The House of the Wolfings
matters between man and man; and no such doom of neighbours was given,
and no such voice of the Folk proclaimed in any house or under any roof,
nor even as aforesaid on the tilled acres or the depastured meadows. This
was the custom of our forefathers, in memory, belike, of the days when as
yet there was neither house nor tillage, nor flocks and herds, but the
Earth's face only and what freely grew thereon.
But over the dais there hung by chains and pulleys fastened to a tie-beam
of the roof high aloft a wondrous lamp fashioned of glass; yet of no such
glass as the folk made then and there, but of a fair and clear green like
an emerald, and all done with figures and knots in gold, and strange
beasts, and a warrior slaying a dragon, and the sun rising on the earth:
nor did any tale tell whence this lamp came, but it was held as an
ancient and holy thing by all the Markmen, and the kindred of the Wolf
had it in charge to keep a light burning in it night and day for ever;
and they appointed a maiden of their own kindred to that office; which
damsel must needs be unwedded, since no wedded woman dwelling under that
roof could be a Wolfing woman, but would needs be of the houses wherein
the Wolfings wedded.
This lamp which burned ever was called the Hall-Sun, and the woman who
had charge of it, and who was the fairest that might be found was called
after it the Hall-Sun also.
At the other end of the hall was the Woman's-Chamber, and therein were
the looms and other gear for the carding and spinning of wool and the
weaving of cloth.
Such was the Roof under which dwelt the kindred of the Wolfings; and the
other kindreds of the Mid-mark had roofs like to it; and of these the
chiefest were the Elkings, the Vallings, the Alftings, the Beamings, the
Galtings, and the Bearings; who bore on their banners the Elk, the
Falcon, the Swan, the Tree, the Boar, and the Bear. But other lesser and
newer kindreds there were than these: as for the Hartings above named,
they were a kindred of the Upper-mark.
CHAPTER II--THE FLITTING OF THE WAR-ARROW
Tells the tale that it was an evening of summer, when the wheat was in
the ear, but yet green; and the neat-herds were done driving the milch-
kine to the byre, and the horseherds and the shepherds had made the night-
shift, and the out-goers were riding two by two and one by one through
the lanes between the wheat and the rye towards the meadow. Round the
cots of the thralls were gathered knots of men and women both thralls and
freemen, some talking together, some hearkening a song or a tale, some
singing and some dancing together; and the children gambolling about from
group to group with their shrill and tuneless voices, like young
throstles who have not yet learned the song of their race. With these
were mingled dogs, dun of colour, long of limb, sharp-nosed, gaunt and
great; they took little heed of the children as they pulled them about in
their play, but lay down, or loitered about, as though they had forgotten
the chase and the wild-wood.
Merry was the folk with that fair tide, and the promise of the harvest,
and the joy of life, and there was no weapon among them so close to the
houses, save here and there the boar-spear of some herdman or herd-woman
late come from the meadow.
Tall and for the most part comely were both men and women; the most of
them light-haired and grey-eyed, with cheek-bones somewhat high; white of
skin but for the sun's burning, and the wind's parching, and whereas they
were tanned of a very ruddy and cheerful hue. But the thralls were some
of them of a shorter and darker breed, black-haired also and dark-eyed,
lighter of limb; sometimes better knit, but sometimes crookeder of leg
and knottier of arm. But some also were of build and hue not much unlike
to the freemen; and these doubtless came of some other Folk of the Goths
which had given way in battle before the Men of the Mark, either they or
their fathers.
Moreover some of the freemen were unlike their fellows and kindred, being
slenderer and closer-knit, and black-haired, but grey-eyed withal; and
amongst these were one or two who exceeded in beauty all others of the
House.
Now the sun was set and the glooming was at point to begin and the
shadowless twilight lay upon the earth. The nightingales on the borders
of the wood sang ceaselessly from the scattered hazel-trees above the
greensward where the grass was cropped down close by the nibbling of the
rabbits; but in spite of their song and the divers voices of the men-folk
about the houses, it was an evening on which sounds from aloof can be
well heard, since noises carry far at such tides.
Suddenly they who were on the edges of those throngs and were the less
noisy, held themselves as if to listen; and a group that had gathered
about a minstrel to hear his story fell hearkening also round about the
silenced and hearkening tale-teller: some of the dancers and singers
noted them and in their turn stayed the dance and kept silence to
hearken; and so from group to group spread the change, till all were
straining their ears to hearken the tidings. Already the men of the
night-shift had heard it, and the shepherds of them had turned about, and
were trotting smartly back through the lanes of the tall wheat: but the
horse-herds were now scarce seen on the darkening meadow, as they
galloped on fast toward their herds to drive home the stallions. For
what they had heard was the tidings of war.
There was a sound in the air as of a humble-bee close to the ear of one
lying on a grassy bank; or whiles as of a cow afar in the meadow lowing
in the afternoon when milking-time draws nigh: but it was ever shriller
than the one, and fuller than the other; for it changed at whiles, though
after the first sound of it, it did not rise or fall, because the eve was
windless. You might hear at once that for all it was afar, it was a
great and mighty sound; nor did any that hearkened doubt what it was, but
all knew it for the blast of the great war-horn of the Elkings, whose
Roof lay up Mirkwood-water next to the Roof of the Wolfings.
So those little throngs broke up at once; and all the freemen, and of the
thralls a good many, flocked, both men and women, to the Man's-door of
the hall, and streamed in quietly and with little talk, as men knowing
that they should hear all in due season.
Within under the Hall-Sun, amidst the woven stories of time past, sat the
elders and chief warriors on the dais, and amidst of all a big strong man
of forty winters, his dark beard a little grizzled, his eyes big and
grey. Before him on the board lay the great War-horn of the Wolfings
carved out of the tusk of a sea-whale of the North and with many devices
on it and the Wolf amidst them all; its golden mouth-piece and rim
wrought finely with flowers. There it abode the blowing, until the
spoken word of some messenger should set forth the tidings borne on the
air by the horn of the Elkings.
But the name of the dark-haired chief was Thiodolf (to wit Folk-wolf) and
he was deemed the wisest man of the Wolfings, and the best man of his
hands, and of heart most dauntless. Beside him sat the fair woman called
the Hall-Sun; for she was his foster-daughter before men's eyes; and she
was black-haired and grey-eyed like to her fosterer, and never was woman
fashioned fairer: she was young of years, scarce twenty winters old.
There sat the chiefs and elders on the dais, and round about stood the
kindred intermingled with the thralls, and no man spake, for they were
awaiting sure and certain tidings: and when all were come in who had a
mind to, there was so great a silence in the hall, that the song of the
nightingales on the wood-edge sounded clear and loud therein, and even
the chink of the bats about the upper windows could be heard. Then
amidst the hush of men-folk, and the sounds of the life of the earth came
another sound that made all turn their eyes toward the door; and this was
the pad-pad of one running on the trodden and summer-dried ground anigh
the hall: it stopped for a moment at the Man's-door, and the door opened,
and the throng parted, making way for the man that entered and came
hastily up to the midst of the table that stood on the dais athwart the
hall, and stood there panting, holding forth in his outstretched hand
something which not all could see in the dimness of the hall-twilight,
but which all knew nevertheless. The man was young, lithe and slender,
and had no raiment but linen breeches round his middle, and skin shoes on
his feet. As he stood there gathering his breath for speech, Thiodolf
stood up, and poured mead into a drinking horn and held it out towards
the new-comer, and spake, but in rhyme and measure:
"Welcome, thou evening-farer, and holy be thine head,
Since thou hast sought unto us in the heart of the Wolfings' stead;
Drink now of the horn of the mighty, and call a health if thou wilt
O'er the eddies of the mead-horn to the washing out of guilt.
For thou com'st to the peace of the Wolfings, and our very guest thou
art,
And meseems as I behold thee, that I look on a child of the Hart."
But the man put the horn from him with a hasty hand, and none said
another word to him until he had gotten his breath again; and then he
said:
"All hail ye Wood-Wolfs' children! nought may I drink the wine,
For the mouth and the maw that I carry this eve are nought of mine;
And my feet are the feet of the people, since the word went forth that
tide,
'O Elf here of the Hartings, no longer shalt thou bide
In any house of the Markmen than to speak the word and wend,
Till all men know the tidings and thine errand hath an end.'
Behold, O Wolves, the token and say if it be true!
I bear the shaft of battle that is four-wise cloven through,
And its each end dipped in the blood-stream, both the iron and the
horn,
And its midmost scathed with the fire; and the word that I have borne
Along with this war-token is, 'Wolfings of the Mark
Whenso ye see the war-shaft, by the daylight or the dark,
Busk ye to battle faring, and leave all work undone
Save the gathering for the handplay at the rising of the sun.
Three days hence is the hosting, and thither bear along
Your wains and your kine for the slaughter lest the journey should be
long.
For great is the Folk, saith the tidings, that against the Markmen
come;
In a far off land is their dwelling, whenso they sit at home,
And Welsh {1} is their tongue, and we wot not of the word that is in
their mouth,
As they march a many together from the cities of the South.'"
Therewith he held up yet for a minute the token of the war-arrow ragged
and burnt and bloody; and turning about with it in his hand went his ways
through the open door, none hindering; and when he was gone, it was as if
the token were still in the air there against the heads of the living
men, and the heads of the woven warriors, so intently had all gazed at
it; and none doubted the tidings or the token. Then said Thiodolf:
"Forth will we Wolfing children, and cast a sound abroad:
The mouth of the sea-beast's weapon shall speak the battle-word;
And ye warriors hearken and hasten, and dight the weed of war,
And then to acre and meadow wend ye adown no more,
For this work shall be for the women to drive our neat from the mead,
And to yoke the wains, and to load them as the men of war have need."
Out then they streamed from the hall, and no man was left therein save
the fair Hall-Sun sitting under the lamp whose name she bore. But to the
highest of the slope they went, where was a mound made higher by man's
handiwork; thereon stood Thiodolf and handled the horn, turning his face