I woke before the collier, who slept across the doorway on some skins,
and lay in his sleeping place for half an hour, thinking of what should
be before me, and whither I would go this day.
And, thinking quietly enough now, I made the resolve to leave at all
events my revenge that I had so longed for to sleep for a while--for
the words of the good priest had bided with me, and moreover, I had some
hope from his words of prophecy. So I would see how that turned out, and
then, if nought came of it, I would turn to my revenge again.
So having got thus far, the advice of the gray-haired warrior seemed as
good as any, for it was easy to me to get into West Wales, and then take
service with the under-king until such time as Danish or Norse vikings
put in thither, as they would at times for provender, or to buy copper
and tin from the miners.
But then a great longing came over me to see Alswythe once more, and
learn the truth of her faith or falseness. The man I had bound seemed to
speak truth, though she was the daughter of Matelgar. Yet if she were
child of that false man, I had known her mother well, and loved her
until she died a year ago. And she was a noble lady, and full of honesty.
Now as safe a way as any into the Westland would be over the Quantocks,
and so into the wilds of Dartmoor and beyond, where no man would know or
care for my outlawry--if, indeed, I found not more proscribed men
there than anywhere, who had fled, as I must fly, but with a price on
them. And if I fled that way, it was but a step aside to pass close to
Matelgar's hall.
It was the least safe path for me, it is true--for I had had a taste
of what sort of reception I should meet with at his hands did he catch
me or meet with me. But love drew me, and I would venture and see at
least the place where the one I loved dwelt.
Having made up my mind to that, I was all impatience to be going, and
woke the collier, saying that I must be afoot. He, poor man, started up
in affright, dreaming doubtless that the fiend had returned, but
recovered himself, making a low obeisance to me, quickly.
Then he brought out bread of the coarsest and cheese of the best,
grumbling that the fiend had devoured his better cheer. And I, being
light hearted, having made up my mind, and being young enough not to
look trouble in the face too long, asked him if he had none of the roe
deer left over?
Whereat he started, and looked terrified at me. Then I laughed, and said
that Grendel had told me what was in the pot, and the man, seeing that I
was not angry, began to grin also, wondering. Then the meaning of the
whole business seemed to come to him, and he sat down and began to
laugh, looking at me from under his brows now and then, lest I should be
wroth with him for the freedom. But I laughed also, and so in the end we
two sat and laughed till the tears came, opposite one another, and that
was a thing that I had never thought to do again. At last I stopped, and
then he made haste to compose himself.
"Master," he said, "forgive me. But if you were Grendel, as I think now,
there is a great fear off my mind."
"I was Grendel, Dudda," said I; "but you must have a sorely evil
conscience to be so easily frighted."
"Nay, master; but from week to week I see none, least of all at
midnight, and mail-clad men never at all. I think I am the only man who
fears not this marsh and what may haunt it."
"That you may never boast again," said I; "for scared you were, and that
badly!"
"It is between you and me, master," said he, with much cunning in his
look; "as I pray the matter of what was in the cauldron may be also--"
"Well, as for that," I answered, "I ate it, and was glad of it, so I
will not inquire how it came there."
But I was glad to have this secret as a sort of hold over this man, for
thralls are not to be trusted far, nor was I in a mood to put much faith
in any.
After that we ate in silence, and when we had finished, he put a loaf
and a half cheese into a wallet, and took a staff, and asked me to
command him. I knew not what the hermit had told him, so asked how much
he had learned of my errand.
"That you are on king's business, master, and in haste. Moreover that
your errand is secret, so that you would not be seen in town or village
on your way."
"That is right," I said, thanking in my mind the good hermit, whose
ready wit had made things so easy for me; moreover it was truthful
enough, for outlawry is king's business in all earnest, though not the
honour this poor thrall doubtless thought was put on me.
Then I told him that I need ask him but to guide me beyond Parret river,
on this side of Bridgwater, for after that the long line of the
Quantocks would guide me well enough. It was all I needed, for once out
of this fenland I knew the country well--aye, every furlong of it--
but I was willing enough to let him guide me through land I knew, that
if ever he were questioned--as he might well be when my outlawry was
known--his tale of my little knowledge of the country would make men
think me some stranger, and so no blame would come on him for harbouring
me.
So we started in the bright early morning, and he guided me well. There
is little to say of that journey, but finding from the man's talk that
the Moot rose not until the next day, I thought, with a lifting of my
heart, how Matelgar would likely enough be yet there, and that I might
almost in safety, unless he had sent word back concerning me to his men,
go and try to gain speech of Alswythe.
Now it chanced presently that, looking about me, I seemed to know the
lie of a woodland through which we passed, and in a little was sure we
were in that glade where I fought my fight. And next, I saw my
quarterstaff still resting against the tree where I had left it. The
collier saw it too, and said that some forester was doubtless resting
close by, seeming uneasy about the same. But I said that no question
should be made of his presence in the wood, if it were so, and we came
up to it. Then he started, and cried to me to look around.
My billhook, covered with new rust from the dew, lay where I had thrown
it in stripping off my own garments to arm myself; but of the man I had
slain only scattered bones were left. The wolves had devoured him.
When I saw that, I thought that this dead man might as well pass for
myself--Heregar, the outlaw. So I examined billhook and quarterstaff,
and at last said I knew them. They had been given to one Heregar, who
had been outlawed and driven from the Moot even as I stood to watch the
gathering as I passed by.
"Then his outlawry has ended here," said the collier. "The wolves have
devoured him."
"Just as well," I said carelessly. "Shall you take his staff and bill?
They are good enough."
"Not I," said the man. "It is ill meddling with strange men's weapons,
most of all an outlaw's."
"Mayhap you are wise," I said, and, casting down the things alongside
the bones, went on.
Now I had looked all round, and saw that my old garments were gone, so
that the man I had let go had at all events started away with them. But
now I knew that the news of my death would soon spread, hard on the
publishing of the sentence of outlawry, for the doings of an outlaw are
of the first interest to those among whom he may wander. As it was,
indeed, to my guide, who spoke so much thereof that I knew he would be
full of it, and tell it to all whom he met. And when he told me he
should go back through the town I was glad, for so Matelgar would have
news of the same, confirming the tale of his man, though not accounting
for his captain. Whereby he would be puzzled, and his life would be none
the easier, for I knew he would dread my vengeance, though it might be
hard for me to compass.
At last we crossed the river, and went a little way together into the
woods beyond, till we came to the road which should lead the collier
back to Bridgwater town. And there I made him give me directions for
crossing the Quantocks, as though I would go by Triscombe--which I
feigned to know not, save by name given for my guidance on my way.
I looked for him to ask reward, but he did not, and what the hermit had
told him I could not say, unless he had promised him reward on his
return. He made a low salutation before me, cap in hand, and I thanked
him for his pains, saying that I would not forget him, as I was sure he
would not forget "Grendel". And so we laughed, and he went away pleased
enough, giving me the wallet of food.
Then was I left alone in the woodlands that had been mine to hunt
through, for, holding our land from the king himself, I had many rights
that stretched far and wide, which doubtless that Matelgar coveted for
himself, and would now enjoy. And hard it was, and bitter exceedingly,
not to turn my steps straight through the town, where men had saluted me
reverently, to my own hall where it nestles under the great rock that
looks out over my low meadows, and away towards Brent across the wide
river. But that might not be. So I tried to stay myself with the thought
of the hermit's prophecy, and plunging deep into the woods, crossed far
back of my own place, until I could circle round towards Matelgar's hall.
And there I must go carefully, lest I should be seen and known by any;
but the woods were thick, and none knew them better than I. These things
come by nature to a man, and so I should not be proud that the very
woodmen would own that I was their master in all the craft of the
forest, as my father had been before me.
Now Matelgar's hall, smaller than mine, though as well built, or better,
lay in that glen which runs down towards the level meadows of Stert
point between Severn and Parret, north of the little hills of Combwich
and Stockland, and almost under that last. And there the forest came
down the valley--for it is not enough for me to call a combe--almost
to the rear of the hall and the quickset inclosure around it.
It was afternoon and towards evening when I came here, and I bided in
the woods a mile from the hall, in a safe place where none ever came,
until I heard the horn which called all men in to sup. Then, when I
judged that they had gathered, I struck towards the path that leads down
to the hall, keeping yet under cover. One ran in haste towards his
supper as I neared it, so I knew that perhaps he was the last to take
his place, and that for an hour or two I was secure.
Now in this wood, and not so far from where I was, is a little nook with
a fallen tree, and here Alswythe and her mother were wont to come in the
warm evenings, and sit while the feeding in hall went on, so soon as
they could leave the board. And there, too, I had met Alswythe often
lately, sitting and taking pleasure in her company, till she knew that I
would want no better companion for all my life.
This was just such an evening as might tempt her there, and I would at
least have the sorrow of biding there alone for the last time. So I
crept to that place very softly, and sat me down to think.
Maybe I had sat there a quarter of an hour when I heard a step coming,
and that step set my heart beating fast, for it was the one I longed
for. Then I feared to frighten her with sight of an armed man in her
retreat, but before I could move, she came round the bend of the path
that made the place private, and saw me.
She gave a little scream, and half turned to fly, for she was alarmed,
not knowing me in my arms. And all I could do was to take off my helm
and hold out my hands to her, for I could not speak her name in my joy.
Then she laid her hand to her heart, and paused and looked; and before I
could step towards her, she was in my arms of her own will; so I was
content.
Now how we two found ourselves sitting side by side presently, in the
old place, I may hardly say, but so it was. And I forgot all about her
father and the evil he had wrought, knowing that she had no part in it,
or indeed knowledge thereof.
For when we came to talk quietly, I found that she had thought me dead,
and mourned for me: for Matelgar had told her that he knew nought of me.
And I would not tell her of his treachery, for he was her father, and so
for her sake I made such a tale as I knew he was like to tell her,
though maybe the truth would come sooner or later: how that secret
enemies had trapped me, and had brought false charges against me, which
none of my friends could combat, so skilfully were they wrought, and
then how that I was outlawed, and must fly.
And hearing this she wept bitterly, fearing, and with reason, that I
should not return.
Then I comforted her with the hermit's prophecy, saying nought of her
father. And she, sweet soul, promised that Matelgar should tend my lands
and hall well till the words of the holy man came true, and I might take
them back from him. And then she added that sorely cast down and
troubled had her father seemed when he rode back from the Moot that day,
and doubtless it was from this. But how glad would he be to know me
living, and even now would take me in and set me on my way,
notwithstanding the order of the ealdorman!
Now when I heard that Matelgar was indeed returned, and so close to me,
I knew not what to do or say: for all my plans that he should think me
dead were like to be overthrown by the talk of this innocent daughter of
his.
And she, seeing me troubled, would have me say what it was, and I found
it hard to answer her.
At last I told her how even Matelgar dared not harbour or assist me, and
cried out on my folly in bringing blame even on her, were my presence
known. But she stopped my mouth, telling me most lovingly that the risk
was worth the running, so that she knew me living again.
Then I said that, lest harm should come to her father, it were better to
keep secret that I had been here. And that, moreover, those enemies of
mine would doubtless track me till they knew me gone from the kingdom,
so that were a whisper to go abroad that I had been seen here, it might
be death for me.
"And for this," I added, "it is likely that Matelgar, your father, will
have it spread abroad that I am dead, in his care for my safety. For so
will question about me and where I am cease."
This I said lest she should deny when the news came, as it must, that
this was so.
Yet she longed to tell her father that I was here; but at last I
overpersuaded her, and she promised to tell none, not even him, that she
had seen me, and for my sake to feign to believe that I was dead.
Then we must part. I told her my plans for going still westward to make
myself a name, if that might be; and promised to let her have news of
me, if and when I might, and in all to be true to her.
And she, brave girl, would try not to weep as I kissed her for the last
time; and gave me the little silver cross from her neck to keep for her
sake, telling me that she would pray for me night and day, and that
surely her prayers, and those of the holy man and the innocent child
would be heard for me, so that the prophecy would come true. And more
she said, which I may not write. Then footsteps came up the main path,
and I must go.
I heard her singing as she went back to the hail in the evening light,
and knew that that was for my sake, and not for lightness of heart; and
so, when her voice died away, I plunged again into the woods, making
westward while light lasted.