ONE winter evening an old knight in rusted chain-armour rode slowly
along the woody southern slope of Ben Bulben, watching the sun go down
in crimson clouds over the sea. His horse was tired, as after a long
journey, and he had upon his helmet the crest of no neighbouring lord
or king, but a small rose made of rubies that glimmered every moment to
a deeper crimson. His white hair fell in thin curls upon his shoulders,
and its disorder added to the melancholy of his face, which was the
face of one of those who have come but seldom into the world, and
always for its trouble, the dreamers who must do what they dream, the
doers who must dream what they do.
After gazing a while towards the sun, he let the reins fall upon the
neck of his horse, and, stretching out both arms towards the west, he
said, ‘O Divine Rose of Intellectual Flame, let the gates of thy peace
be opened to me at last!’ And suddenly a loud squealing began in the
woods some hundreds of yards further up the mountain side. He stopped
his horse to listen, and heard behind him a sound of feet and of
voices. ‘They are beating them to make them go into the narrow path by
the gorge,’ said someone, and in another moment a dozen peasants armed
with short spears had come up with the knight, and stood a little apart
from him, their blue caps in their hands.
‘Where do you go with the spears?’ he asked; and one who seemed the
leader answered: ‘A troop of wood-thieves came down from the hills a
while ago and carried off the pigs belonging to an old man who lives by
Glen Car Lough, and we turned out to go after them. Now that we know
they are four times more than we are, we follow to find the way they
have taken; and will presently tell our story to De Courcey, and if he
will not help us, to Fitzgerald; for De Courcey and Fitzgerald have
lately made a peace, and we do not know to whom we belong.’
‘But by that time,’ said the knight, ‘the pigs will have been eaten.’
‘A dozen men cannot do more, and it was not reasonable that the whole
valley should turn out and risk their lives for two, or for two dozen
pigs.’
‘Can you tell me,’ said the knight, ‘if the old man to whom the pigs
belong is pious and true of heart?’
‘He is as true as another and more pious than any, for he says a prayer
to a saint every morning before his breakfast.’
‘Then it were well to fight in his cause,’ said the knight, ‘and if you
will fight against the wood-thieves I will take the main brunt of the
battle, and you know well that a man in armour is worth many like these
wood-thieves, clad in wool and leather.’
And the leader turned to his fellows and asked if they would take the
chance; but they seemed anxious to get back to their cabins.
‘Are the wood-thieves treacherous and impious?’
‘They are treacherous in all their dealings,’ said a peasant, ‘and no
man has known them to pray.’
‘Then,’ said the knight, ‘I will give five crowns for the head of every
wood-thief killed by us in the fighting’; and he bid the leader show
the way, and they all went on together. After a time they came to where
a beaten track wound into the woods, and, taking this, they doubled
back upon their previous course, and began to ascend the wooded slope
of the mountains. In a little while the path grew very straight and
steep, and the knight was forced to dismount and leave his horse tied
to a tree-stem. They knew they were on the right track: for they could
see the marks of pointed shoes in the soft clay and mingled with them
the cloven footprints of the pigs. Presently the path became still
more abrupt, and they knew by the ending of the cloven footprints that
the thieves were carrying the pigs. Now and then a long mark in the
clay showed that a pig had slipped down, and been dragged along for a
little way. They had journeyed thus for about twenty minutes, when a
confused sound of voices told them that they were coming up with the
thieves. And then the voices ceased, and they understood that they had
been overheard in their turn. They pressed on rapidly and cautiously,
and in about five minutes one of them caught sight of a leather jerkin
half hidden by a hazel-bush. An arrow struck the knight’s chain-armour,
but glanced off harmlessly, and then a flight of arrows swept by them
with the buzzing sound of great bees. They ran and climbed, and climbed
and ran towards the thieves, who were now all visible standing up
among the bushes with their still quivering bows in their hands: for
they had only their spears, and they must at once come hand to hand.
The knight was in the front, and smote down first one and then another
of the wood-thieves. The peasants shouted, and, pressing on, drove
the wood-thieves before them until they came out on the flat top of
the mountain, and there they saw the two pigs quietly grubbing in the
short grass, so they ran about them in a circle, and began to move back
again towards the narrow path: the old knight coming now the last of
all, and striking down thief after thief. The peasants had got no very
serious hurts among them, for he had drawn the brunt of the battle upon
himself, as could well be seen from the bloody rents in his armour; and
when they came to the entrance of the narrow path he bade them drive
the pigs down into the valley, while he stood there to guard the way
behind them. So in a moment he was alone, and, being weak with loss of
blood, might have been ended there and then by the wood-thieves he had
beaten off, had fear not made them begone out of sight in a great hurry.
An hour passed, and they did not return; and now the knight could stand
on guard no longer, but had to lie down upon the grass. A half-hour
more went by, and then a young lad, with what appeared to be a number
of cock’s feathers stuck round his hat, came out of the path behind
him, and began to move about among the dead thieves, cutting their
heads off. Then he laid the heads in a heap before the knight, and
said: ‘O great knight, I have been bid come and ask you for the crowns
you promised for the heads: five crowns a head. They bid me tell you
that they have prayed to God and His Mother to give you a long life,
but that they are poor peasants, and that they would have the money
before you die. They told me this over and over for fear I might forget
it, and promised to beat me if I did.’
The knight raised himself upon his elbow, and opening a bag that hung
to his belt, counted out the five crowns for each head. There were
thirty heads in all.
‘O great knight,’ said the lad, ‘they have also bid me take all care of
you, and light a fire, and put this ointment upon your wounds.’ And he
gathered sticks and leaves together, and, flashing his flint and steel
under a mass of dry leaves, had made a very good blaze. Then, drawing
off the coat of mail, he began to anoint the wounds: but he did it
clumsily, like one who does by rote what he had been told. The knight
motioned him to stop, and said: ‘You seem a good lad.’
‘I would ask something of you for myself.’
‘There are still a few crowns,’ said the knight; ‘shall I give them to
you?’
‘O no,’ said the lad. ‘They would be no good to me. There is only one
thing that I care about doing, and I have no need of money to do it. I
go from village to village and from hill to hill, and whenever I come
across a good cock I steal him and take him into the woods, and I keep
him there under a basket, until I get another good cock, and then I set
them to fight. The people say I am an innocent, and do not do me any
harm, and never ask me to do any work but go a message now and then. It
is because I am an innocent that they send me to get the crowns: anyone
else would steal them; and they dare not come back themselves, for now
that you are not with them they are afraid of the wood-thieves. Did you
ever hear how, when the wood-thieves are christened, the wolves are
made their godfathers, and their right arms are not christened at all?’
‘If you will not take these crowns, my good lad, I have nothing for
you, I fear, unless you would have that old coat of mail which I shall
soon need no more.’
‘There was something I wanted: yes, I remember now,’ said the lad. ‘I
want you to tell me why you fought like the champions and giants in the
stories and for so little a thing. Are you indeed a man like us? Are
you not rather an old wizard who lives among these hills, and will not
a wind arise presently and crumble you into dust?’
‘I will tell you of myself,’ replied the knight, ‘for now that I am
the last of the fellowship, I may tell all and witness for God. Look
at the Rose of Rubies on my helmet, and see the symbol of my life and
of my hope.’ And then he told the lad this story, but with always
more frequent pauses; and, while he told it, the Rose shone a deep
blood-colour in the firelight, and the lad stuck the cock’s feathers in
the earth in front of him, and moved them about as though he made them
actors in the play.
‘I live in a land far from this, and was one of the Knights of Saint
John,’ said the old man; ‘but I was one of those in the Order who
always longed for more arduous labours in the service of the Most High.
At last there came to us a knight of Palestine, to whom the truth of
truths had been revealed by God Himself. He had seen a great Rose of
Fire, and a Voice out of the Rose had told him how men would turn from
the light of their own hearts, and bow down before outer order and
outer fixity, and that then the light would cease, and none escape the
curse except the foolish good man who could not, and the passionate
wicked man who would not, think. Already, the Voice told him, the
wayward light of the heart was shining out upon the world to keep it
alive, with a less clear lustre, and that, as it paled, a strange
infection was touching the stars and the hills and the grass and the
trees with corruption, and that none of those who had seen clearly
the truth and the ancient way could enter into the Kingdom of God,
which is in the Heart of the Rose, if they stayed on willingly in the
corrupted world; and so they must prove their anger against the Powers
of Corruption by dying in the service of the Rose of God. While the
knight of Palestine was telling us these things we seemed to see in a
vision a crimson Rose spreading itself about him, so that he seemed to
speak out of its heart, and the air was filled with fragrance. By this
we knew that it was the very Voice of God which spoke to us by the
knight, and we gathered about him and bade him direct us in all things,
and teach us how to obey the Voice. So he bound us with an oath, and
gave us signs and words whereby we might know each other even after
many years, and he appointed places of meeting, and he sent us out in
troops into the world to seek good causes, and die in doing battle for
them. At first we thought to die more readily by fasting to death in
honour of some saint; but this he told us was evil, for we did it for
the sake of death, and thus took out of the hands of God the choice
of the time and manner of our death, and by so doing made His power
the less. We must choose our service for its excellence, and for this
alone, and leave it to God to reward us at His own time and in His own
manner. And after this he compelled us to eat always two at a table to
watch each other lest we fasted unduly, for some among us said that
if one fasted for a love of the holiness of saints and then died, the
death would be acceptable. And the years passed, and one by one my
fellows died in the Holy Land, or in warring upon the evil princes of
the earth, or in clearing the roads of robbers; and among them died the
knight of Palestine, and at last I was alone. I fought in every cause
where the few contended against the many, and my hair grew white, and a
terrible fear lest I had fallen under the displeasure of God came upon
me. But, hearing at last how this western isle was fuller of wars and
rapine than any other land, I came hither, and I have found the thing I
sought, and, behold! I am filled with a great joy.’
Thereat he began to sing in Latin, and, while he sang, his voice grew
fainter and fainter. Then his eyes closed, and his lips fell apart, and
the lad knew he was dead. ‘He has told me a good tale,’ he said, ‘for
there was fighting in it, but I did not understand much of it, and it
is hard to remember so long a story.’
And, taking the knight’s sword, he began to dig a grave in the soft
clay. He dug hard, and a faint light of dawn had touched his hair and
he had almost done his work when a cock crowed in the valley below.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I must have that bird’; and he ran down the narrow path
to the valley.