Now some while before men were boun to depart to their own homes, the
sound of fresh battle was borne to them on the south-west; so, saving
those who must needs go tend the hurt on their way home, they might
not tear themselves away from that field of deed; and in special
Osberne, who had been busy enough in kenning the dead and wounded of
his folk while need was, came back to the verge of the Flood, where so
oft he had stood in love and joy, and stood there a long while, scarce
moving, with a shaft in his fingers and his bended bow in his fist,
his brows knit, his eyes staring out over the western field. It was
two hours after noon when the Westdalers turned to stir up the battle
again. And then was an hour ere the clamour of the fight came down
thither, and two hours yet it endured and was in all men's ears; and
then it died away, and the East men began to wander off from the
watching-place, wending this way and that, and the autumn day fell to
wane, and soon there were none left save Osberne and a half dozen of
the men of Wethermel. And one or another of them plucked him by the
sleeve and bade him come home with them, since the day was done, and
the battle would not quicken again, and the Westdalers had overmuch on
their hands to bear them any tidings till the morrow was a new day. At
first he heeded them nought, but in the end he turned on them with an
angry eye, yet spake mildly, and bade them get them home and eat and
sleep. "But leave me here," quoth he, "that I may watch a while lest
aught of new befalleth; and I will come to Wethermel when my heart
will suffer me." So they departed and left him; and there he stood,
till himseemed he had been there a long, long time. Night grew black
about him, and silence fell on the cloven plain of the Dale, save that
below him the speech of the eddies seemed to grow greater as other
voices failed. Then arose the wind, and went through the long grass
and talked in the crannies of the rock-wall of the Flood as the waters
spake below; and none came anear, nor might he hearken any foot of
man, only far-off voices from the steads of a barking dog or crowing
cock or lowing cow.
At last, when the night was beginning to change amidst the depth of
the darkness, himseemed he heard somewhat drawing anigh and coming up
the bent on the western side, and he wotted not but it might be the
unshod feed of men, and he lightly asked himself if the ghosts of the
dead made any sound with their feet as they trod the puddled earth
where a many had trodden before them; and so wild was his heart grown
now, that he thought it no great marvel if those that they had laid to
earth there should stand up and come before him in the night watches.
Then he nocked an arrow on his bow-string and handled his weapon, but
could not make up his mind to shoot lest the bow-draft should pierce
the quiet and rouse up inextinguishable shrieks and moans; and even
therewith, over those paddling feet, he seemed to hear a voice
beginning to cry, and he thought within himself: Now, now it is on the
way, and presently the air shall be full of it; and will it kindle
fire in the air?
But at that point of time the voice sounded louder and was in two or
three places, and even amidst its wildness the familiar sound smote to
his heart, for it was but the bleating of sheep, and now all the bent
over against him was alive with it. And of a sudden he was come to
himself and wotted what it was, that it was Elfhild's sheep, and that
they had been loosed or thrust out from their folds and had wandered
up there in the dark where so oft she had led them before. And now the
mere bitterness of grief took the place of his wildness, and he let
his bow and arrow drop to earth, and cast himself down on to the
trodden ground & buried his face in his hands and moaned, and speedily
the images of his life to come and the sorrow he must face passed
through his soul, for he knew that she was gone, and either slain or
carried away to where he should never hear of her or see her again.
At last, that his grief and wanhope might not rend his heart and slay
him then and there, and lest all the deeds whereto he was fated should
be spoiled and undone, self-pity fell upon him with the sweet
remembrance of his love, and loosed the well of his tears, and he wept
and wept, and might not be satiated of his mourning a long while. But
when the night was yet dark and no sign of dawn in the sky, and, might
he have seen it, the south-west was driving the rack low adown along
the earth, he rose up slowly and gat his bow and arrows into his
hands, and weakly and stiffly, like a man who hath been long sick, he
fell to going along the riverside toward Wethermel, and his feet knew
the way though his eyes might see it not. And as he went, with the
wind whistling about his ears and the picture of Wethermel before his
eyes, he found that life was come again to him, and he was beginning
to think about what he should be doing to win some way back to the
love that had been rent from him. Ever and anon, forsooth, as he was
amidst such thoughts, the tears brake out from his eyes again, but
still now he could refrain them better and better after each outburst,
and he had no more wildness as erst, as if he were out of the world
and drifting he knew not whither or why; but now he knew which was
himself, and which was grief and pain.
It was but just the grey of the morning when he crept into the hall at
Wethermel, and found his bed and cast himself thereon, and, all undone
by weariness, fell asleep at once.
He awoke with the house astir about him, and arose and sat down to eat
with the others, and was no harsher of speech than his wont, albeit he
looked stark and stern; and to some it seemed as if he had aged ten
years since yestermorn, and they deemed that the death of the folk lay
heavy on him, as was like to be, and they said as few words to him as
might be, for his grief seemed aweful to them. But when they had eaten
he bade three of his men come with him down the water to seek tidings
of the Westdalers. So they went together, and a little below the Bight
of the Cloven Knoll, out of earshot of the Dwarf-folk, they met with
others from the lower steads come upon the same errand; and the
Westdalers were just come to the water-side with Wulfstan for their
spokesman, who forsooth had gotten some scratches from the war-beast,
so that his head and his arm were bandaged. Now he spake: "Hail to
you, stout-hearts of the East! Ye may deem that we prevailed in the
second battle yesterday, or ye would scarce have seen us here this
morn. Now the battle was foughten all about the garth and the house of
Longryggs, which the strong-thieves had fallen on to waste, but the
women-folk of the stead had saved their lives by flight, and the
carles thereof were in our company fighting valiantly. So whatever is
lost was lost in open battle, wherein two score and six of our best
men have changed their lives; but as for the strong-thieves, besides
them who fell in your shot-stour, we have buried over seven-score; and
the rest are fled away, many of them grievously hurt. Wherefore,
friends, we have won a great victory: God and his hallows keep us for
any more such!" And it seemed as if the goodman were weeping-ripe,
whereof none marvelled. But Osberne spake, and the sound of his own
voice seemed strange unto him: "Tell me, goodman, have ye lost nought
by the murder of men whenas the strong-thieves fell on some stead?"
"Nay," said Wulfstan, "the thieves have wasted no other stead save
Longryggs, whereas, as I have said, the folks escaped the murder, and
this little house which is hard hereby of Hartshaw Knolls. There
forsooth the two women be missing, but no slain body of carle or quean
have we found, nought of slaughter save the slaughter of kine and
sheep. And I must tell you that this morning our folk sought all about
heedfully, yea, and looked into every thicket and nook of the wood."
"Belike," quoth Osberne, "they will have carried off the two women?"
Said Wulfstan: "I fear it may well be so."
Said Osberne: "Well, this loss of two women, whom maybe ye shall find
again, is but little: but grievous is the manfall of the battles. Yet
not soon meseem shall reivers fall upon West Dale now they have
learned the valour of the folk thereof. Heried be the Lord God that
the folk yet liveth and shall live!"
He spake measuredly and in a loud voice, so that all heard, and they
cheered his speech with deep and strong voice; but they who stood
nighest unto Osberne say that his face was stern and very pale as he
spake; and it seemed to them that had Boardcleaver been naked on the
West side in that stour yet more of the strong-thieves had fallen.
Now they parted, and Osberne and his Wethermelers went home, and the
other Eastdalers also, each to his place. But as to the Westdalers,
they fell to, and drew away the slain thieves from the field of deed,
for that they feared the begrudging of the Dwarfs, and they laid them
in earth hard by where they had stood to have that converse with them
of the East; and they raised a great howe over them, and it is called
Thieves' Howe unto this day. And the tale of the said thieves who were
slain by the Eastdalers in the shot-stour is three score and ten and
seven.