But the King sat bolt upright in his chair and stared in Ralph's face; and

the warriors and lords and merchants fell back from Ralph and stood in

an ordered rank on either side of him and bent their heads before him.

None spoke till the King said in a hoarse voice, but lowly and

wheedling: "Tell us, fair Sir, what is it that we can do to pleasure

thee?"

"King," said Ralph, "I am not here to take gifts but to give them

rather: yet since thou biddest me I will crave somewhat of thee, that

thou mayst be the more content: and moreover the giving shall cost

thee nothing: I crave of thee to give me life and limb and freedom for

the poor folk whom I saw led down the hall by thy tipstaves, even now.

Give me that or nothing." The King scowled, but he spake: "This is

indeed a little gift of thee to take; yet to none else save thee had I

given it."

Therewith he spake to a man beside him and said: "Go thou, set them

free, and if any hurt hath befallen them thy life shall answer for it.

Is it enough, fair Sir, and have we thy goodwill?" Ralph laughed for

joy of his life and his might, and he answered: "King, this is the

token of my goodwill; fear naught of me." And he turned to his men, and

bade them bright forth the gift of Goldburg and open it before the

King; and they did so. But when the King cast eyes on the wares his

face was gladdened, for he was a greedy wolf, and whoso had been close

to his mouth would have heard him mutter: "So mighty! yet so wealthy!"

But he thanked Ralph aloud and in smooth words. And Ralph made

obeisance to him again, and then turned and went his ways down the

hall, and was glad at heart that he had become so mighty a man, for all

fell back before him and looked on him with worship. Howbeit he had

looked on the King closely and wisely, and deemed that he was both

cruel and guileful, so that he rejoiced that he had spoken naught of

Ursula, and he was minded to keep her within gates all the while they

abode at Cheaping-Knowe.

When he came to the hostel he called his men-at-arms together and asked

them how far they would follow him, and with one voice they said all

that they would go with him whereso he would, so that it were not

beyond reason. So they arrayed them for departure on the morrow, and

were to ride out of gates about mid-morning. So wore the day to

evening; but ere the night was old came a man asking for Ralph, as one

who would have a special alms of him, a poor man by seeming, and evilly

clad. But when Ralph was alone with him, the poor man did him to wit

that for all his seeming wretchedness he was but disguised, and was in

sooth a man of worship, and one of the Porte. Quoth he: "I am of the

King's Council, and I must needs tell thee a thing of the King: that

though he was at the first overawed and cowed by the majesty of thee, a

Friend of the Well, he presently came to himself, which was but ill; so

that what for greed, what for fear even, he is minded to send men to

waylay thee, some three leagues from the town, on your way to the

mountains, but ye shall easily escape his gin now I have had speech of

thee; for ye may take a by-road and fetch a compass of some twelve

miles, and get aback of the waylayers. Yet if ye escape this first

ambush, unless ye are timely in riding early tomorrow it is not unlike

that he shall send swift riders to catch up with you ere ye come to the

mountains. Now I am come to warn thee hereof, partly because I would

not have so fair a life spilt, which should yet do so well for the sons

of Adam, and partly also because I would have a reward of thee for my

warning and my wayleading, for I shall show thee the way and the road."

Said Ralph: "Ask and fear not; for if I may trust thee I already owe

thee a reward." "My name is Michael-a-dale," said the man, "and from

Swevenham I came hither, and fain would I go thither, and little hope I

have thereof save I go privily in some such band as thine, whereas the

tyrant holdeth me on pain, as well I know, of an evil death."

"I grant thine asking, friend," said Ralph; "and now thou wert best go

to thine house and truss what stuff thou mayst have with thee and come

back hither in the grey of the morning."

The man shook his head and said: "Nay; here must I bide night-long,

and go out of gates amongst thy men-at-arms, and clad like one of them

with iron enough about me to hide the fashion of me; it were nowise

safe for me to go back into the town; for this tyrant wages many a spy:

yea, forsooth, I fear me by certain tokens that it is not all so

certain that I have not been spied upon already, and that it is known

that I have come to thee. And I will tell thee that by hook or by

crook the King already knoweth somewhat of thee and of the woman who is

in thy company."

Ralph flushed red at that word, and felt his heart bound: but even

therewith came into them the Sage; and straightway Ralph took him apart

and told him on what errand the man was come, and ask him if he deemed

him trusty. Then the Sage went up to Michael and looked him hard in

the face awhile, and then said: "Yea, honest he is unless the kindred

of Michael of the Hatch of Swevenham have turned thieves in the third

generation."

"Yea," said Michael, "and dost thou know the Hatch?"

"As I know mine own fingers," said the Sage; "and even so I knew it

years and years before thou wert born." Therewith he told the

new-comer what he was, and the two men of Swevenham made joy of each

other. And Ralph was fain of them, and went into the chamber wherein

sat Ursula, and told her how all things were going, and she said that

she would be naught but glad to leave that town, which seemed to her

like to Utterbol over again.

CHAPTER 10

An Adventure on the Way to the Mountains

On the morrow Ralph got his men together betimes and rode out a-gates,

and was little afraid that any should meddle with him within the town

or anigh it, and even so it turned out. But Michael rode in the

company new clad, and with his head and face all hidden in a wide

sallet. As for Ralph and Ursula, they were exceeding glad, and now

that their heads were turned to the last great mountains, it seemed to

them that they were verily going home, and they longed for the night,

that they might be alone together, and talk of all these matters in

each others' arms.

When they were out a-gates, they rode for two miles along the highway,

heedlessly enough by seeming, and then, as Michael bade, turned

suddenly into a deep and narrow lane, and forth on, as it led betwixt

hazelled banks and coppices of small wood, skirting the side of the

hills, so that it was late in the afternoon before they came into the

Highway again, which was the only road leading into the passes of the

mountains. Then said Michael that now by all likelihood they had

beguiled the waylayers for that time; so they went on merrily till half

the night was worn, when they shifted for lodging in a little oak-wood

by the wayside. There they lay not long, but were afoot betimes in the

morning, and rode swiftly daylong, and lay down at night on the wayside

with the less dread because they were come so far without hurt.

But on the third day, somewhat after noon, when they were come up above

the tilled upland and the land was rough and the ways steep, there lay

before them a dark wood swallowing up the road. Thereabout Ralph

deemed that he saw weapons glittering ahead, but was not sure, for as

clear-sighted as he was. So he stayed his band, and had Ursula into

the rearward, and bade all men look to their weapons, and then they

went forward heedfully and in good order, and presently not only Ralph,

but all of them could see men standing in the jaws of the pass with the

wood on either side of them, and though at first they doubted if these

were aught but mere strong-thieves, such as any wayfarers might come

on, they had gone but a little further when Michael knew them for the

riders of Cheaping Knowe. "Yea," said the Sage of Swevenham, "it is

clear how it has been: when they found that we came not that first

morning, they had an inkling of what had befallen, and went forward

toward the mountains, and not back to Cheaping Knowe, and thus outwent

us while we were fetching that compass to give them the go-by:

wherefore I deem that some great man is with them, else had they gone

back to town for new orders."

"Well," said Ralph, "then will they be too many for us; so now will I

ride ahead and see if we may have peace." Said the Sage, "Yea, but be

wary, for thou hast to do with the guileful."

Then Ralph rode on alone till he was come within hail of those

waylayers. Then he thrust his sword into the sheath, and cried out:

"Will any of the warriors in the wood speak with me; for I am the

captain of the wayfarers?"

Then rode out from those men a very tall man, and two with him, one on

either side, and he threw back the sallet from his face, and said:

"Wayfarer, all we have weapons in our hands, and we so many that thou

and thine will be in regard of us as the pips to the apple. Wherefore,

yield ye!" Quoth Ralph: "Unto whom then shall I yield me?" Said the

other: "To the men of the King of Cheaping Knowe." Then spake Ralph:

"What will ye do with us when we are yolden? Shall we not pay ransom

and go our ways?" "Yea," said the tall man, "and this is the ransom:

that ye give up into my hands my dastard who hath bewrayed me, and the

woman who wendeth in your company."

Ralph laughed; for by this time he knew the voice of the King, yea, and

the face of him under his sallet. So he cried back in answer, and in

such wise as if the words came rather from his luck than from his

youth: "Ho, Sir King! beware beware! lest thou tremble when thou

seest the bare blade of the Friend of the Well more than thou

trembledst erst, when the blade was hidden in the sheath before the

throne of thine hall."

But the King cried out in a loud harsh voice. "Thou, young man, beware

thou! and try not thy luck overmuch. We are as many as these trees,

and thou canst not prevail over us. Go thy ways free, and leave me

what thou canst not help leaving."

"Yea, fool," cried Ralph, "and what wilt thou do with these two?"

Said the King: "The traitor I will flay, and the woman I will bed."

Scarce were the words out of his mouth ere Ralph gave forth a great cry

and drew his sword, set spurs to his horse, and gallopped on up the

road with all his band at his back for they had drawn anigh amidst this

talk. But or ever they came on the foemen, they heard a great confused

cry of onset mingled with affright, and lo! the King threw up his arms,

and fell forward on his horse's neck with a great arrow through his

throat.

Ralph drave on sword in hand, crying out, "Home, home to Upmeads!" and

anon was amidst of the foe smiting on either hand. His men followed,

shouting: "Ho, for the Friend of the Well!" And amongst the foemen,

who were indeed very many, was huge dismay, so that they made but a

sorry defence before the band of the wayfarers, who knew not what to

make of it, till they noted that arrows and casting-spears were coming

out of the wood on either side, which smote none of them, but many of

the foemen. Short was the tale, for in a few minutes there were no men

of the foe together save those that were fleeing down the road to

Cheaping Knowe.

Ralph would not suffer his men to follow the chase, for he wotted not

with whom he might have to deal besides the King's men. He drew his

men together and looked round for Ursula, and saw that the Sage had

brought her up anigh him, and there she sat a-horseback, pale and

panting with the fear of death and joy of deliverance.

Now Ralph cried out from his saddle in a loud voice, and said: "Ho ye

of the arrows of the wood! ye have saved me from my foemen; where be

ye, and what be ye?" Came a loud voice from out of the wood on the

right hand: "Children, tell the warrior whose sons ye be!" Straightway

brake out a huge bellowing on either side of the road, as though the

wood were all full of great neat.

Then cried out Ralph: "If ye be of the kindred of the Bull, ye will

belike be my friends rather than my foes. Or have ye heard tell of

Ralph of Upmeads? Now let your captain come forth and speak with me."

Scarce were the words out of his mouth ere a man came leaping forth

from out the wood, and stood before Ralph in the twilight of the

boughs, and Ralph noted of him that he was clad pretty much like to

Bull Shockhead of past time, save that he had a great bull's head for a

helm (which afterwards Ralph found out was of iron and leather) and a

great gold ring on his arm.

Then Ralph thrust his sword back into the sheath, and his folk handled

their weapons peaceably, while Ralph hailed the new-comer as Lord or

Duke of the Bulls.

"Belike," quoth the said chieftain, "thou wouldst wish to show me some

token, whereby we may wot that thou art that Friend of the Well and of

our kinsman concerning whom he sent us a message."

Then Ralph bethought him of the pouch with the knot of grass therein

which Bull Shockhead had given him at Goldburg; so he drew it out, and

gave it into the hand of the chieftain, who no sooner caught a glimpse

thereof than he said: "Verily our brother's hand hath met thine when he

gave thee this. Yet forsooth, now that I look on thee, I may say that

scarce did I need token to tell me that thou wert the very man. For I

can see thee, that thou art of great honour and worship, and thou didst

ride boldly against the foemen when thou knewest not that we had

waylaid thy waylayers. Now I wot that there is no need to ask thee

whether thou wouldst get thee out of our mountains by the shortest

road, yet wilt thou make it little longer, and somewhat safer, if ye

will suffer us to lead thee by way of our dwelling." So Ralph yeasaid

his bidding without more words.

As they spake thus together the road both above and below was become

black with weaponed men, and some of Ralph's band looked on one

another, as though they doubted their new friends somewhat. But the

Sage of Swevenham spoke to them and bade them fear nought. "For," said

he, "so far as we go, who are now their friends, there is no guile in

these men." The Bull captain heard him and said: "Thou sayest sooth,

old man; and I shall tell thee that scarce had a band like thine come

safe through the mountains, save by great good luck, without the leave

of us; for the fool with the crown that lieth there dead had of late

days so stirred up the Folks of the Fells through his grimness and

cruelty that we have been minded to stop everything bigger than a

cur-dog that might seek to pass by us, for at least so long as yonder

rascal should live. But ye be welcome; so now let us to the road, for

the day weareth."

So the tribesmen gat them into order, and their Duke went on the left

side of Ralph, while Ursula rode on his right hand. The Duke and all

his men were afoot, but they went easily and swiftly, as wolves trot.

As for the slain of the waylayers, of whom there were some threescore,

the Bull captain would do nought but let them lie on the road. "For,"

said he, "there be wolves and lynxes enough in the wood, and the ravens

of the uplands, and the kites shall soon scent the carrion. They shall

have burial soon enough. Neither will we meddle with it; nay, not so

much as to hang the felon King's head at thy saddle-bow, lord."

By sunset they were out of the wood and on the side of a rough fell, so

they went no further, but lighted fires at the edge of the thicket, and

made merry round about them, singing their songs concerning the deeds

of their folk, and jesting withal, but not foully; and they roasted

venison of hart and hind at the fires, and they had with them wine, the

more part whereof they had found in the slain King's carriages, and

they made great feast to the wayfarers, and were exceeding fain of

them; after their fashion, whereas if a man were their friend he could

scarce be enough their friend, and if he were their foe, they could

never be fierce enough with him.

CHAPTER 11

They Come Through the Mountains Into the Plain

On the morrow early they all fared on together, and thereafter they

went for two days more till they came into a valley amidst of the

mountains which was fair and lovely, and therein was the dwelling or

town of this Folk of the Fells. It was indeed no stronghold, save that

it was not easy to find, and that the way thither was well defensible

were foemen to try it. The houses thereof were artless, the chiefest

of them like to the great barn of an abbey in our land, the others low

and small; but the people, both men and women, haunted mostly the big

house. As for the folk, they were for the more part like those whom

they had met afore: strong men, but not high of stature, black-haired,

with blue or grey eyes, cheerful of countenance, and of many words.

Their women were mostly somewhat more than comely, smiling, kind of

speech, but not suffering the caresses of aliens. They saw no thralls

amongst them; and when Ralph asked hereof, how that might be, since

they were men-catchers, they told him that when they took men and

women, as oft they did, they always sold them for what they would bring

to the plain-dwellers; or else slew them, or held them to ransom, but

never brought them home to their stead. Howbeit, when they took

children, as whiles befell, they sometimes brought them home, and made

them very children of their Folk with many uncouth prayers and worship

of their Gods, who were indeed, as they deemed, but forefathers of the

Folk.

Now Ralph, he and his, being known for friends, these wild men could

not make enough of them, and as it were, compelled them to abide there

three days, feasting them, and making them all the cheer they might.

And they showed the wayfarers their manner of hunting, both of the hart

and the boar, and of wild bulls also. At first Ralph somewhat loathed

all this (though he kept a pleasant countenance toward his host), for

sorely he desired the fields of Upmeads and his father's house. But at

last when the hunt was up in the mountains, and especially of the wild

bulls, the heart and the might in him so arose that he enforced himself

to do well, and the wild men wondered at his prowess, whereas he was

untried in this manner of sports, and they deemed him one of the Gods,

and said that their kinsman had done well to get him so good a friend.

Both Ursula and the Sage withheld them from this hunting, and Ursula

abode with the women, who told her much of their ways of life, and

stories of old time; frank and free they were, and loved her much, and

she was fain of such manly-minded women after the sleight and lies of

the poor thralls of Utterbol.

On the fourth day the wayfarers made them ready and departed; and the

chief of the Folk went with them with a chosen band of weaponed men,

partly for the love of his guests, and partly that he might see the

Goldburg men-at-arms safe back to the road unto the plain and the

Midhouse of the Mountains, for they went now by other ways, which

missed the said House. On this journey naught befell to tell of, and

they all came down safe into the plain.

There the Goldburg men took their wage, and bidding farewell, turned

back with the wild men, praising Ralph much for his frankness and open

hand. As for the wild men, they exceeded in their sorrow for the

parting, and many of them wept and howled as though they had seen him

die before their faces. But all that came to an end, and presently

their cheer was amended, and their merry speech and laughter came down

from the pass unto the wayfarers' ears as each band rode its way.

CHAPTER 12

The Roads Sunder Again

Ralph and Ursula, with the Sage and Michael-a-dale went their ways, and

all was smooth with them, and they saw but few folk, and those mild and

lowly. At last, of an afternoon, they saw before them afar off the

towers and pinnacles of Whitwall, and Ralph's heart rose within him, so

that he scarce knew how to contain himself; but Ursula was shy and

silent, and her colour came and went, as though some fear had hold of

her. Now they two were riding on somewhat ahead of the others, so

Ralph turned to Ursula, and asked what ailed her. She smiled on him

and said: "A simple sickness. I am drawing nigh to thy home, and I am

ashamed. Beyond the mountains, who knew what and whence I was? I was

fair, and for a woman not unvaliant, and that was enough. But now when

I am coming amongst the baronages and the lineages, what shall I do to

hold up my head before the fools and the dastards of these high

kindreds? And that all the more, my knight, because thou art changed

since yester-year, and since we met on the want-way of the Wood

Perilous, when I bade thee remember that thou wert a King's son and I a

yeoman's daughter; for then thou wert but a lad, high-born and

beautiful, but simple maybe, and untried; whereas now thou art meet to

sit in the Kaiser's throne and rule the world from the Holy City."

He laughed gaily and said: "What! is it all so soon forgotten, our

deeds beyond the Mountains? Belike because we had no minstrel to rhyme

it for us. Or is it all but a dream? and has the last pass of the

mountains changed all that for us? What then! hast thou never become

my beloved, nor lain in one bed with me? Thou whom I looked to deliver

from the shame and the torment of Utterbol, never didst thou free

thyself without my helping, and meet me in the dark wood, and lead me

to the Sage who rideth yonder behind us! No, nor didst thou ride

fearless with me, leaving the world behind; nor didst thou comfort me

when my heart went nigh to breaking in the wilderness! Nor thee did I

deliver as I saw thee running naked from the jaws of death. Nor were

we wedded in the wilderness far from our own folk. Nor didst thou

deliver me from the venom of the Dry Tree. Yea verily, nor did we

drink together of the Water of the Well! It is all but tales of

Swevenham, a blue vapour hanging on the mountains yonder! So be it

then! And here we ride together, deedless, a man and a maid of whom no

tale may be told. What next then, and who shall sunder us?"

Therewith he drew his sword from the sheath, and tossed it into the

air, and caught it by the hilts as it came down, and he cried out:

"Hearken, Ursula! By my sword I swear it, that when I come home to the

little land, if my father and my mother and all my kindred fall not

down before thee and worship thee, then will I be a man without

kindred, and I will turn my back on the land I love, and the House

wherein I was born, and will win for thee and me a new kindred that all

the world shall tell of. So help me Saint Nicholas, and all Hallows,

and the Mother of God!"

She looked on him with exceeding love, and said: "Ah, beloved, how

fair thou art! Is it not as I said, yea, and more, that now lieth the

world at thy feet, if thou wilt stoop to pick it up? Believe me,

sweet, all folk shall see this as I see it, and shall judge betwixt

thee and me, and deem me naught."

"Beloved," he said, "thou dost not wholly know thyself; and I deem that

the mirrors of steel serve thee but ill; and now must thou have

somewhat else for a mirror, to wit, the uprising and increase of

trouble concerning thee and thy fairness, and the strife of them that

love thee overmuch, who shall strive to take thee from me; and then the

blade that hath seen the Well at the World's End shall come out of his

sheath and take me and thee from the hubbub, and into the quiet fields

of my father's home, and then shalt thou be learned of thyself, when

thou seest that thou art the desire of all hearts."

"Ah, the wisdom of thee," she said, "and thy valiancy, and I am become

feeble and foolish before thee! What shall I do then?"

He said: "Many a time shall it be shown what thou shalt do; but here

and now is the highway dry and long, and the plain meads and acres on

either hand, and a glimmer of Whitwall afar off, and the little cloud

of dust about us two in the late spring weather; and the Sage and

Michael riding behind us, and smiting dust from the hard road. And now

if this also be a dream, let it speedily begone, and let us wake up in

the ancient House at Upmeads, which thou hast never seen--and thou and

I in each other's arms."

CHAPTER 13

They Come to Whitwall Again

Herewith they were come to a little thorp where the way sundered, for

the highway went on to Whitwall, and a byway turned off to Swevenham.

Thereby was a poor hostel, where they stayed and rested for the night,

because evening was at hand. So when those four had eaten and drunk

there together, Ralph spoke and said: "Michael-a-dale, thou art for

Swevenham to-morrow?" "Yea, lord," said Michael, "belike I shall yet

find kindred there; and I call to thy mind that I craved of thee to

lead me to Swevenham as payment for all if I had done aught for thy

service."

"Sooth is that," said Ralph, "thou shalt go with my good-will; and, as

I deem, thou shalt not lack company betwixt here and Swevenham, whereas

our dear friend here, the friend of thy father's father, is going the

same road."

Then the Sage of Swevenham leaned across the board, and said: "What

word hath come out of thy mouth, my son?" Said Ralph, smiling on him:

"It is the last word which we have heard from thee of this matter,

though verily it was spoken a while ago. What wilt thou add to it as

now?" "This," quoth the Sage, "that I will leave thee no more till

thou biddest me go from thee. Was this word needful?"

Ralph reached his hand to him and said: "It is well and more; but the

road hence to Upmeads may yet be a rough one." "Yea," said the Sage,

"yet shall we come thither all living, unless my sight now faileth."

Then Ursula rose up and came to the old man, and cast her arms about

him and said: "Yea, father, come with us, and let thy wisdom bless our

roof-tree. Wilt thou not teach our children wisdom; yea, maybe our

children's children, since thou art a friend of the Well?"

"I know not of the teaching of wisdom," said the Sage; "but as to my

going with thee, it shall be as I said e'en-now; and forsooth I looked

for this bidding of thee to make naught of the word which I spoke ere

yet I had learned wisdom of thee."

Therewith were they merry, and fain of each other, and the evening wore

amidst great content.

But when morning was come they gat to horse, and Ralph spake to Michael

and said: "Well, friend, now must thou ride alone to thy kindred, and

may fair days befall thee in Swevenham. But if thou deem at any time

that matters go not so well with thee as thou wouldst, then turn thine

head to Upmeads, and try it there, and we shall further thee all we

may."

Then came the Sage to Michael as he sat upon his horse, a stalwarth man

of some forty winters, and said: "Michael-a-dale, reach me thine

hand." So did he, and the Sage looked into the palm thereof, and said:

"This man shall make old bones, and it is more like than not, King's

son, that he shall seek to thee at Upmeads ere he die." Said Ralph:

"His coming shall be a joy to us, how pleasant soever our life may be

otherwise. Farewell, Michael! all good go with thee for thine

wholesome redes."

So then Michael gave them farewell, and rode his ways to Swevenham,

going hastily, as one who should hurry away from a grief.

But the three held on their way to Whitwall, and it was barely noon

when they came to the gate thereof on a Saturday of latter May, It was

a market-day, and the streets were thronged, and they looked on the

folk and were fain of them, since they seemed to them to be something

more than aliens. The folk also looked on them curiously, and deemed

them goodly, both the old man and the two knights, for they thought no

otherwise of Ursula than that she was a carle.

But now as they rode, slowly because of the crowd, up Petergate, they

heard a cry of one beside them, as of a man astonished but joyful; so

Ralph drew rein, and turned thither whence the cry came, and Ursula saw

a man wide-shouldered, grey-haired, blue-eyed, and ruddy of

countenance--a man warrior-like to look on, and girt with a long sword.

Ralph lighted down from his horse, and met the man, who was coming

toward him, cast his arms about his neck, and kissed him, and lo, it

was Richard the Red. The people round about, when they saw it, clapped

their hands, and crowded about the two crying out: "Hail to the

friends long parted, and now united!" But Richard, whom most knew,

cried out: "Make way, my masters! will ye sunder us again?" Then he

said to Ralph: "Get into thy saddle, lad; for surely thou hast a tale

to tell overlong for the open street."

Ralph did as he was bidden, and without more ado they went on all

toward that hostelry where Ralph had erst borne the burden of grief.

Richard walked by Ralph's side, and as he went he said: "Moreover, lad,

I can see that thy tale is no ill one; therefore my heart is not wrung

for thee or me, though I wait for it a while." Then again he said:

"Thou doest well to hide her loveliness in war-weed even in this town

of peace."

Ursula reddened, and Richard laughed and said: "Well, it is a fair rose

which thou hast brought from east-away. There will be never another

couple in these parts like you. Now I see the words on thy lips; so I

tell thee that Blaise thy brother is alive and well and happy; which

last word means that his coffer is both deep and full. Forsooth, he

would make a poor bargain in buying any kingship that I wot of, so rich

he is, yea, and mighty withal."

Said Ralph: "And how went the war with Walter the Black?"

Even as he spake his face changed, for he bethought him over closely of

the past days, and his dream of the Lady of Abundance and of Dorothea,

who rode by him now as Ursula. But Richard spake: "Short is the tale

to tell. I slew him in shock of battle, and his men craved peace of

the good town. Many were glad of his death, and few sorrowed for it;

for, fair as his young body was, he was a cruel tyrant."

Therewith were they come to the hostel of the Lamb which was the very

same house wherein Ralph had abided aforetime; and as he entered it, it

is not to be said but that inwardly his heart bled for the old sorrow.

Ursula looked on him lovingly and blithely; and when they were within

doors Richard turned to the Sage and said: "Hail to thee, reverend

man! wert thou forty years older to behold, outworn and forgotten of

death, I should have said that thou wert like to the Sage that dwelt

alone amidst the mountains nigh to Swevenham when I was a little lad,

and fearsome was the sight of thee unto me."

The Sage laughed and said: "Yea, somewhat like am I yet to myself of

forty years ago. Good is thy memory, greybeard."

Then Richard shook his head, and spake under his breath: "Yea, then it

was no dream or coloured cloud, and he hath drank of the waters, and so

then hath my dear lord." Then he looked up bright-faced, and called on

the serving-men, and bade one lead them into a fair chamber, and

another go forth and provide a banquet to be brought in thither. So

they went up into a goodly chamber high aloft; and Ursula went forth

from it awhile, and came back presently clad in very fair woman's

raiment, which Ralph had bought for her at Goldburg. Richard looked on

her and nothing else for a while; then he walked about the chamber

uneasily, now speaking with the Sage, now with Ursula, but never with

Ralph. At last he spake to Ursula, and said: "Grant me a grace, lady,

and be not wroth if I take thy man into the window yonder that I may

talk with him privily while ye hold converse together, thou and the

Sage of Swevenham."

She laughed merrily and said: "Sir nurse, take thy bantling and cosset

him in whatso corner thou wilt, and I will turn away mine eyes from thy

caresses."

So Richard took Ralph into a window, and sat down beside him and said:

"Mayhappen I shall sadden thee by my question, but I mind me what our

last talking together was about, and therefore I must needs ask thee

this, was that other one fairer than this one is?"

Ralph knit his brows: "I wot not," quoth he, "since she is gone, that

other one."

"Yea," said Richard, "but this I say, that she is without a blemish.

Did ye drink of the Well together?"

"Yea, surely," said Ralph. Said Richard: "And is this woman of a good

heart? Is she valiant?" "Yea, yea," said Ralph, flushing red.

"As valiant as was that other?" said Richard. Said Ralph: "How may I

tell, unless they were tried in one way?" Yet Richard spake: "Are ye

wedded?" "Even so," said Ralph.

"Dost thou deem her true?" said Richard. "Truer than myself," said

Ralph, in a voice which was somewhat angry.

Quoth Richard: "Then is it better than well, and better than well; for

now hast thou wedded into the World of living men, and not to a dream

of the Land of Fairy."

Ralph sat silent a little, and as if he were swallowing somewhat; at

last he said: "Old friend, I were well content if thou wert to speak

such words no more; for it irks me, and woundeth my heart."

Said Richard: "Well, I will say no more thereof; be content therefore,

for now I have said it, and thou needest not fear me, what I have to

say thereon any more, and thou mayst well wot that I must needs have

said somewhat of this."

Ralph nodded to him friendly, and even therewith came in the banquet,

which was richly served, as for a King's son, and wine was poured forth

of the best, and they feasted and were merry. And then Ralph told all

the tale of his wanderings how it had betid, bringing in all that

Ursula had told him of Utterbol; while as for her she put in no word of

it. So that at last Ralph, being wishful to hear her tell somewhat,

made more of some things than was really in them, so that she might set

him right; but no word more she said for all that, but only smiled on

him now and again, and sat blushing like a rose over her

golden-flowered gown, while Richard looked on her and praised her in

his heart exceedingly.

But when Ralph had done the story (which was long, so that by then it

was over it had been dark night some while), Richard said: "Well,

fosterling, thou hast seen much, and done much, and many would say that

thou art a lucky man, and that more and much more lieth ready to thine

hand. Whither now wilt thou wend, or what wilt thou do?"

Ralph's face reddened, as its wont had been when it was two years

younger, at contention drawing nigh, and he answered: "Where then

should I go save to the House of my Fathers, and the fields that fed

them? What should I do but live amongst my people, warding them from

evil, and loving them and giving them good counsel? For wherefore

should I love them less than heretofore? Have they become dastards,

and the fools of mankind?"

Quoth Richard: "They are no more fools than they were belike, nor less

valiant. But thou art grown wiser and mightier by far; so that thou

art another manner man than thou wert, and the Master of Masters maybe.

To Upmeads wilt thou go; but wilt thou abide there? Upmeads is a fair

land, but a narrow; one day is like another there, save when sorrow and

harm is blent with it. The world is wide, and now I deem that thou

holdest the glory thereof in the hollow of thine hand."

Then spake the Sage, and said: "Yea, Richard of Swevenham, and how

knowest thou but that this sorrow and trouble have not now fallen upon

Upmeads? And if that be so, upon whom should they call to their

helping rather than him who can help them most, and is their very

lord?" Said Richard: "It may be so, wise man, though as yet we have

heard no tidings thereof. But if my lord goeth to their help, yet,

when the trouble shall be over, will he not betake him thither where

fresh deeds await him?"

"Nay, Richard," said the Sage, "art thou so little a friend of thy

fosterling as not to know that when he hath brought back peace to the

land, it will be so that both he shall need the people, and they him,

so that if he go away for awhile, yet shall he soon come back? Yea,

and so shall the little land, it may be, grow great."

Now had Ralph sat quiet while this talk was going on, and as if he

heeded not, and his eyes were set as if he were beholding something far

away. Then Richard spoke again after there had been silence awhile:

"Wise man, thou sayest sooth; yea, and so it is, that though we here

have heard no tale concerning war in Upmeads, yet, as it were, we have

been feeling some stirring of the air about us; even as though matters

were changing, great might undone, and weakness grown to strength. Who

can say but our lord may find deeds to hand or ever he come to Upmeads?"

Ralph turned his head as one awaking from a dream, and he said: "When

shall to-morrow be, that we may get us gone from Whitwall, we three,

and turn our faces toward Upmeads?"

Said Richard: "Wilt thou not tarry a day or two, and talk with thine

own mother's son and tell him of thine haps?" "Yea," said Ralph, "and

so would I, were it not that my father's trouble and my mother's grief

draw me away."

"O tarry not," said Ursula; "nay, not for the passing of the night; but

make this hour the sunrise, and begone by the clear of the moon. For

lo! how he shineth through the window!"

Then she turned to Richard, and said: "O fosterer of my love, knowest

thou not that as now he speaketh as a Friend of the Well, and wotteth

more of far-off tidings than even this wise man of many years?"

Said Ralph: "She sayeth sooth, O Richard. Or how were it if the torch

were even now drawing nigh to the High House of Upmeads: yea, or if

the very House were shining as a dreary candle of the meadows, and

reddening the waters of the ford! What do we here?"

Therewith he thrust the board from him, and arose and went to his

harness, and fell to arming him, and he spake to Richard: "Now shall

thine authority open to us the gates of the good town, though the night

be growing old; we shall go our ways, dear friend, and mayhappen we

shall meet again, and mayhappen not: and thou shalt tell my brother

Blaise who wotteth not of my coming hither, how things have gone with

me, and how need hath drawn me hence. And bid him come see me at

Upmeads, and to ride with a good band of proper men, for eschewing the

dangers of the road."

Then spake Richard: "I shall tell Lord Blaise neither more nor less

than thou mayst tell him thyself: for think it not that thou shalt go

without me. As for Blaise, he may well spare me; for he is become a

chief and Lord of the Porte; and the Porte hath now right good

men-at-arms, and captains withal younger and defter than I be. But now

suffer me to send a swain for my horse and arms, and another to the

captain of the watch at West-gate Bar that he be ready to open to me

and three of my friends, and to send me a let-pass for the occasion.

So shall we go forth ere it be known that the brother of the Lord of

the Porte is abiding at the Lamb. For verily I see that the Lady hath

spoken truth; and it is like that she is forseeing, even as thou hast

grown to be. And now I bethink me I might lightly get me a score of

men to ride with us, whereas we may meet men worse than ourselves on

the way."

Said Ralph: "All good go with thy words, Richard; yet gather not

force: there may stout men be culled on the road; and if thou runnest

or ridest about the town, we may yet be stayed by Blaise and his men.

Wherefore now send for thine horse and arms, and bid the host here open

his gates with little noise when we be ready; and we will presently

ride out by the clear of the moon. But thou, beloved, shalt don thine

armour no more, but shalt ride henceforth in thy woman's raiment, for

the wild and the waste is well nigh over, and the way is but short

after all these months of wandering; and I say that now shall all

friends drift toward us, and they that shall rejoice to strike a stroke

for my father's son, and the peaceful years of the Friend of the Well."

To those others, and chiefly to Ursula, it seemed that now he spoke

strongly and joyously, like to a king and a captain of men. Richard

did his bidding, and was swift in dealing with the messengers. But the

Sage said: "Ralph, my son, since ye have lost one man-at-arms, and

have gotten but this golden angel in his stead, I may better that. I

prithee bid thy man Richard find me armour and weapons that I may amend

the shard in thy company. Thou shalt find me no feeble man when we

come to push of staves."

Ralph laughed, and bade Richard see to it; so he dealt with the host,

and bought good war-gear of him, and a trenchant sword, and an axe

withal; and when the Sage was armed he looked as doughty a warrior as

need be. By this time was Richard's horse and war-gear come, and he

armed him speedily and gave money to the host, and they rode therewith

all four out of the hostel, and found the street empty and still, for

the night was wearing. So rode they without tarrying into Westgate and

came to the Bar, and speedily was the gate opened to them; and anon

were they on the moonlit road outside of Whitwall.

CHAPTER 14

They Ride Away From Whitwall

But when they were well on the way, and riding a good pace by the clear

of the moon, Richard spake to Ralph, and said: "Wither ride we now?"

said Ralph: "Wither, save to Upmeads?" "Yea, yea," said Richard, "but

by what road? shall we ride down to the ford of the Swelling Flood, and

ride the beaten way, or take to the downland and the forest, and so

again by the forest and downland and the forest once more, till we come

to the Burg of the Four Friths?"

"Which way is the shorter?" said Ralph. "Forsooth," said Richard, "by

the wildwood ye may ride shorter, if ye know it as I do." Quoth the

Sage: "Yea, or as I do. Hear a wonder! that two men of Swevenham know

the wilds more than twenty miles from their own thorp."

Said Ralph: "Well, wend we the shorter road; why make more words over

it? Or what lion lieth on the path? Is it that we may find it hard to

give the go-by to the Burg of the Four Friths?"

Said Richard: "Though the Burg be not very far from Whitwall, we hear

but little tidings thence; our chapmen but seldom go there, and none

cometh to us thence save such of our men as have strayed thither. Yet,

as I said e'en now in the hostel, there is an air of tidings abroad,

and one rumour sayeth, and none denieth it, that the old fierceness and

stout headstrong mood of the Burg is broken down, and that men dwell

there in peace and quiet."

Said the Sage: "In any case we have amongst us lore enough to hoodwink

them if they be foes; so that we shall pass easily. Naught of this

need we fear."

But Richard put his mouth close to Ralph's ear, and spake to him

softly: "Shall we indeed go by that shorter road, whatever in days gone

by may have befallen in places thereon, to which we must go a-nigh

tomorrow?" Ralph answered softly in turn: "Yea, forsooth: for I were

fain to try my heart, how strong it may be."

So they rode on, and turned off from the road that led down to the ford

of the Swelling Flood, anigh which Ralph had fallen in with Blaise and

Richard on the day after the woeful slaying, which had made an end of

his joy for that time. But when they were amidst of the bushes and

riding a deep ghyll of the waste, Richard said: "It is well that we

are here: for now if Blaise send riders to bring us back courteously,

they shall not follow us at once, but shall ride straight down to the

ford, and even cross it in search of us." "Yea," said Ralph, "it is

well in all wise."

So then they rode thence awhile till the moon grew low, and great, and

red, and sank down away from them; and by then were they come to a

shepherd's cot, empty of men, with naught therein save an old dog, and

some victual, as bread and white cheese, and a well for drinking. So

there they abode and rested that night.

CHAPTER 15

A Strange Meeting in the Wilderness

On the morrow betimes they got to the road again; the country at first,

though it was scanty of tillage, was not unfurnished of sheep, being

for the most part of swelling hills and downs well grassed, with here

and there a deep cleft in them. They saw but few houses, and those

small and poor. A few shepherds they fell in with, who were short of

speech, after the manner of such men, but deemed a greeting not wholly

thrown away on such goodly folk as those wayfarers.

So they rode till it was noon, and Richard talked more than his wont

was, though his daily use it was to be of many words: nor did the Sage

spare speech; but Ursula spoke little, nor heeded much what the others

said, and Ralph deemed that she was paler than of wont, and her brows

were knitted as if she were somewhat anxious. As for him, he was grave

and calm, but of few words; and whiles when Richard was wordiest he

looked on him steadily for a moment whereat Richard changed

countenance, and for a while stinted his speech, but not for long;

while Ralph looked about him, inwardly striving to gather together the

ends of unhappy thoughts that floated about him, and to note the land

he was passing through, if indeed he had verily seen it aforetime,

elsewhere than in some evil dream.

At last when they stopped to bait by some scrubby bushes at the foot of

a wide hill-side, he took Richard apart, and said to him: "Old friend,

and whither go we?" Said Richard: "As thou wottest, to the Burg of the

Four Friths." "Yea," said Ralph, "but by what road?" Said Richard:

"Youngling is not thine heart, then, as strong as thou deemedst last

night?" Ralph was silent a while, and then he said: "I know what thou

wouldst say; we are going by the shortest road to the Castle of

Abundance."

He spake this out loud, but Richard nodded his head to him, as if he

would say: "Yea, so it is; but hold thy peace." But Ralph knew that

Ursula had come up behind him, and, still looking at Richard, he put

his open hand aback toward her, and her hand fell into it. Then he

turned about to her, and saw that her face was verily pale; so he put

his hands on her shoulders and kissed her kindly; and she let her head

fall on to his bosom and fell a-weeping, and the two elders turned away

to the horses, and feigned to be busy with them.

Thus then they bided some minutes of time, and then all gat to horse

again, and Ursula's face was cleared of the grief of fear, and the

colour had come back to her cheeks and lips. But Ralph's face was

stern and sorrowful to behold; howbeit, as they rode away he spake in a

loud and seeming cheerful voice: "Still ever shorteneth more and more

the way unto my Fathers' House: and withal I am wishful to see if it be

indeed true that the men of the Burg have become mild and peaceful; and

to know what hath befallen those doughty champions of the Dry Tree; and

if perchance they have any will to hold us a tilting in courteous

fashion."

Richard smiled on him, and said: "Thou holdest more then by the Dry

Tree than by the Burg; though while agone we deemed the Champions worse

men to meet in the wood than the Burgers."

"So it is," said Ralph; "but men are oft mis-said by them that know

them not thoroughly: and now, if it were a good wish, O Sage of

Swevenham, I were fain to fall in with the best of all those champions,

a tall man and a proper, who, meseems, had good-will toward me, I know

not why."

Quoth the Sage: "If thou canst not see the end of this wish fulfilled,

no more can I. And yet, meseems something may follow it which is akin

to grief: be content with things so done, my son."

Now Ralph holds his peace, and they speed on their way, Ursula riding

close by Ralph's side, and caressing him with looks, and by touch also

when she might; and after a while he fell to talking again, and ever in

the same loud, cheerful voice. Till at last, in about another hour,

they came in sight of the stream which ran down toward the Swelling

Flood from that pool wherein erst the Lady of Abundance had bathed her

before the murder. Hard looked Ralph on the stream, but howsoever his

heart might ache with the memory of that passed grief, like as the body

aches with the bruise of yesterday's blow, yet he changed countenance

but little, and in his voice was the same cheery sound. But Ursula

noted him, and how his eyes wandered, and how little he heeded the

words of the others, and she knew what ailed him, for long ago he had

told her all that tale, and so now her heart was troubled, and she

looked on him and was silent.

Thus, then, a little before sunset, they came on that steep cliff with

the cave therein, and the little green plain thereunder, and the rocky

bank going down sheer into the water of the stream. Forsooth they came

on it somewhat suddenly from out of the bushes of the valley; and there

indeed not only the Sage and Richard, but Ursula also, were stayed by

the sight as folk compelled; for all three knew what had befallen

there. But Ralph, though he looked over his shoulder at it all, yet

rode on steadily, and when he saw that the others lingered, he waved

his hand and cried out as he rode: "On, friends, on! for the road

shortens towards my Fathers' House." Then were they ashamed, and shook

their reins to hasten after him.

But in that very nick of time there came forth one from amidst the

bushes that edged the pool of the stream and strode dripping on to the

shallow; a man brown and hairy, and naked, save for a green wreath

about his middle. Tall he was above the stature of most men; awful of

aspect, and his eyes glittered from his dark brown face amidst of his

shockhead of the colour of rain-spoilt hay. He stood and looked while

one might count five, and then without a word or cry rushed up from the

water, straight on Ursula, who was riding first of the three lingerers,

and in the twinkling of an eye tore her from off her horse; and she was

in his grasp as the cushat in the claws of the kite. Then he cast her

to earth, and stood over her, shaking a great club, but or ever he

brought it down he turned his head over his shoulder toward the cliff

and the cave therein, and in that same moment first one blade and then

another flashed about him, and he fell crashing down upon his back,

smitten in the breast and the side by Richard and Ralph; and the wounds

were deep and deadly.

Ralph heeded him no more, but drew Ursula away from him, and raised her

up and laid her head upon his knee; and she had not quite swooned away,

and forsooth had taken but little hurt; only she was dizzy with terror

and the heaving up and casting down.

She looked up into Ralph's face, and smiled on him and said: "What hath

been done to me, and why did he do it?"

His eyes were still wild with fear and wrath, as he answered: "O

Beloved, Death and the foeman of old came forth from the cavern of the

cliff. What did they there, Lord God? and he caught thee to slay thee;

but him have I slain. Nevertheless, it is a terrible and evil place:

let us go hence."

"Yea," she said, "let us go speedily!" Then she stood up, weak and

tottering still, and Ralph arose and put his left arm about her to stay

her; and lo, there before them was Richard kneeling over the wild-man,

and the Sage was coming back from the river with his headpiece full of

water; so Ralph cried out: "To horse, Richard, to horse! Hast thou

not done slaying the woodman?"

But therewith came a weak and hoarse voice from the earth, and the

wild-man spake. "Child of Upmeads, drive not on so hard: it will not

be long. For thou and Richard the Red are naught lighthanded."

Ralph marvelled that the wild-man knew him and Richard, but the

wild-man spake again: "Hearken, thou lover, thou young man!"

But therewith was the Sage come to him and kneeling beside him with the

water, and he drank thereof, while Ralph said to him: "What is this

woodman? and canst thou speak my Latin? What art thou?"

Then the wild-man when he had drunk raised him up a little, and said:

"Young man, thou and Richard are deft leeches; ye have let me blood to

a purpose, and have brought back to me my wits, which were wandering

wide. Yet am I indeed where my fool's brains told me I was."

Then he lay back again, and turned his head as well as he could toward

the cavern in the cliff. But Ralph deemed he had heard his voice

before, and his heart was softened toward him, he knew not why; but he

said: "Yea, but wherefore didst thou fall upon the Lady?" The wild-man

strove with his weakness, and said angrily: "What did another woman

there?" Then he said in a calmer but weaker voice: "Nay, my wits shall

wander no more from me; we will make the journey together, I and my

wits. But O, young man, this I will say if I can. Thou fleddest from

her and forgattest her. I came to her and forgat all but her; yea, my

very life I forgat."

Again he spoke, and his voice was weaker yet: "Kneel down by me, or I

may not tell thee what I would; my voice dieth before me."

Then Ralph knelt down by him, for he began to have a deeming of what he

was, and he put his face close to the dying man's, and said to him; "I

am here, what wouldst thou?"

Said the wild-man very feebly: "I did not much for thee time was; how

might I, when I loved her so sorely? But I did a little. Believe it,

and do so much for me that I may lie by her side when I am dead, who

never lay by her living. For into the cave I durst go never."

Then Ralph knew him, that he was the tall champion whom he had met

first at the churchyard gate of Netherton; so he said: "I know thee

now, and I will promise to do thy will herein. I am sorry that I have

slain thee; forgive it me."

A mocking smile came into the dying man's eyes, and he spake

whispering: "Richard it was; not thou."

The smile spread over his face, he strove to turn more toward Ralph,

and said in a very faint whisper: "The last time!"

No more he said, but gave up the ghost presently. The Sage rose up

from his side and said: "Ye may now bury this man as he craved of

thee, for he is dead. Thus hath thy wish been accomplished; for this

was the great champion and duke of the men of the Dry Tree. Indeed it

is a pity of him that he is dead, for as terrible as he was to his

foes, he was no ill man."

Spake Richard: "Now is the riddle areded of the wild-man and the

mighty giant that haunted these passes. We have played together or

now, in days long past, he and I; and ever he came to his above. He

was a wise man and a prudent that he should have become a wild-man. It

is great pity of him."

But Ralph took his knight's cloak of red scarlet, and they lapped the

wild-man therein, who had once been a champion beworshipped. But first

Ursula sheared his hair and his beard, till the face of him came back

again, grave, and somewhat mocking, as Ralph remembered it, time was.

Then they bore him in the four corners across the stream, and up on to

the lawn before the cliff; and Richard and the Sage bore him into the

cave, and laid him down there beside the howe which Ralph had erewhile

heaped over the Lady; and now over him also they heaped stones.

Meanwhile Ursula knelt at the mouth of the cave and wept; but Ralph

turned him about and stood on the edge of the bank, and looked over the

ripple of the stream on to the valley, where the moon was now beginning

to cast shadows, till those two came out of the cave for the last time.

Then Ralph turned to Ursula and raised her up and kissed her, and they

went down all of them from that place of death and ill-hap, and gat to

horse on the other side of the stream, and rode three miles further on

by the glimmer of the moon, and lay down to rest amongst the bushes of

the waste, with few words spoken between them.

CHAPTER 16

They Come to the Castle of Abundance Once More

When they rode on next morning Ralph was few-spoken, and seemed to heed

little so long as they made good speed on the way: most of the talk was

betwixt Richard and the Sage, Ralph but putting in a word when it would

have seemed churlish to forbear.

So they went their ways through the wood till by then the sun was well

westering they came out at the Water of the Oak, and Richard drew rein

there, and spake: "Here is a fair place for a summer night's lodging,

and I would warrant both good knight and fair lady have lain here

aforetime, and wished the dark longer: shall we not rest here?"

Ralph stared at him astonished, and then anger grew in his face for a

little, because, forsooth, as Richard and the Sage both wotted of the

place of the slaying of the Lady, and he himself had every yard of the

way in his mind as they went, it seemed but due that they should have

known of this place also, what betid there: but it was not so, and the

place was to Richard like any other lawn of the woodland.

But thought came back to Ralph in a moment, and he smiled at his own

folly, howbeit he could not do to lie another night on that lawn with

other folk than erst. So he said quietly: "Nay, friend, were we not

better to make the most of this daylight? Seest thou it wants yet an

hour of sunset?"

Richard nodded a yeasay, and the Sage said no word more; but Ursula

cast her anxious look on Ralph as though she understood what was moving

in him; and therewith those others rode away lightly, but Ralph turned

slowly from the oak-tree, and might not forbear looking on to the short

sward round about, as if he hoped to see some token left behind. Then

he lifted up his face as one awaking, shook his rein, and rode after

the others down the long water.

So they turned from the water anon, and rode the woodland ways, and lay

that night by a stream that ran west.

They arose betimes on the morrow, and whereas the Sage knew the

woodland ways well, they made but a short journey of it to the Castle

of Abundance, and came into the little plain but two hours after noon,

where saving that the scythe had not yet wended the tall mowing grass

in the crofts which the beasts and sheep were not pasturing, all was as

on that other tide. The folk were at work in their gardens, or herding

their cattle in the meads, and as aforetime they were merry of

countenance and well-clad, fair and gentle to look on.

There were their pleasant cots, and the little white church, and the

fair walls of the castle on its low mound, and the day bright and

sunny, all as aforetime, and Ralph looked on it all, and made no

countenance of being moved beyond his wont.

So they came out of the wood, and rode to the ford of the river, and

the carles and queans came streaming from their garths and meads to

meet them, and stood round wondering at them; but an old carle came

from out the throng and went up to Ralph, and hailed him, and said:

"Oh, Knight! and hast thou come back to us? and has thou brought us

tidings of our Lady? Who is this fair woman that rideth with thee? Is

it she?"

Spake Ralph: "Nay; go look on her closely, and tell me thy deeming of

her."

So the carle went up to Ursula, and peered closely into her face, and

took her hand and looked on it, and knelt down and took her foot out of

the stirrup, and kissed it, and then came back to Ralph, and said:

"Fair Sir, I wot not but it may be her sister; for yonder old wise man

I have seen here erst with our heavenly Lady. But though this fair

woman may be her sister, it is not she. So tell me what is become of

her, for it is long since we have seen her; and what thou tellest us,

that same shall we trow, even as if thou wert her angel. For I spake

with thee, it is nigh two years agone, when thou wert abiding the

coming of our Lady in the castle yonder But now I see of thee that thou

art brighter-faced, and mightier of aspect than aforetime, and it is in

my mind that the Lady of Abundance must have loved thee and holpen

thee, and blessed thee with some great blessing."

Said Ralph: "Old man, canst thou feel sorrow, and canst thou bear it?"

The carle shook his head. "I wot not," said he, "I fear thy words."

Said Ralph: "It were naught to say less than the truth; and this is

the very truth, that thou shalt never see thy Lady any more. I was the

last living man that ever saw her alive."

Then he spake in a loud voice and said: "Lament, ye people! for the

Lady of Abundance is dead; yet sure I am that she sendeth this message

to you, Live in peace, and love ye the works of the earth."

But when they heard him, the old man covered up his face with the folds

of his gown, and all that folk brake forth into weeping, and crying

out: "Woe for us! the Lady of Abundance is dead!" and some of the

younger men cast themselves down on to the earth, and wallowed, weeping

and wailing: and there was no man there that seemed as if he knew which

way to turn, or what to do; and their faces were foolish with sorrow.

Yet forsooth it was rather the carles than the queans who made all this

lamentation.

At last the old man spake: "Fair sir, ye have brought us heavy

tidings, and we know not how to ask you to tell us more of the tale.

Yet if thou might'st but tell us how the Lady died? Woe's me for the

word!"

Said Ralph: "She was slain with the sword."

The old man drew himself up stiff and stark, the eyes of him glittered

under his white hair, and wrath changed his face, and the other

men-folk thronged them to hearken what more should be said.

But the elder spake again: "Tell me who it was that slew her, for

surely shall I slay him, or die in the pain else."

Said Ralph: "Be content, thou mayst not slay him; he was a great and

mighty man, a baron who bore a golden sun on a blue field. Thou mayst

not slay him." "Yea," said the old man, "but I will, or he me."

"Live in peace," said Ralph, "for I slew him then and there."

The old man held his peace a while, and then he said: "I know the man,

for he hath been here aforetime, and not so long ago. But if he be

dead, he hath a brother yet, an exceeding mighty man: he will be coming

here to vex us and minish us."

Said Ralph: "He will not stir from where he lies till Earth's bones be

broken, for my sword lay in his body yesterday."

The old man stood silent again, and the other carles thronged him; but

the woman stood aloof staring on Ralph. Then the elder came up to

Ralph and knelt before him and kissed his feet; then he turned and

called to him three of the others who were of the stoutest and most

stalwarth, and he spake with them awhile, and then he came to Ralph

again, and again knelt before him and said: "Lord, ye have come to us,

and found us void of comfort, since we have lost our Lady. But we see

in thee, that she hath loved thee and blessed thee, and thou hast slain

her slayer and his kindred. And we see of thee also that thou art a

good lord. O the comfort to us, therefore, if thou wouldest be our

Lord! We will serve thee truly so far as we may: yea, even if thou be

beset by foes, we will take bow and bill from the wall, and stand round

about thee and fight for thee. Only thou must not ask us to go hence

from this place: for we know naught but the Plain of Abundance, and the

edges of the wood, and the Brethren of the House of the Thorn, who are

not far hence. Now we pray thee by thy fathers not to naysay us, so

sore as thou hast made our hearts. Also we see about thy neck the

same-like pair of beads which our Lady was wont to bear, and we deem

that ye were in one tale together."

Then was Ralph silent awhile, but the Sage spake to the elder: "Old

man, how great is the loss of the Lady to you?" "Heavy loss, wise old

man," said the carle, "as thou thyself mayst know, having known her."

"And what did she for you?" said the Sage. Said the elder: "We know

that she was gracious to us; never did she lay tax or tale on us, and

whiles she would give us of her store, and that often, and abundantly.

We deem also that every time when she came to us our increase became

more plenteous, which is well seen by this, that since she hath ceased

to come, the seasons have been niggard unto us."

The Sage smiled somewhat, and the old man went on: "But chiefly the

blessing was to see her when she came to us: for verily it seemed that

where she set her feet the grass grew greener, and that the flowers

blossomed fairer where the shadow of her body fell." And therewith the

old man fell a-weeping again.

The Sage held his peace, and Ralph still kept silence; and now of these

men all the younger ones had their eyes upon Ursula.

After a while Ralph spake and said: "O elder, and ye folk of the

People of Abundance, true it is that your Lady who is dead loved me,

and it is through her that I am become a Friend of the Well. Now

meseemeth though ye have lost your Lady, whom ye so loved and

worshipped, God wot not without cause, yet I wot not why ye now cry out

for a master, since ye dwell here in peace and quiet and all wealth,

and the Fathers of the Thorn are here to do good to you. Yet, if ye

will it in sooth, I will be called your Lord, in memory of your Lady

whom ye shall not see again. And as time wears I will come and look on

you and hearken to your needs: and if ye come to fear that any should

fall upon you with the strong hand, then send ye a message to me, Ralph

of Upmeads, down by the water, and I will come to you with such

following as need be. And as for service, this only I lay upon you,

that ye look to the Castle and keep it in good order, and ward it

against thieves and runagates, and give guesting therein to any

wandering knight or pilgrim, or honest goodman, who shall come to you.

Now is all said, my masters, and I pray you let us depart in peace; for

time presses."

Then all they (and this time women as well as men) cried out joyfully:

"Hail to our lord! and long life to our helper." And the women withal

drew nearer to him, and some came close up to him, as if they would

touch him or kiss his hand, but by seeming durst not, but stood

blushing before him, and he looked on them, smiling kindly.

But the old man laid his hand on his knee and said: "Lord, wouldst thou

not light down and enter thy Castle; for none hath more right there now

than thou. The Prior of the Thorn hath told us that there is no

lineage of the Lady left to claim it; and none other might ever have

claimed it save the Baron of Sunway, whom thou hast slain. And else

would we have slain him, since he slew our Lady."

Ralph shook his head and said: "Nay, old friend, and new vassal, this

we may not do: we must on speedily, for belike there is work for us to

do nearer home."

"Yea, Lord," said the carle, "but at least light down and sit for a

while under this fair oak-tree in the heat of the day, and eat a morsel

with us, and drink a cup, that thy luck may abide with us when thou art

gone."

Ralph would not naysay him; so he and all of them got off their horses,

and sat down on the green grass under the oak: and that people gathered

about and sat down by them, save that a many of the women went to their

houses to fetch out the victual. Meanwhile the carles fell to speech

freely with the wayfarers, and told them much concerning their little

land, were it hearsay, or stark sooth: such as tales of the wights

that dwelt in the wood, wodehouses, and elf-women, and dwarfs, and such

like, and how fearful it were to deal with such creatures. Amongst

other matters they told how a hermit, a holy man, had come to dwell in

the wood, in a clearing but a little way thence toward the north-west.

But when Ralph asked if he dwelt on the way to the ford of the Swelling

Flood, they knew not what he meant; for the wood was to them as a wall.

Hereon the Sage held one of the younger men in talk, and taught him

what he might of the way to the Burg of the Four Friths, so that they

might verily send a messenger to Upmeads if need were. But the country

youth said there was no need to think thereof, as no man of theirs

would dare the journey through the wood, and that if they had need of a

messenger, one of the Fathers of the Thorn would do their errand,

whereas they were holy men, and knew the face of the world full well.

Now in this while the folk seemed to have gotten their courage again,

and to be cheery, and to have lost their grief for the Lady: and of the

maidens left about the oak were more than two or three very fair, who

stood gazing at Ralph as if they were exceeding fain of him.

But amidst these things came back the women with the victual; to wit

bread in baskets, and cheeses both fresh and old, and honey, and

wood-strawberries, and eggs cooked diversely, and skewers of white wood

with gobbets of roasted lamb's flesh, and salad good plenty. All these

they bore first to Ralph and Ursula, and their two fellows, and then

dealt them to their own folk: and they feasted and were merry in

despite of that tale of evil tidings. They brought also bowls and

pitchers of wine that was good and strong, and cider of their orchards,

and called many a health to the new Lord and his kindred.

Thus then they abode a-feasting till the sun was westering and the

shadows waxed about them, and then at last Ralph rose up and called to

horse, and the other wayfarers arose also, and the horses were led up

to them. Then the maidens, made bold by the joy of the feast, and

being stirred to the heart by much beholding of this beloved Lord, cast

off their shamefacedness and crowded about him, and kissed his raiment

and his hands: some even, though trembling, and more for love than

fear, prayed him for kisses, and he, nothing loath, laughed merrily and

laid his hands on their shoulders or took them by the chins, and set

his lips to the sweetness of their cheeks and their lips, of those that

asked and those that refrained; so that their hearts failed them for

love of him, and when he was gone, they knew not how to go back to

their houses, or the places that were familiar to them. Therewith he

and his got into their saddles and rode away slowly, because of the

thronging about them of that folk, who followed them to the edge of the

wood, and even entered a little thereinto; and then stood gazing on

Ralph and his fellows after they had spurred on and were riding down a

glade of the woodland.

CHAPTER 17

They Fall in With That Hermit

So much had they tarried over this greeting and feasting, that though

they had hoped to have come to the hermit's house that night, he of

whom that folk had told them, it fell not so, whereas the day had aged

so much ere they left the Plain of Abundance that it began to dusk

before they had gone far, and they must needs stay and await the dawn

there; so they dight their lodging as well as they might, and lay down

and slept under the thick boughs.

Ralph woke about sunrise, and looking up saw a man standing over him,

and deemed at first that it would be Richard or the Sage; but as his

vision cleared, he saw that it was neither of them, but a new comer; a

stout carle clad in russet, with a great staff in his hand and a

short-sword girt to his side. Ralph sprang up, still not utterly

awake, and cried out, "Who art thou, carle?" The man laughed, and

said: "Yea, thou art still the same brisk lad, only filled out to

something more warrior-like than of old. But it is unmeet to forget

old friends. Why dost thou not hail me?"

"Because I know thee not, good fellow," said Ralph. But even as he

spoke, he looked into the man's face again, and cried out: "By St.

Nicholas! but it is Roger of the Ropewalk. But look you, fellow, if I

have somewhat filled out, thou, who wast always black-muzzled, art now

become as hairy as a wodehouse. What dost thou in the wilds?" Said

Roger: "Did they not tell thee of a hermit new come to these shaws?"

"Yea," said Ralph. "I am that holy man," quoth Roger, grinning; "not

that I am so much of that, either. I have not come hither to pray or

fast overmuch, but to rest my soul and be out of the way of men. For

all things have changed since my Lady passed away."

He looked about, and saw Ursula just rising up from the ground and the

Sage stirring, while Richard yet hugged his bracken bed, snoring. So

he said: "And who be these, and why hast thou taken to the wildwood?

Yea lad, I see of thee, that thou hast gotten another Lady; and if mine

eyes do not fail me she is fair enough. But there be others as fair;

while the like to our Lady that was, there is none such."

He fell silent a while, and Ralph turned about to the others, for by

this time Richard also was awake, and said: "This man is the hermit of

whom we were told."

Roger said: "Yea, I am the hermit and the holy man; and withal I have

a thing to hear and a thing to tell. Ye were best to come with me, all

of you, to my house in the woods; a poor one, forsooth, but there is

somewhat of victual here, and we can tell and hearken therein well

sheltered and at peace. So to horse, fair folk."

They would not be bidden twice, but mounted and went along with him,

who led them by a thicket path about a mile, till they came to a lawn

where-through ran a stream; and there was a little house in it, simple

enough, of one hall, built with rough tree-limbs and reed thatch. He

brought them in, and bade them sit on such stools or bundles of stuff

as were there. But withal he brought out victual nowise ill, though it

were but simple also, of venison of the wildwood, with some little deal

of cakes baked on the hearth, and he poured for them also both milk and

wine.

They were well content with the banquet, and when they were full, Roger

said: "Now, my Lord, like as oft befalleth minstrels, ye have had your

wages before your work. Fall to, then, and pay me the scot by telling

me all that hath befallen you since (woe worth the while!) my Lady

died,--I must needs say, for thy sake."

"'All' is a big word," said Ralph, "but I will tell thee somewhat. Yet

I bid thee take note that I and this ancient wise one, and my Lady

withal, deem that I am drawn by my kindred to come to their help, and

that time presses."

Roger scowled somewhat on Ursula; but he said: "Lord and master, let

not that fly trouble thy lip. For so I deem of it, that whatsoever

time ye may lose by falling in with me, ye may gain twice as much again

by hearkening my tale and the rede that shall go with it. And I do

thee to wit that the telling of thy tale shall unfreeze mine; so tarry

not, if ye be in haste to be gone, but let thy tongue wag."

Ralph smiled, and without more ado told him all that had befallen him;

and of Swevenham and Utterbol, and of his captivity and flight; and of

the meeting in the wood, and of the Sage (who there was), and of the

journey to the Well, and what betid there and since, and of the death

of the Champion of the Dry Tree.

But when he had made an end, Roger said: "There it is, then, as I said

when she first spake to me of thee and bade me bring about that meeting

with her, drawing thee first to the Burg and after to the Castle of

Abundance, I have forgotten mostly by what lies; but I said to her that

she had set her heart on a man over lucky, and that thou wouldst take

her luck from her and make it thine. But now I will let all that pass,

and will bid thee ask what thou wilt; and I promise thee that I will

help thee to come thy ways to thy kindred, that thou mayst put forth

thy luck in their behalf."

Said Ralph: "First of all, tell me what shall I do to pass unhindered

through the Burg of the Four Friths?" Said Roger: "Thou shalt go in at

one gate and out at the other, and none shall hinder thee."

Said Ralph: "And shall I have any hindrance from them of the Dry Tree?"

Roger made as if he were swallowing down something, and answered: "Nay,

none."

"And the folk of Higham by the Way, and the Brethren and their Abbot?"

said Ralph.

"I know but little of them," quoth Roger, "but I deem that they will

make a push to have thee for captain; because they have had war on

their hands of late. But this shall be at thine own will to say yea or

nay to them. But for the rest on this side of the shepherds' country

ye will pass by peaceful folk."

"Yea," said Ralph, "what then hath become of the pride and cruelty of

the Burg of the Four Friths, and the eagerness and fierceness of the

Dry Tree?"

Quoth Roger: "This is the tale of it: After the champions of the Dry

Tree had lost their queen and beloved, the Lady of Abundance, they were

both restless and fierce, for the days of sorrow hung heavy on their

hands. So on a time a great company of them had ado with the Burgers

somewhat recklessly and came to the worse; wherefore some drew back

into their fastness of the Scaur and the others still rode on, and

further west than their wont had been; but warily when they had the

Wood Perilous behind them, for they had learned wisdom again. Thus

riding they had tidings of an host of the Burg of the Four Friths who

were resting in a valley hard by with a great train of captives and

beasts and other spoil: for they had been raising the fray against the

Wheat-wearers, and had slain many carles there, and were bringing home

to the Burg many young women and women-children, after their custom.

So they of the Dry Tree advised them of these tidings, and deemed that

it would ease the sorrow of their hearts for their Lady if they could

deal with these sons of whores and make a mark upon the Burg: so they

lay hid while the daylight lasted, and by night and cloud fell upon

these faineants of the Burg, and won them good cheap, as was like to

be, though the Burg-dwellers were many the more. Whereof a many were

slain, but many escaped and gat home to the Burg, even as will lightly

happen even in the worst of overthrows, that not all, or even the more

part be slain.

"Well, there were the champions and their prey, which was very great,

and especially of women, of whom the more part were young and fair: for

the women of the Wheat-wearers be goodly, and these had been picked out

by the rutters of the Burg for their youth and strength and beauty.

And whereas the men of the Dry Tree were scant of women at home, and

sore-hearted because of our Lady, they forbore not these women, but

fell to talking with them and loving them; howbeit in courteous and

manly fashion, so that the women deemed themselves in heaven and were

ready to do anything to please their lovers. So the end of it was that

the Champions sent messengers to Hampton and the Castle of the Scaur to

tell what had betid, and they themselves took the road to the land of

the Wheat-wearers, having those women with them not as captives but as

free damsels.

"Now the road to the Wheat-wearing country was long, and on the way the

damsels told their new men many things of their land and their unhappy

wars with them of the Burg and the griefs and torments which they

endured of them. And this amongst other things, that wherever they

came, they slew all the males even to the sucking babe, but spared the

women, even when they bore them not into captivity.

"'Whereof,' said these poor damsels, 'it cometh that our land is

ill-furnished of carles, so that we women, high and low, go afield and

do many things, as crafts and the like, which in other lands are done

by carles.' In sooth it seemed of them that they were both of stouter

fashion, and defter than women are wont to be. So the champions, part

in jest, part in earnest, bade them do on the armour of the slain

Burgers, and take their weapons, and fell to teaching them how to

handle staff and sword and bow; and the women took heart from the

valiant countenance of their new lovers, and deemed it all bitter

earnest enough, and learned their part speedily; and yet none too soon.

For when the fleers of the Burg came home the Porte lost no time, but

sent out another host to follow after the Champions and their spoil;

for they had learned that those men had not turned about to Hampton

after their victory, but had gone on to the Wheat-wearers.

"So it befell that the host of the Burg came up with the Champions on

the eve of a summer day when there were yet three hours of daylight.

But whereas they had looked to have an easy bargain of their foemen,

since they knew the Champions to be but a few, lo! there was the

hillside covered with a goodly array of spears and glaives and shining

helms. They marvelled; but now for very shame, and because they scarce

could help it, they fell on, and before sunset were scattered to the

winds again, and the fleers had to bear back the tale that the more

part of their foes were women of the Wheat-wearers; but this time few

were those that came back alive to the Burg of the Four Friths; for the

freed captives were hot and eager in the chase, casting aside their

shields and hauberks that they might speed the better, and valuing

their lives at naught if they might but slay a man or two of the

tyrants before they died.

"Thus was the Burg wounded with its own sword: but the matter stopped

not there: for when that victorious host of men and women came into

the land of the Wheat-wearers, all men fled away in terror at first,

thinking that it was a new onset of the men of the Burg; and that all

the more, as so many of them bore their weapons and armour. But when

they found out how matters had gone, then, as ye may deem, was the

greatest joy and exultation, and carles and queans both ran to arms and

bade their deliverers learn them all that belonged to war, and said

that one thing should not be lacking, to wit, the gift of their bodies,

that should either lie dead in the fields, or bear about henceforth the

souls of free men. Nothing lothe, the Champions became their doctors

and teachers of battle, and a great host was drawn together; and

meanwhile the Champions had sent messengers again to Hampton telling

them what was befallen, and asking for more men if they might be had.

But the Burg-abiders were not like to sit down under their foil.

Another host they sent against the Wheat-wearers, not so huge, as well

arrayed and wise in war. The Champions espied its goings, and knew

well that they had to deal with the best men of the Burg, and they met

them in like wise; for they chose the very best of the men and the

women, and pitched on a place whence they might ward them well, and

abode the foemen there; who failed not to come upon them, stout and

stern and cold, and well-learned in all feats of war.

"Long and bitter was the battle, and the Burgers were fierce without

head-strong folly, and the Wheat-wearers deemed that if they blenched

now, they had something worse than death to look to. But in the end

when both sides were grown weary and worn out, and yet neither would

flee, on a sudden came into the field the help from the Dry Tree, a

valiant company of riders to whom battle was but game and play. Then

indeed the men of the Burg gave back and drew out of the battle as best

they might: yet were they little chased, save by the new-comers of the

Dry Tree, for the others were over weary, and moreover the leaders had

no mind to let the new-made warriors leave their vantage-ground lest

the old and tried men-at-arms of the Burg should turn upon them and put

them to the worse.

"Men looked for battle again the next day; but it fell not out so; for

the host of the Burg saw that there was more to lose than to gain, so

they drew back towards their own place. Neither did they waste the

land much; for the riders of the Dry Tree followed hard at heel, and

cut off all who tarried, or strayed from the main battle.

"When they were gone, then at last did the Wheat-wearers give

themselves up to the joy of their deliverance and the pleasure of their

new lives: and one of their old men that I have spoken with told me

this; that before when they were little better than the thralls of the

Burg, and durst scarce raise a hand against the foemen, the carles were

but slow to love, and the queans, for all their fairness, cold and but

little kind. However, now in the fields of the wheat-wearers

themselves all this was changed, and men and maids took to arraying

themselves gaily as occasion served, and there was singing and dancing

on every green, and straying of couples amongst the greenery of the

summer night; and in short the god of love was busy in the land, and

made the eyes seem bright, and the lips sweet, and the bosom fair, and

the arms sleek and the feet trim: so that every hour was full of

allurement; and ever the nigher that war and peril was, the more

delight had man and maid of each other's bodies.

"Well, within a while the Wheat-wearers were grown so full of hope that

they bade the men of the Dry Tree lead them against the Burg of the

Four Friths, and the Champions were ready thereto; because they wotted

well, that, Hampton being disgarnished of men, the men of the Burg

might fall on it; and even if they took it not, they would beset all

ways and make riding a hard matter for their fellowship. So they fell

to, wisely and deliberately, and led an host of the best of the carles

with them, and bade the women keep their land surely, so that their

host was not a great many. But so wisely they led them that they came

before the Burg well-nigh unawares; and though it seemed little likely

that they should take so strong a place, yet nought less befell. For

the Burg-dwellers beset with cruelty and bitter anger cried out that

now at last they would make an end of this cursed people, and the

whoreson strong-thieves their friends: so they went out a-gates a great

multitude, but in worser order than their wont was; and there befell

that marvel which sometimes befalleth even to very valiant men, that

now at the pinch all their valour flowed from them, and they fled

before the spears had met, and in such evil order that the gates could

not be shut, and their foemen entered with them slaying and slaying

even as they would. So that in an hour's space the pride and the

estate of the Burg of the Four Friths was utterly fallen. Huge was the

slaughter; for the Wheat-wearers deemed they had many a grief whereof

to avenge them; nor were the men of the Dry Tree either sluggards or

saints to be careless of their foemen, or to be merciful in the battle:

but at last the murder was stayed: and then the men of the

Wheat-wearers went from house to house in the town to find the women of

their folk who had been made thralls by the Burgers. There then was

many a joyful meeting betwixt those poor women and the men of their

kindred: all was forgotten now of the days of their thralldom, their

toil and mocking and stripes; and within certain days all the sort of

them came before the host clad in green raiment, and garlanded with

flowers for the joy of their deliverance; and great feast was made to

them.

"As for them of the Burg, the battle and chase over, no more were

slain, save that certain of the great ones were made shorter by the

head. But the Champions and the Wheat-wearers both, said that none of

that bitter and cruel folk should abide any longer in the town; so that

after a delay long enough for them to provide stuff for their

wayfaring, they were all thrust out a-gates, rich and poor, old and

young, man, woman and child. Proudly and with a stout countenance they

went, for now was their valour come again to them. And it is like that

we shall hear of them oft again; for though they had but a few weapons

amongst them when they were driven out of their old home, and neither

hauberk nor shield nor helm, yet so learned in war be they and so

marvellous great of pride, that they will somehow get them weapons; and

even armed but with headless staves, and cudgels of the thicket, woe

betide the peaceful folk whom they shall first fall on. Yea, fair sir,

the day shall come meseemeth when folk shall call on thee to lead the

hunt after these famished wolves, and when thou dost so, call on me to

tell thee tales of their doings which shall make thine heart hard, and

thine hand heavy against them."

"Meantime," said Ralph, "what has betid to the Fellowship of the Dry

Tree? for I see that thou hast some grief on thy mind because of them."

Roger kept silence a little and then he said: "I grieve because

Hampton is no more a strong place of warriors; two or three carles and

a dozen of women dwell now in the halls and chambers of the Scaur.

Here on earth, all endeth. God send us to find the world without end!"

"What then," said Ralph, "have they then had another great overthrow,

worse than that other?" "Nay," said Roger doggedly, "it is not so."

"But where is the Fellowship?" said Ralph. "It is scattered abroad,"

quoth Roger. "For some of the Dry Tree had no heart to leave the women

whom they had wooed in the Wheat-wearer's land: and some, and a great

many, have taken their dears to dwell in the Burg of the Four Friths,

whereas a many of the Wheat-wearers have gone to beget children on the

old bondwomen of the Burgers; of whom there were some two thousand

alive after the Burg was taken; besides that many women also came with

the carles from their own land.

"So that now a mixed folk are dwelling in the Burg, partly of those

women-thralls, partly of carles and queans come newly from the

Wheat-wearers, partly of men of our Fellowship the more part of whom

are wedded to queans of the Wheat-wearers, and partly of men, chapmen

and craftsmen and others who have drifted into the town, having heard

that there is no lack of wealth there, and many fair women unmated."

"Yea," said Ralph, "and is all this so ill?" Said Roger, "Meseems it

is ill enough that there is no longer, rightly said, a Fellowship of

the Dry Tree, though the men be alive who were once of that

fellowship." "Nay," said Ralph, "and why should they not make a new

fellowship in the Burg, whereas they may well be peaceful, since they

have come to their above of their foemen?"

"Yea," said Roger slowly, "that is sooth; and so is this, that there in

the Burg they are a strong band, with a captain of their own, and much

worshipped of the peaceful folk; and moreover, though they be not cruel

to torment helpless folk, or hard to make an end of all joy to-day,

lest they lose their joy to-morrow, they now array all men in good

order within the Burg, so that it shall be no easier for a foeman to

win that erst it was."

"What, man!" said Ralph, "then be of better cheer, and come thou with

us, and may be the old steel of the champions may look on the sun down

in Upmeads. Come thou with me, I say, and show me and my luck to some

of thy fellows who are dwelling in the Burg, and it may be when thou

hast told my tale to them, that some of them shall be content to leave

their beds cold for a while, that they may come help a Friend of the

Well in his need."

Roger sat silent as if he were pondering the matter, while Richard and

the Sage, both of them, took up the word one after the other, and urged

him to it.

At last he said: "Well, so be it for this adventure. Only I say not

that I shall give up this hermitage and my holiness for ever. Come

thou aside, wise man of Swevenham, and I shall tell thee wherefore."

"Yea," said Ralph, laughing, "and when he hath told thee, tell me not

again; for sure I am that he is right to go with us, and belike shall

be wrong in his reason therefore."

Roger looked a little askance at him, and he went without doors with

the Sage, and when they were out of earshot, he said to him: "Hearken,

I would have gone with my lord at the first word, and have been fain

thereof; but there is this woman that followeth him. At every turn she

shall mind me of our Lady that was; and I shall loath her, and her

fairness and the allurements of her body, because I see of her, that

she it is that hath gotten my Lady's luck, and that but for her my Lady

might yet have been alive."

Said the Sage: "Well quoth my lord that thou wouldst give me a fool's

reason! What! dost not thou know, thou that knowest so much of the

Lady of Abundance, that she it was who ordained this Ursula to be

Ralph's bedmate, when she herself should be gone from him, were she

dead or alive, and that she also should be a Friend of the Well, so

that he might not lack a fellow his life long? But this thou sayest,

not knowing the mind of our Lady, and how she loved him in her inmost

heart."

Roger hung his head and spake not for a while, and then he said: "Well,

wise man, I have said that I will go on this adventure, and I will

smooth my tongue for this while at least, and for what may come

hereafter, let it be. And now we were best get to horse; for what with

meat and minstrelsy, we have worn away the day till it wants but a

little of noon. Go tell thy lord that I am ready. Farewell peace, and

welcome war and grudging!"

So the Sage went within, and came out with the others, and they mounted

their horses anon, and Roger went ahead on foot, and led them through

the thicket-ways without fumbling; and they lay down that night on the

farther side of the Swelling Flood.

CHAPTER 18

A Change of Days in the Burg of the Four Friths

There is naught to tell of their ways till they came out of the thicket

into the fields about the Burg of the Four Friths; and even there was a

look of a bettering of men's lives; though forsooth the husbandmen

there were much the same as had abided in the fields aforetime, whereas

they were not for the most part freemen of the Burg, but aliens who did

service in war and otherwise thereto. But, it being eventide, there

were men and women and children, who had come out of gates, walking

about and disporting themselves in the loveliness of early summer, and

that in far merrier guise than they had durst do in the bygone days.

Moreover, there was scarce a sword or spear to be seen amongst them,

whereat Roger grudged somewhat, and Richard said: "Meseems this folk

trusts the peace of the Burg overmuch since, when all is told, unpeace

is not so far from their borders."

But as they drew a little nigher Ralph pointed out to his fellows the

gleam of helms and weapons on the walls, and they saw a watchman on

each of the high towers of the south gate; and then quoth Roger: "Nay,

the Burg will not be won so easily; and if a few fools get themselves

slain outside it is no great matter."

Folk nowise let them come up to the gate unheeded, but gathered about

them to look at the newcomers, but not so as to hinder them, and they

could see that these summerers were goodly folk enough, and demeaned

them as though they had but few troubles weighing on them. But the

wayfarers were not unchallenged at the gate, for a stout man-at-arms

stayed them and said: "Ye ride somewhat late, friends. What are ye?"

Quoth Ralph: "We be peaceful wayfarers save to them that would fall on

us, and we seek toward Upmeads." "Yea?" said the man, "belike ye shall

find something less than peace betwixt here and Upmeads, for rumour

goes that there are alien riders come into the lands of Higham, and for

aught I know the said unpeace may spread further on. Well if ye will

go to the Flower de Luce and abide there this night, ye shall have a

let-pass to-morn betimes."

Then Ralph spake a word in Roger's ear, and Roger nodded his head, and,

throwing his cowl aback, went up to the man-at-arms and said: "Stephen

a-Hurst, hast thou time for a word with an old friend?" "Yea, Roger,"

said the man "is it verily thou? I deemed that thou hadst fled away

from all of us to live in the wilds."

"So it was, lad," said Roger, "but times change from good to bad and

back again; and now am I of this good lord's company; and I shall tell

thee, Stephen, that though he rideth but few to-day, yet merry shall he

be that rideth with him to-morrow if unpeace be in the land. Lo you,

Stephen, this is the Child of Upmeads, whom belike thou hast heard of;

and if thou wilt take me into the chamber of thy tower, I will tell

thee things of him that thou wottest not."

Stephen turned to Ralph and made obeisance to him and said: "Fair Sir,

there are tales going about concerning thee, some whereof are strange

enow, but none of them ill; and I deem by the look of thee that thou

shalt be both a stark champion and a good lord; and I deem that it

shall be my good luck, if I see more of thee, and much more. Now if

thou wilt, pass on with thine other fellows to the Flower de Luce, and

leave this my old fellow-in-arms with me, and he shall tell me of thy

mind; for I see that thou wouldest have somewhat of us; and since, I

doubt not by the looks of thee, that thou wilt not bid us aught

unknightly, when we know thy will, we shall try to pleasure thee."

"Yea, Lord Ralph," said Roger, "thou mayest leave all the business with

me, and I will come to thee not later than betimes to-morrow, and let

thee wot how matters have sped. And methinks ye may hope to wend

out-a-gates this time otherwise than thou didest before."

So Ralph gave him yeasay and thanked the man-at-arms and rode his ways

with the others toward the Flower de Luce, and whereas the sun was but

newly set, Ralph noted that the booths were gayer and the houses

brighter and more fairly adorned than aforetimes. As for the folk,

they were such that the streets seemed full of holiday makers, so

joyous and well dight were they; and the women like to those fair

thralls whom he had seen that other time, saving that they were not

clad so wantonly, however gaily. They came into the great square, and

there they saw that the masons and builders had begun on the master

church to make it fairer and bigger; the people were sporting there as

in the streets, and amongst them were some weaponed men, but the most

part of these bore the token of the Dry Tree.

So they entered the Flower de Luce, and had good welcome there, as if

they were come home to their own house; for when its people saw such a

goodly old man in the Sage, and so stout and trim a knight as was

Richard, and above all when they beheld the loveliness of Ralph and

Ursula, they praised them open-mouthed, and could scarce make enough of

them. And when they had had their meat and were rested came two of the

maids there and asked them if it were lawful to talk with them; and

Ralph laughed and bade them sit by them, and eat a dainty morsel; and

they took that blushing, for they were fair and young, and Ralph's face

and the merry words of his mouth stirred the hearts within them: and

forsooth it was not so much they that spake as Ursula and the Sage; for

Ralph was somewhat few spoken, whereas he pondered concerning the

coming days, and what he half deemed that he saw a-doing at Upmeads.

But at last they found their tongues, and said how that already rumour

was abroad that they were in the Burg who had drunk of the Water of the

Well at the World's End; and said one: "It is indeed a fair sight to

see you folk coming back in triumph; and so methinks will many deem if

ye abide with us over to-morrow, and yet, Lady, for a while we are

well-nigh as joyous as ye can be, whereas we have but newly come into

new life also: some of us from very thralldom of the most grievous, and

I am of those; and some of us in daily peril of it, like to my sister

here. So mayhappen," said she, smiling, "none of us shall seek to the

Well until we have worn our present bliss a little threadbare."

Ursula smiled on her, but the Sage said: "Mayhappen it is of no avail

speaking of such things to a young and fair woman; but what would

betide you if the old Burgers were to come back and win their walls

again?" The maid who had been a thrall changed countenance at his

word; but the other one said: "If the Burgers come back, they will find

them upon the walls who have already chaced them. Thou mayst deem me

slim and tender, old wise man; but such as mine arm is, it has upheaved

the edges against the foe; and if it be a murder to slay a Burger, then

am I worthy of the gallows." "Yea, yea," quoth Richard, laughing, "ye

shall be double-manned then in this good town: ye may well win, unless

the sight of you shall make the foe over fierce for the gain."

Said the Sage "It is well, maiden, and if ye hold to that, and keep

your carles in the same road, ye need not to fear the Burgers: and to

say sooth, I have it in my mind, that before long ye shall have both

war and victory."

Then Ralph seemed to wake up as from a dream, and he arose, and said:

"Thou art in the right, Sage, and to mine eyes it seemeth that both

thou and I shall be sharers in the war and the victory." And therewith

he fell to striding up and down the hall, while the two maidens sat

gazing on him with gleaming eyes and flushed cheeks.

But in a little while he came back to his seat and sat him down, and

fell to talk with the women, and asked them of the town and the

building therein, and the markets, whether they throve; and they and

two or three of the townsmen or merchants answered all, and told him

how fair their estate was, and how thriving was the lot of one and all

with them. Therewith was Ralph well pleased, and they sat talking

there in good fellowship till the night was somewhat worn, and all men

fared to bed.

CHAPTER 19

Ralph Sees Hampton and the Scaur

When it was morning Ralph arose and went into the hall of the hostelry,

and even as he entered it the outside door opened, and in came Roger,

and Richard with him (for he had been astir very early) and Roger, who

was armed from head to foot and wore a coat of the Dry Tree, cried out:

"Now, Lord, thou wert best do on thy war-gear, for thou shalt presently

be captain of an host." "Yea, Roger," quoth Ralph, "and hast thou done

well?" "Well enough," said Richard; "thine host shall not be a great

one, but no man in it will be a blencher, for they be all champions of

the Dry Tree."

"Yea," quoth Roger, "so it was that Stephen a-Hurst brought me to a

company of my old fellows, and we went all of us together to the

Captain of the Burg (e'en he of the Dry Tree, who in these latest days

is made captain of all), and did him to wit that thou hadst a need; and

whereas he, as all of us, had heard of the strokes that thou struckest

in the wood that day when thy happiness first began, (woe worth the

while!) he stickled not to give some of us leave to look on the

hand-play with thee. But soft, my Lord! abound not in thanks as yet,

till I tell thee. The said Captain hath gotten somewhat of the mind of

a chapman by dwelling in a town, 'tis like (the saints forgive me for

saying so!) and would strike a bargain with thee." "Yea," said Ralph,

smiling, "I partly guess what like the bargain is; but say thou."

Said Roger: "I like not his bargain, not for thy sake but mine own;

this it is, that we shall ride, all of us who are to be of thy

fellowship, to the Castle of the Scaur to-day, and there thy Lady shall

sit in the throne whereas in past days our Lady and Queen was wont to

sit; and that thou shalt swear upon her head, that whensoever he

biddeth thee come to the help of the Burg of the Four Friths and the

tribes of the Wheat-wearers, thou shalt come in arms by the straightest

road with such fellowship as thou mayst gather; and if thou wilt so do,

we of the Dry Tree who go with thee on this journey are thine to save

or to spend by flood or field, or castle wall, amidst the edges and the

shafts and the fire-flaught. What sayest thou--thou who art lucky, and

hast of late become wise? And I will tell thee, that though I hope it

not, yet I would thou shouldst naysay it; for it will be hard for me to

see another woman sitting in our Lady's seat: yea, to see her sitting

there, who hath stolen her luck."

Said Ralph: "Now this proffer of the Captain's I call friendly and

knightly, and I will gladly swear as he will; all the more as without

any oath I should never fail him whensoever he may send for me. As for

thee, Roger, ride with us if thou wilt, and thou shalt be welcome both

in the company, and at the High House of Upmeads whenso we come there."

Then was Roger silent, but nowise abashed; and as they spoke they heard

the tramp of horses and the clash of weapons, and they saw through the

open door three men-at-arms riding up to the house; so Ralph went out

to welcome them; they were armed full well in bright armour, and their

coats were of the Dry Tree, and were tall men and warrior-like. They

hailed Ralph as captain, and he gave them the sele of the day and bade

come in and drink a cup; so did they, but they were scarce off their

horses ere there came another three, and then six together, and so one

after other till the hall of the Flower de Luce was full of the gleam

of steel and clash of armour, and the lads held their horses without

and were merry with the sight of the stalwart men-at-arms. Now cometh

Ursula down from her chamber clad in her bravery; and when they saw her

they set up a shout for joy of her, so that the rafters rang again; but

she laughed for pleasure of them, and poured them out the wine, till

they were merrier with the sight of her than with the good liquor.

Now Roger comes to Ralph and tells him that he deems his host hath come

to the last man. Then Ralph armed him, and those two maidens brought

him his horse, and they mount all of them and draw up in the Square;

and Roger and Stephen a-Hurst array them, for they were chosen of them

as leaders along with Ralph, and Richard, whom they all knew, at least

by hearsay. Then Roger drew from his pouch a parchment, and read the

roll of names, and there was no man lacking, and they were threescore

save five, besides Roger and the way-farers, and never was a band of

like number seen better; and Richard said softly unto Ralph: "If we

had a few more of these, I should care little what foemen we should

meet in Upmeads: soothly, my lord, they had as well have ridden into

red Hell as into our green fields." "Fear not, Richard," said Ralph,

"we shall have enough."

So then they rode out of the Square and through the streets to the

North Gate, and much folk was abroad to look on them, and they blessed

them as they went, both carles and queans; for the rumour was toward

that there was riding a good and dear Lord and a Friend of the Well to

get his own again from out of the hands of the aliens.

Herewith they ride a little trot through the Freedom of the Burg, and

when they were clear of it they turned aside from the woodland highway

whereon Ralph had erst ridden with Roger and followed the rides a good

way till it was past noon, when they came into a very close thicket

where there was but a narrow and winding way whereon two men might not

ride abreast, and Roger said: "Now, if we were the old Burgers, and the

Dry Tree still holding the Scaur, we should presently know what

steel-point dinner meaneth; if the dead could rise out of their graves

to greet their foemen, we should anon be a merry company here. But at

last they learned the trick, and were wont to fetch a compass round

about Grey Goose Thicket as it hight amongst us."

"Well," said Ralph, "but how if there by any waylaying us; the Burgers

may be wiser still than thou deemest, and ye may have learned them more

than thou art minded to think."

"Nay," said Roger, "I bade a half score turn aside by the thicket path

on our left hands; that shall make all sure; but indeed I look for no

lurkers as yet. In a month's time that may betide, but not yet; not

yet. But tell me, fair Sir, have ye any deeming of where thou mayst

get thee more folk who be not afraid of the hard hand-play? For Richard

hath been telling me that there be tidings in the air."

Said Ralph: "If hope play me not false, I look to gather some stout

carles of the Shepherd Country." "Yea," said Roger, "but I shall tell

thee that they have been at whiles unfriends of the Dry Tree." Said

Ralph: "I think they will be friends unto me." "Then it shall do

well," said Roger, "for they be good in a fray."

So talked they as they rode, but ever Roger would give no heed to

Ursula. but made as if he wotted not that she was there, though ever

and anon Ralph would be turning back to speak to her and help her

through the passes.

At last the thicket began to dwindle, and presently riding out of a

little valley or long trench on to a ridge nearly bare of trees, they

saw below them a fair green plain, and in the midst of it a great heap

of grey rocks rising out of it like a reef out of the sea, and on the

said reef, and climbing up as it were to the topmost of it, the white

walls of a great castle, the crown whereof was a huge round tower. At

the foot of the ridge was a thorp of white houses thatched with straw

scattered over a good piece of the plain. The company drew rein on the

ridge-top, and the Champions raised a great shout at the sight of their

old strong-place; and Roger turned to Ralph and said: "Fair Sir, how

deemest thou of the Castle of the Scaur?" but Richard broke in: "For my

part, friend Roger, I deem that ye do like to people unlearned in war

to leave the stronghold ungarnished of men. This is a fool's deed."

"Nay, nay," said Roger, "we need not be over-hasty, while it is our

chief business to order the mingled folk of the Wheat-wearers and

others who dwell in the Burg as now."

Then spake Ralph: "Yet how wilt thou say but that the foemen whom we

go to meet in Upmeads may be some of those very Burgers: hast thou

heard whether they have found a new dwelling among some unhappy folk,

or be still roving: maybe they shall deem Upmeads fair."

Spake Michael a-Hurst: "By thy leave, fair Sir, we have had a word of

those riders and strong-thieves that they have fetched a far compass,

and got them armour, and be come into the woodland north of the Wood

Debateable. For like all strong-thieves, they love the wood."

Roger laughed: "Yea, as we did, friend Michael, when we were thieves;

whereas now we be lords and gentlemen. But as to thy tidings, I set

not much by them; for of the same message was this word that they had

already fallen on Higham by the Way; and we know that this cannot be

true; since though forsooth the Abbot has had unpeace on his hands, we

know where his foemen came from, the West to wit, and the Banded

Barons."

"Yea, yea," quoth the Sage, "but may not the Burgers have taken service

with them?" "Yea, forsooth," quoth Roger, "but I deem not, or we had

been surer thereof."

Thus they spake, and they lighted down all of them to breathe their

horses, and Ursula spake with Ralph as they walked the greensward

together a little apart, and said: "Sweetheart, I am afraid of to-day."

"Yea, dear," said he, "and wherefore?" She said: "It will be hard for

me to enter that grim house yonder, and sit in the seat whence I was

erewhile threatened by the evil hag with hair like a grey she-bear."

He made much of her and said: "Yet belike a Friend of the Well may

overcome this also; and withal the hall shall be far other to-day when

it was."

She looked about on the warriors as they lay on the grass or loitered

by their horses; then she smiled, and her face lightened, and she

reddened and cast down her eyes and said: "Yea, that is sooth; that day

there were few men in the hall, and they old and evil of semblance. It

was a band of women who took me in the thorp and brought me up into the

Castle, and mishandled me there, and cast me into prison there; whereas

these be good fellows, and frank and free of aspect. But O, my heart,

look thou how fearful the piled-up rocks rise from the plain and the

walls wind up amongst them; and that huge tower, the crown of all!

Surely there is none more fearful in the world."

He kissed her and laughed merrily, and said: "Yea, sweetheart, and

there will be another change in the folk of the hall when we come there

this time, to wit, that thou shouldst not be alone therein, even were

all these champions, and Richard and the Sage away from thee. Wilt

thou tell me how that shall be?"

She turned to him and kissed him and caressed him, and then they turned

back again toward their fellows, for by now they had walked together a

good way along the ridge.

So then they gat to horse again and rode into the thorp, where men and

women stood about to behold them, and made them humble reverence as

they passed by. So rode they to the bailly of the Castle; and if that

stronghold looked terrible from the ridge above, tenfold more terrible

of aspect it was when the upper parts were hidden by the grey rocks,

and they so huge and beetling, and though the sun was bright about

them, and they in the midst of their friends, yet even Ralph felt

somewhat of dread creep over him: yet he smiled cheerfully as Ursula

turned an anxious face on him. They alighted from their horses in the

bailly, for over steep for horse-hoofs was the walled way upward; and

as they began to mount, even the merry Champions hushed their holiday

clamour for awe of the huge stronghold, and Ralph took Ursula by the

hand, and she sidled up to him, and said softly: "Yea, it was here

they drave me up, those women, thrusting and smiting me; and some would

have stripped off my raiment, but one who seemed the wisest, said,

'Nay, leave her till she come before the ancient Lady, for her gear may

be a token of whence she is, and whither, if she be come as a spy.' So

I escaped them for that moment. And now I wonder what we shall find in

the hall when we come in thither. It is somewhat like to me, as when

one gets up from bed in the dead night, when all is quiet and the moon

is shining, and goes out of the chamber into the hall, and coming back,

almost dreads to see some horror lying in one's place amid the familiar

bedclothes."

And she grew paler as she spake. Then Ralph comforted her and trimmed

his countenance to a look of mirth, but inwardly he was ill at ease.

So up they went and up, till they came to a level place whereon was

built the chief hall and its chambers: there they stood awhile to

breathe them before the door, which was rather low than great; and

Ursula clung to Ralph and trembled, but Ralph spake in her ear: "Take

heart, my sweet, or these men, and Roger in especial, will think the

worse of thee; and thou a Friend of the Well. What! here is naught to

hurt thee! this is naught beside the perils of the desert, and the

slaves and the evil lord of Utterbol." "Yea," she said, "but meseemeth

I loved thee not so sore as now I do. O friend, I am become a weak

woman and unvaliant, and there is naught in me but love of thee, and

love of life because of thee; nor dost thou know altogether what befell

me in that hall."

But Ralph turned about and cried out in a loud, cheerful voice: "Let us

enter, friends! and lo you, I will show the Champions of the Dry Tree

the way into their own hall and high place." Therewith he thrust the

door open, for it was not locked, and strode into the hall, still

leading Ursula by the hand, and all the company followed him, the clash

of their armour resounding through the huge building. Though it was

long, it was not so much that it was long as that it was broad, and

exceeding high, so that in the dusk of it the great vault of the roof

was dim and misty. There was no man therein, no halling on its walls,

no benches nor boards, naught but the great standing table of stone on

the dais, and the stone high-seat amidst of it: and the place did

verily seem like the house and hall of a people that had died out in

one hour because of their evil deeds.

They stood still a moment when they were all fairly within doors, and

Roger thrust up to Ralph and said, but softly: "The woman is

blenching, and all for naught; were it not for the oath, we had best

have left her in the thorp: I fear me she will bring evil days on our

old home with her shivering fear. How far otherwise came our Lady in

hither when first she came amongst us, when the Duke of us found her in

the wood after she had been thrust out from Sunway by the Baron whom

thou slewest afterward. Our Duke brought her in hither wrapped up in

his knight's scarlet cloak, and went up with her on to the dais; but

when she came thither, she turned about and let her cloak fall to

earth, and stood there barefoot in her smock, as she had been cast out

into the wildwood, and she spread abroad her hands, and cried out in a

loud voice as sweet as the May blackbird, 'May God bless this House and

the abode of the valiant, and the shelter of the hapless.'"

Said Ursula (and her voice was firm and the colour come back to her

cheeks now, while Ralph stood agaze and wondering): "Roger, thou lovest

me little, meseemeth, though if I did less than I do, I should do

against the will of thy Lady that was Queen in this hall. But tell me,

Roger, where is gone that other one, the fearful she-bear of this crag,

who sat in yonder stone high-seat, and roared at me and mocked me, and

gave me over into the hands of her tormentors, who haled me away to the

prison wherefrom thy very Lady delivered me?"

"Lady," said Roger, "the tale of her is short since the day thou sawest

her herein. On the day when we first had the evil tidings of the

slaying of my Lady we were sad at heart, and called to mind ancient

transgressions against us; therefore we fell on the she-bear, as thou

callest her, and her company of men and women, and some we slew and

some we thrust forth; but as to her, I slew her not three feet from

where thou standest now. A rumour there is that she walketh, and it

may be so; yet in the summer noon ye need not look to see her."

Ralph said coldly: "Roger, let us be done with minstrels' tales; lead

me to the place where the oath is to be sworn, for time presses."

Scarce were the words out of his mouth ere Roger strode forward and gat

him on to the dais and went hastily to the wall behind the high-seat,

whence he took down a very great horn, and set it to his lips and

winded it loudly thrice, so that the great and high hall was full of

its echoes. Richard started thereat and half drew his sword; but the

Sage put his hand upon the hilts, and said: "It is naught, let the

edges lie quiet." Ursula stared astonished, but now she quaked no more;

Ralph changed not countenance a wit, and the champions of the Tree made

as if naught had been done that they looked not for. But thereafter

cried Roger from the dais: "This is the token that the men of the Dry

Tree are met for matters of import; thus is the Mote hallowed. Come up

hither, ye aliens, and ye also of the fellowship, that the oath may be

sworn, and we may go our ways, even as the alien captain biddeth."

Then Ralph took Ursula's hand again, and went up the hall calmly and

proudly, and the champions followed with Richard and the Sage. Ralph

and Ursula went up on to the dais, and he set down Ursula in the stone

high-seat, and even in the halldusk a right fair-coloured picture she

looked therein; for she was clad in a goodly green gown broidered with

flowers, and a green cloak with gold orphreys over it; her hair was

spread abroad over her shoulders, and on her head was a garland of

roses which the women of the Flower de Luce had given her; so there she

sat with her fair face, whence now all the wrinkles of trouble and fear

were smoothed out, looking like an image of the early summer-tide

itself. And the champions looked on her and marvelled, and one

whispered to the other that it was their Lady of aforetime come back

again; only Roger, who had now gone back to the rest of the fellowship,

cast his eyes upon the ground, and muttered.

Now Ralph draws his sword, and lays it naked on the stone table, and he

stood beside Ursula and said: "Champions of the Dry Tree, by the blade

of Upmeads which lieth here before me, and by the head which I love

best in the world, and is best worthy of love" (and herewith he laid

his hand on Ursula's head), "I swear that whensoever the Captain of the

Dry Tree calleth on me, whether I be eating or drinking, abed or

standing on my feet, at peace or at war, glad or sorry, I shall do my

utmost to come to his aid straightway with whatso force I may gather.

Is this rightly sworn, Champions?"

Said Stephen a-Hurst: "It is sworn well and knightly, and now cometh

our oath."

"Nay," said Ralph, "I had no mind to drive a bargain with you; your

deeds shall prove you; and I fear not for your doughtiness."

Said Stephen: "Yea, Lord; but he bade us swear to thee. Reach me thy

sword, I pray thee."

Then Ralph reached him his sword across the great stone table, and

Stephen took it, and kissed the blade and the hilts; and then lifted up

his voice and said: "By the hilts and the blade, by the point and the

edge, we swear to follow the Lord Ralph of Upmeads for a year and a

day, and to do his will in all wise. So help us God and Allhallows!"

And therewith he gave the sword to the others, and each man of them

kissed it as he had.

But Ralph said: "Champions, for this oath I thank you all heartily.

But it is not my meaning that I should hold you by me for a year,

whereas I deem I shall do all that my kindred may need in three days'

space from the first hour wherein we set foot in Upmeads."

Stephen smiled friendly at him and nodded, and said: "That may well

be; but now to make a good end of this mote I will tell thee a thing;

to wit, that our Captain, yea, and all we, are minded to try thee by

this fray in Upmeads, now we know that thou hast become a Friend of the

Well. And if thou turn out as we deem is likest, we will give thee

this Castle of the Scaur, for thee and those that shall spring from thy

loins; for we deem that some such man as thou will be the only one to

hold it worthily, and in such wise as it may be a stronghold against

tyrants and for the helping of peaceable folk; since forsooth, we of

the Dry Tree have heard somewhat of the Well at the World's End, and

trow in the might thereof."

He made an end; and Ralph kept silence and pondered the matter. But

Roger lifted up his head and broke in, and said: "Yea, yea! that is

it: we are all become men of peace, we riders of the Dry Tree!" And he

laughed withal, but as one nowise best pleased.

But as Ralph was gathering his words together, and Ursula was looking

up to him with trouble in her face again, came a man of the thorp

rushing into the hall, and cried out: "O, my lords! there are weaponed

men coming forth from the thicket. Save us, we pray you, for we are

ill-weaponed and men of peace."

Roger laughed, and said: "Eh, good man! So ye want us back again?

But my Lord Ralph, and thou Richard, and thou Stephen, come ye to the

shot-window here, that giveth on to the forest. We are high up here,

and we shall see all as clearly as in a good mirror. Hast thou shut

the gates, carle?" "Yea, Lord Roger," quoth he, "and there are some

fifty of us together down in the base-court."

Ralph and Richard and Stephen looked forth from the shot window, and

saw verily a band of men riding down the bent into the thorp, and

Ralph, who as aforesaid was far-sighted and clear-sighted, said: "Yea,

it is strange: but without doubt these are riders of the Dry Tree; and

they seem to me to be some ten-score. Thou Stephen, thou Roger, what is

to hand? Is your Captain wont to give a gift and take it back...and

somewhat more with it?" Stephen looked abashed at his word; and Roger

hung his head again.

But therewith the Sage drew up to them and said: "Be not dismayed,

Lord Ralph. What wert thou going to say to the Champions when this

carle brake in?"

"This," said Ralph, "that I thanked the Dry Tree heartily for its gift,

but that meseemed it naught wise to leave this stronghold disgarnished

of men till I can come or send back from Upmeads."

Stephen's face cleared at the word, and he said: "I bid thee believe

it, lord, that there is no treason in our Captain's heart; and that if

there were I would fight against him and his men on thy behalf." And

Roger, though in a somewhat surly voice, said the like.

Ralph thought a little, and then he said: "It is well; go we down and

out of gates to meet them, that we may the sooner get on our way to

Upmeads." And without more words he went up to Ursula and took her hand

and went out of the hall, and down the rock-cut stair, and all they

with him. And when they came into the Base-court, Ralph spoke to the

carles of the thorp, who stood huddled together sore afeard, and said:

"Throw open the gates. These riders who have so scared you are naught

else than the Champions of the Dry Tree who are coming back to their

stronghold that they may keep you sure against wicked tyrants who would

oppress you."