept but
ill watch in the dark night, and none at all after dawn began to
glimmer.
Now Ralph sat up and saw Ursula still sleeping; then he rose to his
feet and looked about him, and saw their two horses cropping the grass
under the bent, and beside them a man, tall and white bearded, leaning
on his staff. Ralph caught up his sword and went toward the man, and
the sun gleamed from the blade just as the hoary-one turned to him; he
lifted up his staff as if in greeting to Ralph, and came toward him,
and even therewith Ursula awoke and arose, and saw the greybeard at
once; and she cried out: "Take heed to thy sword, fellow-farer, for,
praised be the saints, this is the Sage of Swevenham!"
So they stood there together till the Sage came up to them and kissed
them both, and said: "I am glad that ye are come at last; for I looked
for you no later than this. So now mount your horses and come with me
straightway; because life is short to them who have not yet drunk of
the Well at the World's End. Moreover if ye chance to come on the
riders of Utterbol, it shall go hard with you unless I be at hand."
Ralph saw of him that though he was an old hoar man to look on, yet he
was strong and sturdy, tall, and of goodly presence, with ruddy cheeks,
and red lips and bright eyes, and that the skin of his face and hands
was nowise wrinkled: but about his neck was a pair of beads like unto
his own gossip's gift.
So now they mounted at once, and with no more words he led them about
the bent, and they came in a little while into the wood again, but this
time it was of beech, with here and there an open place sprinkled about
with hollies and thorns; and they rode down the wide slope of a long
hill, and up again on the other side.
Thus they went for an hour, and the elder spake not again, though it
might have been deemed by his eyes that he was eager and fain. They
also held their peace; for the hope and fear of their hearts kept them
from words.
They came to the hill-top, and found a plain land, though the close
wood still held on a while; but soon they rode into a clearing of some
twelve acres, where were fenced crofts with goats therein, and three
garths of tillage, wherein the wheat-shocks were yet standing, and
there were coleworts and other pot-herbs also. But at the further end,
whereas the wood closed in again, was a little house builded of timber,
strong and goodly, and thatched with wheat-straw; and beside it was a
bubbling spring which ran in a brook athwart the said clearing; over
the house-door was a carven rood, and a bow and short spear were leaned
against the wall of the porch.
Ralph looked at all closely, and wondered whether this were perchance
the cot wherein the Lady of Abundance had dwelt with the evil witch.
But the elder looked on him, and said: "I know thy thought, and it is
not so; that house is far away hence; yet shalt thou come thereto.
Now, children, welcome to the house of him who hath found what ye seek,
but hath put aside the gifts which ye shall gain; and who belike shall
remember what ye shall forget."
Therewith he brought them into the house, and into a chamber, the
plenishing whereof was both scanty and rude. There he bade them sit,
and brought them victual, to wit, cheese and goats' milk and bread, and
they fell to speech concerning the woodland ways, and the seasons, and
other unweighty matters. But as for the old man he spoke but few
words, and as one unused to speech, albeit he was courteous and
debonair. But when they had eaten and drunk he spake to them and said:
"Ye have sought to me because ye would find the Well at the World's
End, and would have lore of me concerning the road thereto; but before
I tell you what ye would, let me know what ye know thereof already."
Quoth Ralph: "For me, little enough I know, save that I must come to
the Rock of the Fighting Man, and that thou knowest the way thither."
"And thou, damsel," quoth the long-hoary, "what knowest thou? Must I
tell thee of the way through the mountains and the Wall of the World,
and the Winter Valley, and the Folk Innocent, and the Cot on the Way,
and the Forest of Strange Things and the Dry Tree?"
"Nay," she said, "of all this I wot somewhat, but it may be not enough."
Said the Sage: "Even so it was with me, when a many years ago I dwelt
nigh to Swevenham, and folk sought to me for lore, and I told them what
I knew; but maybe it was not enough, for they never came back; but died
belike or ever they had seen the Well. And then I myself, when I was
gotten very old, fared thither a-seeking it, and I found it; for I was
one of those who bore the chaplet of the seekers. And now I know all,
and can teach all. But tell me, damsel, whence hadst thou this lore?"
Said Ursula: "I had it of a very fair woman who, as it seemeth, was
Lady and Queen of the Champions of Hampton under the Scaur, not far
from mine own land."
"Yea," quoth the Sage, "and what hath befallen her? ... Nay, nay," said
he, "I need not ask; for I can see by your faces that she is dead.
Therefore hath she been slain, or otherwise she had not been dead. So
I ask you if ye were her friends?"
Quoth Ursula; "Surely she was my friend, since she befriended me; and
this man I deem was altogether her friend."
Ralph hung his head, and the Sage gazed on him, but said naught. Then
he took a hand of each of them in his hands, and held them a while
silently, and Ralph was still downcast and sad, but Ursula looked on
him fondly.
Then spake the Sage: "So it is, Knight, that now I seem to understand
what manner of man thou art, and I know what is between you two;
whereof I will say naught, but will let the tree grow according to its
seed. Moreover, I wot now that my friend of past years would have me
make you both wise in the lore of the Well at the World's End; and when
I have done this, I can do no more, but let your good hap prevail if so
it may. Abide a little, therefore."
Then he went unto an ark, and took thence a book wrapped in a piece of
precious web of silk and gold, and bound in cuir-bouilly wrought in
strange devices. Then said he: "This book was mine heritage at
Swevenham or ever I became wise, and it came from my father's
grandsire: and my father bade me look on it as the dearest of
possessions; but I heeded it naught till my youth had waned, and my
manhood was full of weariness and grief. Then I turned to it, and read
in it, and became wise, and the folk sought to me, and afterwards that
befell which was foredoomed. Now herein amongst other matters is
written of that which ye desire to know, and I will read the same to
you and expound it. Yet were it not well to read in this book under a
roof, nay, though it be as humble and innocent as this. Moreover, it
is not meet that ye should hearken to this wisdom of old times clad as
ye are; thou, knight, in the raiment of the manslayer, with the rod of
wrath hanging at thy side; and thou, maiden, attired in the garments of
the tyrant, which were won of him by lying and guile."
Then he went to another ark, and took from it two bundles, which he
gave, the one to Ralph, the other to Ursula, and said: "Thou, maiden,
go thou into the inner chamber here and doff thy worldly raiment, and
don that which thou wilt find wrapped in this cloth; and thou, knight,
take this other and get thee into the thicket which is behind the
house, and there do the like, and abide there till we come to thee."
So Ralph took the bundle, and came out into the thicket and unarmed
him, and did on the raiment which he found in the cloth, which was but
a long gown of white linen, much like to an alb, broidered about the
wrists and the hems and collar with apparels of gold and silk, girt
with a red silk girdle. There he abode a little, wondering at all
these things and all that had befallen him since he had left Upmeads.
Anon the two others came to him, and Ursula was clad in the same-like
raiment and the elder had the book in his hand. He smiled on Ralph and
nodded friendly to him. As to Ursula, she flushed as red as a rose
when she set eyes on him, for she said to herself that he was as one of
the angels which she had seen painted in the choir of St. Mary's at
Higham.
CHAPTER 6
Those Two Are Learned Lore by the Sage of Swevenham
Now the Sage led them through the wood till they came to a grassy lawn
amidst of which was a table of stone, which it seemed to Ralph must be
like to that whereon the witch-wife had offered up the goat to her
devils as the Lady of Abundance had told him; and he changed
countenance as the thought came into his mind. But the Sage looked on
him and shook his head and spake softly: "In these wastes and wilds are
many such-like places, where of old time the ancient folks did worship
to the Gods of the Earth as they imagined them: and whereas the lore
in this book cometh of such folk, this is no ill place for the reading
thereof. But if ye fear the book and its writers, who are dead long
ago, there is yet time to go back and seek the Well without my helping;
and I say not but that ye may find it even thus. But if ye fear not,
then sit ye down on the grass, and I will lay the book on this most
ancient table, and read in it, and do ye hearken heedfully."
So they sat down side by side, and Ralph would have taken Ursula's hand
to caress it, but she drew it away from him; howbeit she found it hard
to keep her eyes from off him. The Elder looked on them soberly, but
nowise in anger, and presently began reading in the book. What he read
shall be seen hereafter in the process of this tale; for the more part
thereof had but to do with the way to the Well at the World's End, all
things concerning which were told out fully, both great and small.
Long was this a-reading, and when the Sage had done, he bade now one,
now the other answer him questions as to what he had read; and if they
answered amiss he read that part again, and yet again, as children are
taught in the school. Until at last when he asked any question Ralph
or the maiden answered it rightly at once; and by this time the sun was
about to set. So he bade them home to his house that they might eat
and sleep there.
"But to-morrow," said he, "I shall give you your last lesson from this
book, and thereafter ye shall go your ways to the Rock of the Fighting
Man, and I look not for it that ye shall come to any harm on the way;
but whereas I seem to-day to have seen the foes of Utterbol seeking
you, I will lead you forth a little."
So they went home to the house, and he made them the most cheer that he
might, and spake to them in friendly and pleasant mood, so that they
were merry.
When it was morning they went again to the ancient altar, and again
they learned lore from the Elder, till they were waxen wise in the
matters of the Well at the World's End, and long they sat and hearkened
him till it was evening again, and once more they slept in the house of
the Sage of Swevenham.
CHAPTER 7
An Adventure by the Way
When morrow dawned they arose betimes and did on their worldly raiment;
and when they had eaten a morsel they made them ready for the road, and
the elder gave them victual for the way in their saddle-bags, saying:
"This shall suffice for the passing days, and when it is gone ye have
learned what to do."
Therewithall they gat to horse; but Ralph would have the Elder ride his
nag, while he went afoot by the side of Ursula. So the Sage took his
bidding, but smiled therewith, and said: "Thou art a King's son and a
friendly young man, else had I said nay to this; for it needeth not,
whereas I am stronger than thou, so hath my draught of the Well dealt
with me."
Thus then they went their ways; but Ralph noted of Ursula that she was
silent and shy with him, and it irked him so much, that at last he said
to her: "My friend, doth aught ail me with thee? Wilt thou not tell
me, so that I may amend it? For thou are grown of few words with me
and turnest thee from me, and seemest as if thou heedest me little.
Thou art as a fair spring morning gone cold and overcast in the
afternoon. What is it then? we are going a long journey together, and
belike shall find little help or comfort save in each other; and ill
will it be if we fall asunder in heart, though we be nigh in body."
She laughed and reddened therewithal; and then her countenance fell and
she looked piteously on him and said: "If I seemed to thee as thou
sayest, I am sorry; for I meant not to be thus with thee as thou
deemest. But so it is that I was thinking of this long journey, and of
thee and me together in it, and how we shall be with each other if we
come back again alive, with all things done that we had to do."
She stayed her speech awhile, and seemed to find it hard to give forth
the word that was in her; but at last she said: "Friend, thou must
pardon me; but that which thou sawest in me, I also seemed to see in
thee, that thou wert grown shy and cold with me; but now I know it is
not so, since thou hast seen me wrongly; but that I have seen thee
wrongly, as thou hast me."
Therewith she reached her hand to him, and he took it and kissed it and
caressed it while she looked fondly at him, and they fared on sweetly
and happily together. But as this was a-saying and a-doing betwixt
them, and a while after, they had heeded the Elder little or not at
all, though he rode on the right hand of Ralph. And for his part the
old man said naught to them and made as if he heard them not, when they
spake thuswise together.
Now they rode the wood on somewhat level ground for a while; then the
trees began to thin, and the ground grew broken; and at last it was
very rugged, with high hills and deep valleys, and all the land
populous of wild beasts, so that about sunset they heard thrice the
roar of a lion. But ever the Sage led them by winding ways that he
knew, round the feet of the hills, along stream-sides for the most
part, and by passes over the mountain-necks when they needs must, which
was twice in the day.
Dusk fell on them in a little valley, through which ran a stream bushed
about its edges, and which for the rest was grassy and pleasant, with
big sweet-chestnut trees scattered about it.
"Now," quoth the Elder; "two things we have to beware of in this
valley, the lions first; which, though belike they will not fall upon
weaponed men, may well make an onslaught on your horses, if they wind
them; and the loss of the beasts were sore to you as now. But the
second thing is the chase from Utterbol. As to the lions, if ye build
up a big fire, and keep somewhat aloof from the stream and its bushes,
and tether you horses anigh the fire, ye will have no harm of them."
"Yea," said Ralph, "but if the riders of Utterbol are anigh us, shall
we light a candle for them to show them the way?" Said the Sage: "Were
ye by yourselves, I would bid you journey night-long, and run all risk
rather than the risk of falling into their hands. But whereas I am
your guide, I bid you kindle your fire under yonder big tree, and leave
me to deal with the men of Utterbol; only whatso I bid you, that do ye
straightway."
"So be it," said Ralph, "I have been bewrayed so oft of late, that I
must needs trust thee, or all help shall fail me. Let us to work." So
they fell to and built up a big bale and kindled it, and their horses
they tethered to the tree; and by then they had done this, dark night
had fallen upon them. So they cooked their victual at the fire (for
Ralph had shot a hare by the way) and the Sage went down to the stream
and fetched them water in a lethern budget: "For," said he, "I know
the beasts of the wood and they me, and there is peace betwixt us."
There then they sat to meat unarmed, for the Sage had said to them:
"Doff your armour; ye shall not come to handystrokes with the Utterbol
Riders."
So they ate their meat in the wilderness, and were nowise ungleeful,
for to those twain the world seemed fair, and they hoped for great
things. But though they were glad, they were weary enough, for the way
had been both rugged and long; so they lay them down to sleep while the
night was yet young. But or ever Ralph closed his eyes he saw the Sage
standing up with his cloak wrapped about his head, and making strange
signs with his right hand; so that he deemed that he would ward them by
wizardry. So therewith he turned about on the grass and was asleep at
once.
After a while he started and sat up, half awake at first; for he felt
some one touch him; and his halfdreams went back to past days, and he
cried out: "Hah Roger! is it thou? What is toward?" But therewith he
woke up fully, and knew that it was the Sage that had touched him, and
withal he saw hard by Ursula, sitting up also.
There was still a flickering flame playing about the red embers of
their fire, for they had made it very big; and the moon had arisen and
was shining bright in a cloudless sky.
The Sage spake softly but quickly: "Lie down together, ye two, and I
shall cast my cloak over you, and look to it that ye stir not from out
of it, nor speak one word till I bid you, whate'er may befall: for the
riders of Utterbol are upon us."
They did as he bade them, but Ralph got somewhat of an eye-shot out of
a corner of the cloak, and he could see that the Sage went and stood up
against the tree-trunk holding a horse by the bridle, one on each side
of him. Even therewith Ralph heard the clatter of horse-hoofs over the
stones about the stream, and a man's voice cried out: "They will have
heard us; so spur over the grass to the fire and the big tree: for
then they cannot escape us." Then came the thump of horse-hoofs on the
turf, and in half a minute they were amidst of a rout of men
a-horseback, more than a score, whose armour and weapons gleamed in the
moonlight: yet when these riders were gotten there, they were silent,
till one said in a quavering voice as if afeard: "Otter, Otter! what is
this? A minute ago and we could see the fire, and the tree, and men
and horses about them: and now, lo you! there is naught save two great
grey stones lying on the grass, and a man's bare bones leaning up
against the tree, and a ruckle of old horse-bones on either side of
him. Where are we then?"
Then spake another; and Ralph knew the voice for Otter's: "I wot not,
lord; naught else is changed save the fire and the horses and the men:
yonder are the hills, yonder overhead is the moon, with the little
light cloud dogging her; even that is scarce changed. Belike the fire
was an earth-fire, and for the rest we saw wrong in the moonlight."
Spake the first man again, and his voice quavered yet more: "Nay nay,
Otter, it is not so. Lo you the skeleton and the bones and the grey
stones! And the fire, here this minute, there the next. O Otter, this
is an evil place of an evil deed! Let us go seek elsewhere; let us
depart, lest a worse thing befall us." And so with no more ado he
turned his horse and smote his spurs into him and galloped off by the
way he had come, and the others followed, nothing loth; only Otter
tarried a little, and looked around him and laughed and said: "There
goes my Lord's nephew; like my Lord he is not over bold, save in
dealing with a shackled man. Well, for my part if those others have
sunk into the earth, or gone up into the air, they are welcome to their
wizardry, and I am glad of it. For I know not how I should have done
to have seen my mate that out-tilted me made a gelded wretch of; and it
would have irked me to see that fair woman in the hands of the
tormentors, though forsooth I have oft seen such sights. Well, it is
good; but better were it to ride with my mate than serve the Devil and
his Nephew."
Therewith he turned rein and galloped off after the others, and in a
little while the sound of them had died off utterly into the night, and
they heard but the voices of the wild things, and the wimbrel laughing
from the hill-sides. Then came the Sage and drew the cloak from those
two, and laughed on them and said: "Now may ye sleep soundly, when I
have mended our fire; for ye will see no more of Utterbol for this
time, and it yet lacks three hours of dawn: sleep ye then and dream of
each other." Then they arose and thanked the Sage with whole hearts and
praised his wisdom. But while the old man mended the fire Ralph went
up to Ursula and took her hand, and said: "Welcome to life,
fellow-farer!" and he gazed earnestly into her eyes, as though he would
have her fall into his arms: but whereas she rather shrank from him,
though she looked on him lovingly, if somewhat shyly, he but kissed her
hand, and laid him down again, when he had seen her lying in her place.
And therewith they fell asleep and slept sweetly.
CHAPTER 8
They Come to the Sea of Molten Rocks
When they woke again the sun was high above their heads, and they saw
the Sage dighting their breakfast. So they arose and washed the night
off them in the stream and ate hastily, and got to horse on a fair
forenoon; then they rode the mountain neck east from that valley; and
it was a long slope of stony and barren mountain nigh waterless.
And on the way Ursula told Ralph how the man who was scared by the
wizardry last night was verily the nephew of the Lord from whom she had
stolen her armour by wheedling and a seeming promise. "But," said she,
"his love lay not so deep but that he would have avenged him for my
guile on my very body had he taken us." Ralph reddened and scowled at
her word, and the Sage led them into the other talk.
So long was that fell, that they were nigh benighted ere they gained
the topmost, or came to any pass. When they had come to a place where
there was a little pool in a hollow of the rocks they made stay there,
and slept safe, but ill-lodged, and on the morrow were on their way
betimes, and went toiling up the neck another four hours, and came to a
long rocky ridge or crest that ran athwart it; and when they had come
to the brow thereof, then were they face to face with the Great
Mountains, which now looked so huge that they seemed to fill all the
world save the ground whereon they stood. Cloudless was the day, and
the air clean and sweet, and every nook and cranny was clear to behold
from where they stood: there were great jutting nesses with
straight-walled burgs at their top-most, and pyramids and pinnacles
that no hand of man had fashioned, and awful clefts like long streets
in the city of the giants who wrought the world, and high above all the
undying snow that looked as if the sky had come down on to the
mountains and they were upholding it as a roof.
But clear as was the fashion of the mountains, they were yet a long way
off: for betwixt them and the ridge whereon those fellows stood,
stretched a vast plain, houseless and treeless, and, as they beheld it
thence grey and ungrassed (though indeed it was not wholly so) like a
huge river or firth of the sea it seemed, and such indeed it had been
once, to wit a flood of molten rock in the old days when the earth was
a-burning.
Now as they stood and beheld it, the Sage spake: "Lo ye, my children,
the castle and its outwork, and its dyke that wardeth the land of the
Well at the World's End. Now from to-morrow, when we enter into the
great sea of the rock molten in the ancient earth-fires, there is no
least peril of pursuit for you. Yet amidst that sea should ye perish
belike, were it not for the wisdom gathered by a few; and they are dead
now save for the Book, and for me, who read it unto you. Now ye would
not turn back were I to bid you, and I will not bid you. Yet since the
journey shall be yet with grievous toil and much peril, and shall try
the very hearts within you, were ye as wise as Solomon and as mighty as
Alexander, I will say this much unto you; that if ye love not the earth
and the world with all your souls, and will not strive all ye may to be
frank and happy therein, your toil and peril aforesaid shall win you no
blessing but a curse. Therefore I bid you be no tyrants or builders of
cities for merchants and usurers and warriors and thralls, like the
fool who builded Goldburg to be for a tomb to him: or like the
thrall-masters of the Burg of the Four Friths, who even now, it may be,
are pierced by their own staff or overwhelmed by their own wall. But
rather I bid you to live in peace and patience without fear or hatred,
and to succour the oppressed and love the lovely, and to be the friends
of men, so that when ye are dead at last, men may say of you, they
brought down Heaven to the Earth for a little while. What say ye,
children?"
Then said Ralph: "Father, I will say the sooth about mine intent,
though ye may deem it little-minded. When I have accomplished this
quest, I would get me home again to the little land of Upmeads, to see
my father and my mother, and to guard its meadows from waste and its
houses from fire-raising: to hold war aloof and walk in free fields,
and see my children growing up about me, and lie at last beside my
fathers in the choir of St. Laurence. The dead would I love and
remember; the living would I love and cherish; and Earth shall be the
well beloved house of my Fathers, and Heaven the highest hall thereof."
"It is well," said the Sage, "all this shalt thou do and be no
little-heart, though thou do no more. And thou, maiden?"
She looked on Ralph and said: "I lost, and then I found, and then I
lost again. Maybe I shall find the lost once more. And for the rest,
in all that this man will do, I will help, living or dead, for I know
naught better to do."
"Again it is well," said the Sage, "and the lost which was verily thine
shalt thou find again, and good days and their ending shall betide
thee. Ye shall have no shame in your lives and no fear in your deaths.
Wherefore now lieth the road free before you."
Then was he silent a while, neither spake the others aught, but stood
gazing on the dark grey plain, and the blue wall that rose beyond it,
till at last the Sage lifted up his hand and said: "Look yonder,
children, to where I point, and ye shall see how there thrusteth out a
ness from the mountain-wall, and the end of it stands like a bastion
above the lava-sea, and on its sides and its head are streaks ruddy and
tawny, where the earth-fires have burnt not so long ago: see ye?"
Ralph looked and said: "Yea, father, I see it, and its rifts and its
ridges, and its crannies."
Quoth the Sage: "Behind that ness shall ye come to the Rock of the
Fighting Man, which is the very Gate of the Mountains; and I will not
turn again nor bid you farewell till I have brought you thither. And
now time presses; for I would have you come timely to that cavern,
whereof I have taught you, before ye fall on the first days of winter,
or ye shall be hard bestead. So now we will eat a morsel, and then use
diligence that we may reach the beginning of the rock-sea before
nightfall."
So did they, and the Sage led them down by a slant-way from off the
ridge, which was toilsome but nowise perilous. So about sunset they
came down into the plain, and found a belt of greensward, and waters
therein betwixt the foot of the ridge and the edge of the rock-sea. And
as for the said sea, though from afar it looked plain and unbroken, now
that they were close to, and on a level with it, they saw that it rose
up into cliffs, broken down in some places, and in others arising high
into the air, an hundred foot, it might be. Sometimes it thrust out
into the green shore below the fell, and otherwhile drew back from it
as it had cooled ages ago.
So they came to a place where there was a high wall of rock round three
sides of a grassy place by a stream-side, and there they made their
resting-place, and the night went calmly and sweetly with them.
CHAPTER 9
They Come Forth From the Rock-Sea
On the morrow the Sage led them straight into the rock-sea whereas it
seemed to them at first that he was but bringing them into a blind
alley; but at the end of the bight the rock-wall was broken down into a
long scree of black stones. There the Sage bade Ralph and Ursula
dismount (as for him he had been going afoot ever since that first day)
and they led the horses up the said scree, which was a hard business,
as they were no mountain beasts. And when they were atop of the scree
it was harder yet to get them down, for on that side it was steeper;
but at last they brought it about, and came down into a little grassy
plain or isle in the rock sea, which narrowed toward the eastern end,
and the rocks on either side were smooth and glossy, as if the heat had
gone out of them suddenly, when the earth-fires had ceased in the
mountains.
Now the Sage showed them on a certain rock a sign cut, whereof they had
learned in the book aforesaid, to wit, a sword crossed by a
three-leaved bough; and they knew by the book that they should press on
through the rock-sea nowhere, either going or returning, save where
they should see this token.
Now when they came to the narrow end of the plain they found still a
wide way between the rock-walls, that whiles widened out, and whiles
drew in again. Whiles withal were screes across the path, and little
waters that ran out of the lava and into it again, and great blocks of
fallen stone, sometimes as big as a husbandman's cot, that wind and
weather had rent from the rocks; and all these things stayed them
somewhat. But they went on merrily, albeit their road winded so much,
that the Sage told them, when evening was, that for their diligence
they had but come a few short miles as the crow flies.
Many wild things there were, both beast and fowl, in these islands and
bridges of the rock-sea, hares and conies to wit, a many, and
heathfowl, and here and there a red fox lurking about the crannies of
the rock-wall. Ralph shot a brace of conies with his Turk bow, and
whereas there were bushes growing in the chinks, and no lack of whin
and ling, they had firing enough, and supped off this venison of the
rocks.
So passed that day and two days more, and naught befell, save that on
the midnight of the first day of their wending the rock-sea, Ralph
awoke and saw the sky all ablaze with other light than that of the
moon; so he arose and went hastily to the Sage, and took him by the
shoulder, and bid him awake; "For meseems the sky is afire, and
perchance the foe is upon us."
The Sage awoke and opened his eyes, and rose on his elbow and looked
around sleepily; then he said laughing: "It is naught, fair lord, thou
mayst lie down and sleep out the remnant of the night, and thou also,
maiden: this is but an earth-fire breaking out on the flank of the
mountains; it may be far away hence. Now ye see that we may not scale
the rocks about us here without toil; but to-morrow night we may climb
up somewhere and look on what is toward."
So Ralph lay down and Ursula also, but Ralph lay long awake watching
the light above him, which grew fiercer and redder in the hours betwixt
moonset and daybreak, when he fell asleep, and woke not again till the
sun was high.
But on the next day as they went, the aspect of the rock-sea about them
changed: for the rocks were not so smooth and shining and orderly, but
rose up in confused heaps all clotted together by the burning, like to
clinkers out of some monstrous forge of the earth-giants, so that their
way was naught so clear as it had been, but was rather a maze of jagged
stone. But the Sage led through it all unfumbling, and moreover now
and again they came on that carven token of the sword and the bough.
Night fell, and as it grew dark they saw the glaring of the earth-fires
again; and when they were rested, and had done their meat, the Sage
said: "Come now with me, for hard by is there a place as it were a
stair that goeth to the top of a great rock, let us climb it and look
about us."
So did they, and the head of the rock was higher than the main face of
the rock-sea, so that they could see afar. Thence they looked north
and beheld afar off a very pillar of fire rising up from a ness of the
mountain wall, and seeming as if it bore up a black roof of smoke; and
the huge wall gleamed grey, because of its light, and it cast a ray of
light across the rock-sea as the moon doth over the waters of the deep:
withal there was the noise as of thunder in the air, but afar off:
which thunder indeed they had heard oft, as they rode through the
afternoon and evening.
Spake the Sage: "It is far away: yet if the wind were not blowing
from us, we had smelt the smoke, and the sky had been darkened by it.
Now it is naught so far from Utterbol, and it will be for a token to
them there. For that ness is called the Candle of the Giants, and men
deem that the kindling thereof forebodeth ill to the lord who sitteth
on the throne in the red hall of Utterbol."
Ralph laid his hand on Ursula's shoulder and said: "May the Sage's saw
be sooth!"
She put her hand upon the hand and said: "Three months ago I lay on my
bed at Bourton Abbas, and all the while here was this huge manless
waste lying under the bare heavens and threatened by the storehouse of
the fires of the earth: and I had not seen it, nor thee either, O
friend; and now it hath become a part of me for ever."
Then was Ralph exceeding glad of her words, and the Sage laughed
inwardly when he beheld them thus.
So they came adown from the rock and lay down presently under the fiery
heavens: and their souls were comforted by the sound of the horses
cropping the grass so close to their ears, that it broke the voice of
the earth-fires' thunder, that ever and anon rolled over the grey sea
amidst which they lay.
On the morrow they still rode the lava like to clinkers, and it rose
higher about them, till suddenly nigh sunset it ended at a turn of
their winding road, and naught lay betwixt them and that mighty ness of
the mountains, save a wide grassy plain, here and there swelling into
low wide risings not to be called hills, and besprinkled with copses of
bushes, and with trees neither great nor high. Then spake the Sage:
"Here now will we rest, and by my will to-morrow also, that your beasts
may graze their fill of the sweet grass of these unwarded meadows.
which feedeth many a herd unowned of man, albeit they pay a quit-rent
to wild things that be mightier than they. And now, children, we have
passed over the mighty river that once ran molten betwixt these
mountains and the hills yonder to the west, which we trod the other
day; yet once more, if your hearts fail you, there is yet time to turn
back; and no harm shall befall you, but I will be your fellow all the
way home to Swevenham if ye will. But if ye still crave the water of
the Well at the World's End, I will lead you over this green plain, and
then go back home to mine hermitage, and abide there till ye come to
me, or I die."
Ralph smiled and said: "Master, no such sorry story shall I bear back
to Upmeads, that after many sorrows borne, and perils overcome, I came
to the Gates of the Mountains, and turned back for fear of that which I
had not proved."
So spake he; but Ursula laughed and said: "Yea, then should I deem thy
friendship light if thou leftest me alone and unholpen in the uttermost
wilderness; and thy manhood light to turn back from that which did not
make a woman afraid."
Then the Sage looked kindly on them and said: "Yea, then is the last
word spoken, and the world may yet grow merrier to me. Look you, some
there be who may abuse the gifts of the Well for evil errands, and some
who may use it for good deeds; but I am one who hath not dared to use
it lest I should abuse it, I being alone amongst weaklings and fools:
but now if ye come back, who knows but that I may fear no longer, but
use my life, and grow to be a mighty man. Come now, let us dight our
supper, and kindle as big a fire as we lightly may; since there is many
a prowling beast about, as bear and lynx and lion; for they haunt this
edge of the rock-sea whereto the harts and the wild bulls and the goats
resort for the sweet grass, and the water that floweth forth from the
lava."
So they cut good store of firing, whereas there was a plenty of bushes
growing in the clefts of the rocks, and they made a big fire and
tethered their horses anigh it when they lay down to rest; and in the
night they heard the roaring of wild things round about them, and more
than once or twice, awakening before day, they saw the shape of some
terrible creature by the light of the moon mingled with the glare of
the earth-fires, but none of these meddled with them, and naught befell
them save the coming of the new day.
CHAPTER 10
They Come to the Gate of the Mountains
That day they herded their horses thereabout, and from time to time the
Sage tried those two if they were perfect in the lore of the road; and
he found that they had missed nothing.
They lay down in the self-same place again that night, and arose
betimes on the morrow and went their ways over the plain as the Sage
led, till it was as if the mountains and their terror hung over their
very heads, and the hugeness and blackness of them were worse than a
wall of fire had been. It was still a long way to them, so that it was
not till noon of the third day from the rock-sea that they came to the
very feet of that fire-scorched ness, and wonderful indeed it seemed to
them that anything save the eagles could have aught to tell of what lay
beyond it.
There were no foothills or downs betwixt the plain and the mountains,
naught save a tumble of rocks that had fallen from the cliffs, piled up
strangely, and making a maze through which the Sage led them surely;
and at last they were clear even of this, and were underneath the flank
of that ness, which was so huge that there seemed that there could
scarce be any more mountain than that. Little of its huge height could
they see, now they were close to it, for it went up sheer at first and
then beetled over them till they could see no more of its side; as they
wound about its flank, and they were long about it, the Sage cried out
to those two and stretched out his hand, and behold! the side of the
black cliff plain and smooth and shining as if it had been done by the
hand of men or giants, and on this smooth space was carven in the
living rock the image of a warrior in mail and helm of ancient fashion,
and holding a sword in his right hand. From head to heel he seemed
some sixty feet high, and the rock was so hard, that he was all clean
and clear to see; and they deemed of him that his face was keen and
stern of aspect.
So there they stood in an awful bight of the mountain, made by that
ness, and the main wall from which it thrust out. But after they had
gazed awhile and their hearts were in their mouths, the Sage turned on
those twain and said: "Here then is the end of my journey with you; and
ye wot all that I can tell you, and I can say no word more save to bid
you cast all fear aside and thrive. Ye have yet for this day's journey
certain hours of such daylight as the mountain pass will give you,
which at the best is little better than twilight; therefore redeem ye
the time."
But Ralph got off his horse, and Ursula did in likewise, and they both
kissed and embraced the old man, for their hearts were full and fain.
But he drew himself away from them, and turned about with no word more,
and went his ways, and presently was hidden from their eyes by the
rocky maze which lay about the mountain's foot. Then the twain mounted
their horses again and set forth silently on the road, as they had been
bidden.
In a little while the rocks of the pass closed about them, leaving but
a way so narrow that they could see a glimmer of the stars above them
as they rode the twilight; no sight they had of the measureless stony
desert, yet in their hearts they saw it. They seemed to be wending a
straight-walled prison without an end, so that they were glad when the
dark night came on them.
Ralph found some shelter in the cleft of a rock above a mound where was
little grass for the horses. He drew Ursula into it, and they sat down
there on the stones together. So long they sat silent that a great
gloom settled upon Ralph, and he scarce knew whether he were asleep or
waking, alive or dead. But amidst of it fell a sweet voice on his
ears, and familiar words asking him of what like were the fields of
Upmeads, and the flowers; and of the fish of its water, and of the
fashion of the building of his father's house; and of his brethren, and
the mother that bore him. Then was it to him at first as if a sweet
dream had come across the void of his gloom, and then at last the gloom
and the dread and the deadness left him, and he knew that his friend
and fellow was talking to him, and that he sat by her knee to knee, and
the sweetness of her savoured in his nostrils as she leaned her face
toward him, and he knew himself for what he was; and yet for memory of
that past horror, and the sweetness of his friend and what not else, he
fell a-weeping. But Ursula bestirred herself and brought out food from
her wallet, and sat down beside him again, and he wiped the tears from
his eyes and laughed, and chid himself for being as a child in the
dark, and then they ate and drank together in that dusk nook of the
wilderness. And now was he happy and his tongue was loosed, and he
fell to telling her many things of Upmeads, and of the tale of his
forefathers, and of his old loves and his friends, till life and death
seemed to him as they had seemed of time past in the merry land of his
birth. So there anon they fell asleep for weariness, and no dreams of
terror beset their slumbers.
CHAPTER 11
They Come to the Vale of Sweet Chestnuts
When they went on their way next morning they found little change in
the pass, and they rode the dread highway daylong, and it was still the
same: so they rested a little before nightfall at a place where there
was water running out of the rocks, but naught else for their avail.
Ralph was merry and helpful and filled water from the runnel, and
wrought what he might to make the lodging meet; and as they ate and
rested he said to Ursula: "Last night it was thou that beguiled me of
my gloom, yet thereafter till we slept it was my voice for the more
part, and not thine, that was heard in the wilderness. Now to-night it
shall be otherwise, and I will but ask a question of thee, and hearken
to the sweetness of thy voice."
She laughed a little and very sweetly, and she said: "Forsooth, dear
friend, I spoke to thee that I might hear thy voice for the more part,
and not mine, that was heard in the desert; but when I heard thee, I
deemed that the world was yet alive for us to come back to."
He was silent awhile, for his heart was pierced with the sweetness of
her speech, and he had fain have spoken back as sweetly as a man might;
yet he could not because he feared her somewhat, lest she should turn
cold to him; therefore himseemed that he spoke roughly, as he said:
"Nevertheless, my friend, I beseech thee to tell me of thine old home,
even as last night I told thee of mine."
"Yea," she said, "with a good will." And straightway she fell to
telling him of her ways when she was little, and of her father and
mother, and of her sister that had died, and the brother whom Ralph had
seen at Bourton Abbas: she told also of bachelors who had wooed her,
and jested concerning them, yet kindly and without malice, and talked
so sweetly and plainly, that the wilderness was become a familiar place
to Ralph, and he took her hand in the dusk and said: "But, my friend,
how was it with the man for whom thou wert weeping when I first fell in
with thee at Bourton Abbas?"
She said: "I will tell thee plainly, as a friend may to a friend.
Three hours had not worn from thy departure ere tidings came to me
concerning him, that neither death nor wounding had befallen him; and
that his masterless horse and bloodstained saddle were but a device to
throw dust into our eyes, so that there might be no chase after him by
the men of the Abbot's bailiff, and that he might lightly do as he
would, to wit, swear himself into the riders of the Burg of the Four
Friths; for, in sooth, he was weary of me and mine. Yet further, I
must needs tell thee that I know now, that when I wept before thee it
was partly in despite, because I had found out in my heart (though I
bade it not tell me so much) that I loved him but little."
"Yea," said Ralph, "and when didst thou come to that knowledge of thine
heart?"
"Dear friend," she said, "mayhappen I may tell thee hereafter, but as
now I will forbear." He laughed for joy of her, and in a little that
talk fell down between them.
Despite the terror of the desert and the lonely ways, when Ralph laid
him down on his stony bed, happiness wrapped his heart about. Albeit
all this while he durst not kiss or caress her, save very measurely,
for he deemed that she would not suffer it; nor as yet would he ask her
wherefore, though he had it in his mind that he would not always
forbear to ask her.
Many days they rode that pass of the mountains, though it was not
always so evil and dreadful as at the first beginning; for now again
the pass opened out into little valleys, wherein was foison of grass
and sweet waters withal, and a few trees. In such places must they
needs rest them, to refresh their horses as well as themselves, and to
gather food, of venison, and wild-fruit and nuts. But abiding in such
vales was very pleasant to them.
At last these said valleys came often and oftener, till it was so that
all was pretty much one valley, whiles broken by a mountain neck,
whiles straitened by a ness of the mountains that jutted into it, but
never quite blind: yet was the said valley very high up, and as it
were a trench of the great mountain. So they were glad that they had
escaped from that strait prison betwixt the rock-walls, and were well
at ease: and they failed never to find the tokens that led them on the
way, even as they had learned of the Sage, so that they were not
beguiled into any straying.
And now they had worn away thirty days since they had parted from the
Sage, and the days began to shorten and the nights to lengthen apace;
when on the forenoon of a day, after they had ridden a very rugged
mountain-neck, they came down and down into a much wider valley into
which a great reef of rocks thrust out from the high mountain, so that
the northern half of the said vale was nigh cleft atwain by it; well
grassed was the vale, and a fair river ran through it, and there were
on either side the water great groves of tall and great sweet-chestnuts
and walnut trees, whereon the nuts were now ripe. They rejoiced as
they rode into it; for they remembered how the Sage had told them
thereof, that their travel and toil should be stayed there awhile, and
that there they should winter, because of the bread which they could
make them of the chestnuts, and the plenty of walnuts, and that withal
there was foison of venison.
So they found a ford of the river and crossed it, and went straight to
the head of the rocky ness, being shown thither by the lore of the
Sage, and they found in the face of the rock the mouth of a cavern, and
beside it the token of the sword and the branch. Therefore they knew
that they had come to their winter house, and they rejoiced thereat,
and without more ado they got off their horses and went into the
cavern. The entry thereof was low, so that they must needs creep into
it, but within it was a rock-hall, high, clean and sweet-smelling.
There then they dight their dwelling, doing all they might to be done
with their work before the winter was upon them. The day after they
had come there they fell to on the in-gathering of their chestnut
harvest, and they dried them, and made them into meal; and the walnuts
they gathered also. Withal they hunted the deer, both great and small;
amongst which Ralph, not without some peril, slew two great bears, of
which beasts, indeed, there was somewhat more than enough, as they came
into the dale to feed upon the nuts and the berry-trees. So they soon
had good store of peltries for their beds and their winter raiment,
which Ursula fell to work on deftly, for she knew all the craft of
needlework; and, shortly to tell it, they had enough and to spare of
victual and raiment.
CHAPTER 12
Winter Amidst of the Mountains
In all this they had enough to be busy with, so that time hung not
heavy on their hands, and the shadow of the Quest was nowise burdensome
to them, since they wotted that they had to abide the wearing of the
days till spring was come with fresh tidings. Their labour was nowise
irksome to them, since Ralph was deft in all manner of sports and
crafts, such as up-country folk follow, and though he were a king's
son, he had made a doughty yeoman: and as for Ursula, she also was
country-bred, of a lineage of field-folk, and knew all the manners of
the fields.
Withal in whatsoever way it were, they loved each other dearly, and all
kind of speech flowed freely betwixt them. Sooth to say, Ralph, taking
heed of Ursula, deemed that she were fain to love him bodily, and he
wotted well by now, that, whatever had befallen, he loved her, body and
soul. Yet still was that fear of her naysay lurking in his heart, if
he should kiss her, or caress her, as a man with a maid. Therefore he
forbore, though desire of her tormented him grievously at whiles.
They wore their armour but little now, save when they were about some
journey wherein was peril of wild beasts. Ursula had dight her some
due woman's raiment betwixt her knight's surcoat and doe-skins which
they had gotten, so that it was not unseemly of fashion. As for their
horses, they but seldom backed them, but used them to draw stuff to
their rock-house on sledges, which they made of tree-boughs; so that
the beasts grew fat, feeding on the grass of the valley and the
wild-oats withal, which grew at the upper end of the bight of the
valley, toward the northern mountains, where the ground was sandy. No
man they saw, nor any signs of man, nor had they seen any save the
Sage, since those riders of Utterbol had vanished before them into the
night.
So wore autumn into winter, and the frost came, and the snow, with
prodigious winds from out of the mountains: yet was not the weather so
hard but that they might go forth most days, and come to no hurt if
they were wary of the drifts; and forsooth needs must they go abroad to
take venison for their livelihood.
So the winter wore also amidst sweet speech and friendliness betwixt
the two, and they lived still as dear friends, and not as lovers.
Seldom they spoke of the Quest, for it seemed to them now a matter over
great for speech. But now they were grown so familiar each to each
that Ursula took heart to tell Ralph more of the tidings of Utterbol,
for now the shame and grief of her bondage there was but as a story
told of another, so far away seemed that time from this. But so
grievous was her tale that Ralph grew grim thereover, and he said: "By
St. Nicholas! it were a good deed, once we are past the mountains
again, to ride to Utterbol and drag that swine and wittol from his hall
and slay him, and give his folk a good day. But then there is thou, my
friend, and how shall I draw thee into deadly strife?"
"Nay," she said, "whereso thou ridest thither will I, and one fate
shall lie on us both. We will think thereof and ask the Sage of it
when we return. Who knows what shall have befallen then? Remember the
lighting of the candle of Utterbol that we saw from the Rock-sea, and
the boding thereof." So Ralph was appeased for that time.
Oft also they spake of the little lands whence they came, and on a time
amidst of such talk Ursula said: "But alas, friend, why do I speak of
all this, when now save for my brother, who loveth me but after a
fashion, to wit that I must in all wise do his bidding, lad as he is, I
have no longer kith nor kin there, save again as all the folk of one
stead are somewhat akin. I think, my dear, that I have no country, nor
any house to welcome me."
Said Ralph: "All lands, any land that thou mayst come to, shall
welcome thee, and I shall look to it that so it shall be." And in his
heart he thought of the welcome of Upmeads, and of Ursula sitting on
the dais of the hall of the High-House.
So wore the days till Candlemass, when the frost broke and the snows
began to melt, and the waters came down from the mountains, so that the
river rose over its banks and its waters covered the plain parts of the
valley, and those two could go dryshod but a little way out of their
cavern; no further than the green mound or toft which lay at the mouth
thereof: but the waters were thronged with fowl, as mallard and teal
and coots, and of these they took what they would. Whiles also they
waded the shallows of the flood, and whiles poled a raft about it, and
so had pleasure of the waters as before they had had of the snow. But
when at last the very spring was come, and the grass began to grow
after the showers had washed the plain of the waterborne mud, and the
snowdrop had thrust up and blossomed, and the celandine had come, and
then when the blackthorn bloomed and the Lent-lilies hid the grass
betwixt the great chestnut-boles, when the sun shone betwixt the
showers and the west wind blew, and the throstles and blackbirds ceased
not their song betwixt dawn and dusk, then began Ralph to say to
himself, that even if the Well at the World's End were not, and all
that the Sage had told them was but a tale of Swevenham, yet were all
better than well if Ursula were but to him a woman beloved rather than
a friend. And whiles he was pensive and silent, even when she was by
him, and she noted it and forbore somewhat the sweetness of her
glances, and the caressing of her soft speech: though oft when he
looked on her fondly, the blood would rise to her cheeks, and her bosom
would heave with the thought of his desire, which quickened hers so
sorely, that it became a pain and grief to her.
CHAPTER 13
Of Ursula and the Bear
It befell on a fair sunny morning of spring, that Ralph sat alone on
the toft by the rock-house, for Ursula had gone down the meadow to
disport her and to bathe in the river. Ralph was fitting the blade of
a dagger to a long ashen shaft, to make him a strong spear; for with
the waxing spring the bears were often in the meadows again; and the
day before they had come across a family of the beasts in the sandy
bight under the mountains; to wit a carle, and a quean with her cubs;
the beasts had seen them but afar off, and whereas the men were two and
the sun shone back from their weapons, they had forborne them; although
they were fierce and proud in those wastes, and could not away with
creatures that were not of their kind. So because of this Ralph had
bidden Ursula not to fare abroad without her sword, which was sharp and
strong, and she no weakling withal. He bethought him of this just as
he had made an end of his spear-shaping, so therewith he looked aside
and saw the said sword hanging to a bough of a little quicken-tree,
which grew hard by the door. Fear came into his heart therewith, so he
arose and strode down over the meadow hastily bearing his new spear,
and girt with his sword. Now there was a grove of chestnuts betwixt
him and the river, but on the other side of them naught but the green
grass down to the water's edge.
Sure enough as he came under the trees he heard a shrill cry, and knew
that it could be naught save Ursula; so he ran thitherward whence came
the cry, shouting as he ran, and was scarce come out of the trees ere
he saw Ursula indeed, mother-naked, held in chase by a huge bear as big
as a bullock: he shouted again and ran the faster; but even therewith,
whether she heard and saw him, and hoped for timely help, or whether
she felt her legs failing her, she turned on the bear, and Ralph saw
that she had a little axe in her hand wherewith she smote hardily at
the beast; but he, after the fashion of his kind, having risen to his
hind legs, fenced with his great paws like a boxer, and smote the axe
out of her hand, and she cried out bitterly and swerved from him and
fell a running again; but the bear tarried not, and would have caught
her in a few turns; but even therewith was Ralph come up, who thrust
the beast into the side with his long-headed spear, and not waiting to
pull it out again, drew sword in a twinkling, and smote a fore-paw off
him and then drave the sword in over the shoulder so happily that it
reached his heart, and he fell over dead with a mighty thump.
Then Ralph looked around for Ursula; but she had already run back to
the river-side and was casting her raiment on her; so he awaited her
beside the slain bear, but with drawn sword, lest the other bear should
come upon them; for this was the he-bear. Howbeit he saw naught save
presently Ursula all clad and coming towards him speedily; so he turned
toward her, and when they met he cast himself upon her without a word,
and kissed her greedily; and she forbore not at all, but kissed and
caressed him as if she could never be satisfied.
So at last they drew apart a little, and walked quietly toward the
rock-house hand in hand. And on the way she told him that even as she
came up on to the bank from the water she saw the bear coming down on
her as fast as he could drive, and so she but caught up her axe, and
ran for it: "Yet I had little hope, dear friend," she said, "but that
thou shouldst be left alone in the wilderness." And therewith she
turned on him and cast her arms about him again, all weeping for joy of
their two lives.
Thus slowly they came before the door of their rock-house and Ralph
said: "Let us sit down here on the grass, and if thou art not over
wearied with the flight and the battle, I will ask thee a question."
She laid herself down on the grass with a sigh, yet it was as of one
who sighs for pleasure and rest, and said, as he sat down beside her:
"I am fain to rest my limbs and my body, but my heart is at rest; so
ask on, dear friend."
The song of birds was all around them, and the scent of many blossoms
went past on the wings of the west wind, and Ralph was silent a little
as he looked at the loveliness of his friend; then he said: "This is
the question; of what kind are thy kisses this morning, are they the
kisses of a friend or a lover? Wilt thou not called me beloved and not
friend? Shall not we two lie on the bridal bed this same night?"
She looked on him steadily, smiling, but for love and sweetness, not
for shame and folly; then she said: "O, dear friend and dearest lover,
three questions are these and not one; but I will answer all three as
my heart biddeth me. And first, I will tell thee that my kisses are as
thine; and if thine are aught but the kisses of love, then am I
befooled. And next, I say that if thou wilt be my friend indeed, I
will not spare to call thee beloved, or to be all thy friend. But as
to thy third question; tell me, is there not time enough for that?"
She faltered as she spake, but he said: "Look, beloved, and see how
fair the earth is to-day! What place and what season can be goodlier
than this? And were it not well that we who love each other should
have our full joy out of this sweet season, which as now is somewhat
marred by our desire?"
"Ah, beloved!" she said, looking shyly at him, "is it so marred by that
which marreth not us?"
"Hearken!" he said; "how much longer shall this fairness and peace, and
our leisure and safety endure? Here and now the earth rejoiceth about
us, and there is none to say us nay; but to-morrow it may all be
otherwise. Bethink thee, dear, if but an hour ago the monster had
slain thee, and rent thee ere we had lain in each other's arms!"
"Alas!" she said, "and had I lain in thine arms an hundred times, or an
hundred times an hundred, should not the world be barren to me, wert
thou gone from it, and that could never more be? But thou friend, thou
well-beloved, fain were I to do thy will that thou mightest be the
happier...and I withal. And if thou command it, be it so! Yet now
should I tell thee all my thought, and it is on my mind, that for a
many hundreds of years, yea, while our people were yet heathen, when a
man should wed a maid all the folk knew of it, and were witnesses of
the day and the hour thereof: now thou knowest that the time draws
nigh when we may look for those messengers of the Innocent Folk, who
come every spring to this cave to see if there be any whom they may
speed on the way to the Well at the World's End. Therefore if thou
wilt (and not otherwise) I would abide their coming if it be not over
long delayed; so that there may be others to witness our wedding
besides God, and those his creatures who dwell in the wilderness. Yet
shall all be as thou wilt."
"How shall I not do after thy bidding?" said Ralph. "I will abide
their coming: yet would that they were here to-day! And one thing I
will pray of thee, that because of them thou wilt not forbear, or cause
me to forbear, such kissing and caressing as is meet betwixt
troth-plight lovers."
She laughed and said: "Nay, why should I torment thee...or me? We
will not tarry for this." And therewith she took her arm about his
neck and kissed him oft.
Then they said naught awhile, but sat listening happily to the song of
the pairing birds. At last Ralph said: "What was it, beloved, that
thou wert perchance to tell me concerning the thing that caused thine
heart to see that thy betrothed, for whom thou wepst or seemedst to
weep at the ale-house at Bourton Abbas, was of no avail to thee?"
She said: "It was the sight of thee; and I thought also how I might
never be thine. For that I have sorrowed many a time since."
Said Ralph: "I am young and unmighty, yet lo! I heal thy sorrow as if
I were an exceeding mighty man. And now I tell thee that I am minded
to go back with thee to Upmeads straightway; for love will prevail."
"Nay," she said, "that word is but from the teeth outwards; for thou
knowest, as I do, that the perils of the homeward road shall overcome
us, despite of love, if we have not drunk of the Well at the World's
End."
Again they were silent awhile, but anon she arose to her feet and said:
"Now must I needs dight victual for us twain; but first" (and she
smiled on him withal), "how is it that thou hast not asked me if the
beast did me any hurt? Art thou grown careless of me, now the wedding
is so nigh?"
He said: "Nay, but could I not see thee that thou wert not hurt?
There was no mark of blood upon thee, nor any stain at all." Then she
reddened, and said: "Ah, I forgot how keen-eyes thou art." And she
stood silent a little while, as he looked on her and loved her
sweetness. Then he said: "I am exceeding full of joy, but my body is
uneasy; so I will now go and skin that troll who went so nigh to slay
thee, and break up the carcase, if thou wilt promise to abide about the
door of the house, and have thy sword and the spear ready to hand, and
to don thine helm and hauberk to boot."
She laughed and said: "That were but strange attire for a cook-maid,
Ralph, my friend; yet shall I do thy will, my lord and my love."
Then went Ralph into the cave, and brought forth the armour and did it
on her, and kissed her, and so went his ways to the carcase of the
bear, which lay some two furlongs from their dwelling; and when he came
to the quarry he fell to work, and was some time about it, so huge as
the beast was. Then he hung the skin and the carcase on a tree of the
grove, and went down to the river and washed him, and then went lightly
homewards.
CHAPTER 14
Now Come the Messengers of the Innocent Folk
But when he had come forth from the chestnut-grove, and could see the
face of their house-rock clearly, he beheld new tidings; for there were
folk before the door of the dwelling, and Ursula was standing amidst of
them, for he could see the gleam of her armour; and with the men he
could see also certain beasts of burden, and anon that these were oxen.
So he hastened on to find what this might mean, and drew his sword as
he went. But when he came up to the rock, he found there two young men
and an elder, and they had with them five oxen, three for riding, and
two sumpter beasts, laden: and Ursula and these men were talking
together friendly; so that Ralph deemed that the new-comers must be the
messengers of the Innocent Folk. They were goodly men all three,
somewhat brown of skin, but well fashioned, and of smiling cheerful
countenance, well knit, and tall. The elder had a long white beard,
but his eye was bright, and his hand firm and smooth. They were all
clad in white woollen raiment, and bore no armour, but each had an axe
with a green stone blade, curiously tied to the heft, and each of the
young men carried a strong bow and a quiver of arrows.
Ralph greeted the men, and bade them sit down on the toft and eat a
morsel; they took his greeting kindly, and sat down, while Ursula went
into the cave to fetch them matters for their victual, and there was
already venison roasting at the fire on the toft, in the place where
they were wont to cook their meat. So then came Ursula forth from the
cave, and served the new-comers and Ralph of such things as she had,
and they ate and drank together; and none said aught of their errand
till they had done their meat, but they talked together pleasantly
about the spring, and the blossoms of the plain and the mountain, and
the wild things that dwelt thereabout.
But when the meal was over, the new-comers rose to their feet, and
bowed before Ralph and Ursula, and the elder took up the word and said:
"Ye fair people, have ye any errand in the wilderness, or are ye
chance-comers who have strayed thus far, and know not how to return?"
"Father," said Ralph, "we have come a long way on an errand of life or
death; for we seek the WELL at the WORLD'S END. And see ye the token
thereof, the pair of beads which we bear, either of us, and the fashion
whereof ye know."
Then the elder bowed to them again, and said: "It is well; then is
this our errand with you, to be your way-leaders as far as the House of
the Sorceress, where ye shall have other help. Will ye set out on the
journey to-day? In one hour shall we be ready."
"Nay," said Ralph, "we will not depart till tomorrow morn, if it may be
so. Therewith I bid you sit down and rest you, while ye hearken a word
which I have to say to you."
So they sat down again, and Ralph arose and took Ursula by the hand,
and stood with her before the elder, and said: "This maiden, who is my
fellow-farer in the Quest, I desire to wed this same night, and she
also desireth me: therefore I would have you as witnesses hereto. But
first ye shall tell us if our wedding and the knowing each other
carnally shall be to our hurt in the Quest; for if that be so, then
shall we bridle our desires and perform our Quest in their despite."