Now on a fair evening a little ere sunset of the beginning of October,
came those Dalesmen amongst the black rocks and rough places that
crowned the bent which looked down west over the Dale. And now, though
they had been talking merrily and loud for the last three hours, their
hearts were so full within them that scarce a word might they say one
to another. And when at last they had won through that rocky tangle
and had opened Wethermel, and nought lay before them but the grassy
slopes and the wide-spread valley cleft by the line of the Sundering
Flood; now, when they saw in the clear air the grey houses of
Wethermel lying together, and the smoke of the evening cooking fires
going up to the heavens, and the sheep wending on, thick and huddling
before the driving of three tall men, and the kine moving toward the
byre and the women amongst them, then this befel: that whereas they
had been all of one mind that when they came to the crown of the bent,
they would spur on and race merrily toward Wethermel, yet now when it
lay before them, and there was so little a way betwixt them and its
hearth, they all of them with one consent drew rein and sat still on
their horses, as if they had suddenly come face to face with the host
of the foemen. Yea, some there were, and they rather of the oldest
than the youngest, who might not refrain them, but fell a-weeping and
sobbing, whether it were for joy or sorrow, or a blending of both, may
scarce be said.
Osberne wept not: sooth to say, the turmoil of hope and fear within
his heart ate up somewhat the softness that might else have mastered
him at this new sight of his fathers' house. He rode forth before the
others, and lifted up his voice and loudly and clearly cried a
blessing on the Dale and the dwellers therein, and then rode soberly
down the bent, and the others followed him still silently. But when
they were drawn anigh, and every soul, man, woman and child, ran forth
from the garth to meet and welcome them, then at last their joy brake
forth, and they gat off their horses and gave themselves up to the
caresses of the women and the embracing of the carles, and loud was
the speech and the laughter amongst them.
Osberne was first met by Nicholas his grandsire, who kissed and
embraced him, and then gave him up to his grandam and the
fostermother, and one or other of these twain would scarce let go of
him a long while.
But now was riding and running after victual for so big a company of
men; for nought would serve the folk of Wethermel but that the whole
fellowship must abide there that night. But all was got ready in a
while, and meanwhile the stay-at-homes might not have enough of
praising and caressing the folk returned, and everything they said or
did was a wonder.
At last the feast was arrayed, and the hall was thronged as much as
might be, and folk fell to meat, and now they were all exceeding
merry; and when they had done eating, the boards were drawn to make
more room, and they fell to the drink, and after the first cup to
Christ, and the second to Allhallows, the third was drunk to the
home-comers from the war. Yet were not the stay-at-homes to be put off
with so little, and they called a cup for Osberne the Captain of the
warriors; and when it had been drunk, then all folk looked toward the
captain to see what he would do; but he rose up and stood in his
place, his cheek flushed and his eyes sparkling: and the word came
into his mouth and he sang:
The War-god's gale
Drave down the Dale
And thrust us out
To the battle-shout;
We wended far
To the wall of war
And trod the way
Where the edges lay,
The rain of the string rattled rough on the field
Where the haysel was hoarded with sword-edge & shield.
Long lived the sun
When the play was begun,
And little but white
Was the moon all night;
But the days drew in
And work was to win,
And on the snow
Lay men alow,
And at Yule fared we feasting in war-warded wall
And the helm and the byrny were bright in the hall.
Then changed the year
And spring was dear,
But no maid went
On mead or bent,
For there grew on ground
New battle-round,
New war-wall ran
Round houses of man,
There tower to tower oft dark and dim grew
At noontide of summer with rain of the yew.
Neath point and edge
In the battle hedge
We dwelt till wore
Late summer o'er;
We steered aright
The wisdom-bark
Through the steel-thronged dark,
The warrior we wafted from out of the fray,
And he woke midst the worthy and hearkened their say.
Now peace is won
And all strife done,
And in our hands
The fame of lands
Aback we bear
To the dale the dear,
And the Fathers lie
Made glad thereby.
Now blossometh bliss in the howes of the old
At our tale growing green from their tale that is told.
Loud was the glee and the shouting at his song, and all men said that
every whit thereof was sooth, and that this was the best day that had
ever dawned on Wethermel; and great joy and bliss was on the hall till
they must needs go to their rest. So changed was Wethermel, the
niggard once, and that, it might be deemed, was but one youngling's
doing.