The House of the Wolfings
well stricken in years, but very mighty and valiant; wise in war and well
renowned; of few words save in battle, and therein a singer of songs, a
laugher, a joyous man, a merry companion. He was a much bigger man than
Thiodolf; and indeed so huge was his stature, that he seemed to be of the
kindred of the Mountain Giants; and his bodily might went with his
stature, so that no one man might deal with him body to body. His face
was big; his cheek-bones high; his nose like an eagle's neb, his mouth
wide, his chin square and big; his eyes light-grey and fierce under
shaggy eyebrows: his hair white and long.
Such were his raiment and weapons, that he wore a coat of fence of dark
iron scales sewn on to horse-hide, and a dark iron helm fashioned above
his brow into the similitude of the Wolf's head with gaping jaws; and
this he had wrought for himself with his own hands, for he was a good
smith. A round buckler he bore and a huge twibill, which no man of the
kindred could well wield save himself; and it was done both blade and
shaft with knots and runes in gold; and he loved that twibill well, and
called it the Wolf's Sister.
There then stood Heriulf, looking no less than one of the forefathers of
the kindred come back again to the battle of the Wolfings.
He was well-beloved for his wondrous might, and he was no hard man,
though so fell a warrior, and though of few words, as aforesaid, was a
blithe companion to old and young. In numberless battles had he fought,
and men deemed it a wonder that Odin had not taken to him a man so much
after his own heart; and they said it was neighbourly done of the Father
of the Slain to forbear his company so long, and showed how well he loved
the Wolfing House.
For a good while yet came other bands of Markmen into the Thing-stead;
but at last there was an end of their coming. Then the ring of men
opened, and ten warriors of the Daylings made their way through it, and
one of them, the oldest, bore in his hand the War-horn of the Daylings;
for this kindred had charge of the Thing-stead, and of all appertaining
to it. So while his nine fellows stood round about the Speech-Hill, the
old warrior clomb up to the topmost of it, and blew a blast on the horn.
Thereon they who were sitting rose up, and they who were talking each to
each held their peace, and the whole ring drew nigher to the hill, so
that there was a clear space behind them 'twixt them and the wood, and a
space before them between them and the hill, wherein were those nine
warriors, and the horses for the burnt-offering, and the altar of the
Gods; and now were all well within ear-shot of a man speaking amidst the
silence in a clear voice.
But there were gathered of the Markmen to that place some four thousand
men, all chosen warriors and doughty men; and of the thralls and aliens
dwelling with them they were leading two thousand. But not all of the
freemen of the Upper-mark could be at the Thing; for needs must there be
some guard to the passes of the wood toward the south and the hills of
the herdsmen, whereas it was no wise impassable to a wisely led host: so
five hundred men, what of freemen, what of thralls, abode there to guard
the wild-wood; and these looked to have some helping from the hill-men.
Now came an ancient warrior into the space between the men and the wild-
wood holding in his hand a kindled torch; and first he faced due south by
the sun, then, turning, he slowly paced the whole circle going from east
to west, and so on till he had reached the place he started from: then he
dashed the torch to the ground and quenched the fire, and so went his
ways to his own company again.
Then the old Dayling warrior on the mound-top drew his sword, and waved
it flashing in the sun toward the four quarters of the heavens; and
thereafter blew again a blast on the War-horn. Then fell utter silence
on the whole assembly, and the wood was still around them, save here and
there the stamping of a war-horse or the sound of his tugging at the
woodland grass; for there was little resort of birds to the depths of the
thicket, and the summer morning was windless.
CHAPTER VIII--THE FOLK-MOTE OF THE MARKMEN
So the Dayling warrior lifted up his voice and said:
"O kindreds of the Markmen, hearken the words I say;
For no chancehap assembly is gathered here to-day.
The fire hath gone around us in the hands of our very kin,
And twice the horn hath sounded, and the Thing is hallowed in.
Will ye hear or forbear to hearken the tale there is to tell?
There are many mouths to tell it, and a many know it well.
And the tale is this, that the foemen against our kindreds fare
Who eat the meadows desert, and burn the desert bare."
Then sat he down on the turf seat; but there arose a murmur in the
assembly as of men eager to hearken; and without more ado came a man out
of a company of the Upper-mark, and clomb up to the top of the Speech-
Hill, and spoke in a loud voice:
"I am Bork, a man of the Geirings of the Upper-mark: two days ago I and
five others were in the wild-wood a-hunting, and we wended through the
thicket, and came into the land of the hill-folk; and after we had gone a
while we came to a long dale with a brook running through it, and yew-
trees scattered about it and a hazel copse at one end; and by the copse
was a band of men who had women and children with them, and a few neat,
and fewer horses; but sheep were feeding up and down the dale; and they
had made them booths of turf and boughs, and were making ready their
cooking fires, for it was evening. So when they saw us, they ran to
their arms, but we cried out to them in the tongue of the Goths and bade
them peace. Then they came up the bent to us and spake to us in the
Gothic tongue, albeit a little diversely from us; and when we had told
them what and whence we were, they were glad of us, and bade us to them,
and we went, and they entreated us kindly, and made us such cheer as they
might, and gave us mutton to eat, and we gave them venison of the wild-
wood which we had taken, and we abode with them there that night.
"But they told us that they were a house of the folk of the herdsmen, and
that there was war in the land, and that the people thereof were fleeing
before the cruelty of a host of warriors, men of a mighty folk, such as
the earth hath not heard of, who dwell in great cities far to the south;
and how that this host had crossed the mountains, and the Great Water
that runneth from them, and had fallen upon their kindred, and overcome
their fighting-men, and burned their dwellings, slain their elders, and
driven their neat and their sheep, yea, and their women and children in
no better wise than their neat and sheep.
"And they said that they had fled away thus far from their old
habitations, which were a long way to the south, and were now at point to
build them dwellings there in that Dale of the Hazels, and to trust to it
that these Welshmen, whom they called Romans, would not follow so far,
and that if they did, they might betake them to the wild-wood, and let
the thicket cover them, they being so nigh to it.
"Thus they told us; wherefore we sent back one of our fellowship, Birsti
of the Geirings, to tell the tale; and one of the herdsmen folk went with
him, but we ourselves went onward to hear more of these Romans; for the
folk when we asked them, said that they had been in battle against them,
but had fled away for fear of their rumour only. Therefore we went on,
and a young man of this kindred, who named themselves the Hrutings of the
Fell-folk, went along with us. But the others were sore afeard, for all
they had weapons.
"So as we went up the land we found they had told us the very sooth, and
we met divers Houses, and bands, and broken men, who were fleeing from
this trouble, and many of them poor and in misery, having lost their
flocks and herds as well as their roofs; and this last be but little loss
to them, as their dwellings are but poor, and for the most part they have
no tillage. Now of these men, we met not a few who had been in battle
with the Roman host, and much they told us of their might not to be dealt
with, and their mishandling of those whom they took, both men and women;
and at the last we heard true tidings how they had raised them a garth,
and made a stronghold in the midst of the land, as men who meant abiding
there, so that neither might the winter drive them aback, and that they
might be succoured by their people on the other side of the Great River;
to which end they have made other garths, though not so great, on the
road to that water, and all these well and wisely warded by tried men.
For as to the Folks on the other side of the Water, all these lie under
their hand already, what by fraud what by force, and their warriors go
with them to the battle and help them; of whom we met bands now and
again, and fought with them, and took men of them, who told us all this
and much more, over long to tell of here."
He paused and turned about to look on the mighty assembly, and his ears
drank in the long murmur that followed his speaking, and when it had died
out he spake again, but in rhyme:
"Lo thus much of my tidings! But this too it behoveth to tell,
That these masterful men of the cities of the Markmen know full well:
And they wot of the well-grassed meadows, and the acres of the Mark,
And our life amidst of the wild-wood like a candle in the dark;
And they know of our young men's valour and our women's loveliness,
And our tree would they spoil with destruction if its fruit they may
never possess.
For their lust is without a limit, and nought may satiate
Their ravening maw; and their hunger if ye check it turneth to hate,
And the blood-fever burns in their bosoms, and torment and anguish and
woe
O'er the wide field ploughed by the sword-blade for the coming years
they sow;
And ruth is a thing forgotten and all hopes they trample down;
And whatso thing is steadfast, whatso of good renown,
Whatso is fair and lovely, whatso is ancient sooth
In the bloody marl shall they mingle as they laugh for lack of ruth.
Lo the curse of the world cometh hither; for the men that we took in
the land
Said thus, that their host is gathering with many an ordered band
To fall on the wild-wood passes and flood the lovely Mark,
As the river over the meadows upriseth in the dark.
Look to it, O ye kindred! availeth now no word
But the voice of the clashing of iron, and the sword-blade on the
sword."
Therewith he made an end, and deeper and longer was the murmur of the
host of freemen, amidst which Bork gat him down from the Speech-Hill, his
weapons clattering about him, and mingled with the men of his kindred.
Then came forth a man of the kin of the Shieldings of the Upper-mark, and
clomb the mound; and he spake in rhyme from beginning to end; for he was
a minstrel of renown:
"Lo I am a man of the Shieldings and Geirmund is my name;
A half-moon back from the wild-wood out into the hills I came,
And I went alone in my war-gear; for we have affinity
With the Hundings of the Fell-folk, and with them I fain would be;
For I loved a maid of their kindred. Now their dwelling was not far
From the outermost bounds of the Fell-folk, and bold in the battle
they are,
And have met a many people, and held their own abode.
Gay then was the heart within me, as over the hills I rode
And thought of the mirth of to-morrow and the sweet-mouthed Hunding
maid
And their old men wise and merry and their young men unafraid,
And the hall-glee of the Hundings and the healths o'er the guesting
cup.
But as I rode the valley, I saw a smoke go up