The House of the Wolfings
those who were of blood alien from the Goths; the others bore short
spears, and feathered broad arrows, and clubs bound with iron, and knives
and axes, but not every man of them had a sword. Few iron helms they had
and no ringed byrnies, but most had a buckler at their backs with no sign
or symbol on it.
Thus then set forth the fighting men of the House of the Wolf toward the
Thing-stead of the Upper-mark where the hosting was to be, and by then
they were moving up along the side of Mirkwood-water it was somewhat past
high-noon.
But the stay-at-home people who had come down with them to the meadow
lingered long in that place; and much foreboding there was among them of
evil to come; and of the old folk, some remembered tales of the past days
of the Markmen, and how they had come from the ends of the earth, and the
mountains where none dwell now but the Gods of their kindreds; and many
of these tales told of their woes and their wars as they went from river
to river and from wild-wood to wild-wood before they had established
their Houses in the Mark, and fallen to dwelling there season by season
and year by year whether the days were good or ill. And it fell into
their hearts that now at last mayhappen was their abiding wearing out to
an end, and that the day should soon be when they should have to bear the
Hall-Sun through the wild-wood, and seek a new dwelling-place afar from
the troubling of these newly arisen Welsh foemen.
And so those of them who could not rid themselves of this foreboding were
somewhat heavier of heart than their wont was when the House went to the
War. For long had they abided there in the Mark, and the life was sweet
to them which they knew, and the life which they knew not was bitter to
them: and Mirkwood-water was become as a God to them no less than to
their fathers of old time; nor lesser was the mead where fed the horses
that they loved and the kine that they had reared, and the sheep that
they guarded from the Wolf of the Wild-wood: and they worshipped the kind
acres which they themselves and their fathers had made fruitful, wedding
them to the seasons of seed-time and harvest, that the birth that came
from them might become a part of the kindred of the Wolf, and the joy and
might of past springs and summers might run in the blood of the Wolfing
children. And a dear God indeed to them was the Roof of the Kindred,
that their fathers had built and that they yet warded against the fire
and the lightening and the wind and the snow, and the passing of the days
that devour and the years that heap the dust over the work of men. They
thought of how it had stood, and seen so many generations of men come and
go; how often it had welcomed the new-born babe, and given farewell to
the old man: how many secrets of the past it knew; how many tales which
men of the present had forgotten, but which yet mayhap men of times to
come should learn of it; for to them yet living it had spoken time and
again, and had told them what their fathers had not told them, and it
held the memories of the generations and the very life of the Wolfings
and their hopes for the days to be.
Thus these poor people thought of the Gods whom they worshipped, and the
friends whom they loved, and could not choose but be heavy-hearted when
they thought that the wild-wood was awaiting them to swallow all up, and
take away from them their Gods and their friends and the mirth of their
life, and burden them with hunger and thirst and weariness, that their
children might begin once more to build the House and establish the
dwelling, and call new places by old names, and worship new Gods with the
ancient worship.
Such imaginations of trouble then were in the hearts of the stay-at-homes
of the Wolfings; the tale tells not indeed that all had such forebodings,
but chiefly the old folk who were nursing the end of their life-days
amidst the cherishing Kindred of the House.
But now they were beginning to turn them back again to the habitations,
and a thin stream was flowing through the acres, when they heard a
confused sound drawing near blended of horns and the lowing of beasts and
the shouting of men; and they looked and saw a throng of brightly clad
men coming up stream alongside of Mirkwood-water; and they were not
afraid, for they knew that it must be some other company of the Markmen
journeying to the hosting of the Folk: and presently they saw that it was
the House of the Beamings following their banner on the way to the Thing-
stead. But when the new-comers saw the throng out in the meads, some of
their young men pricked on their horses and galloped on past the women
and old men, to whom they threw a greeting, as they ran past to catch up
with the bands of the Wolfings; for between the two houses was there
affinity, and much good liking lay between them; and the stay-at-homes,
many of them, lingered yet till the main body of the Beamings came with
their banner: and their array was much like to that of the Wolfings, but
gayer; for whereas it pleased the latter to darken all their war-gear to
the colour of the grey Wolf, the Beamings polished all their gear as
bright as might be, and their raiment also was mostly bright green of hue
and much beflowered; and the sign on their banner was a green leafy tree,
and the wain was drawn by great white bulls.
So when their company drew anear to the throng of the stay-at-homes they
went to meet and greet each other, and tell tidings to each other; but
their banner held steadily onward amidst their converse, and in a little
while they followed it, for the way was long to the Thing-stead of the
Upper-mark.
So passed away the fighting men by the side of Mirkwood-water, and the
throng of the stay-at-homes melted slowly from the meadow and trickled
along through the acres to the habitations of the Wolfings, and there
they fell to doing whatso of work or play came to their hands.
CHAPTER V--CONCERNING THE HALL-SUN
When the warriors and the others had gone down to the mead, the Hall-Sun
was left standing on the Hill of Speech, and she stood there till she saw
the host in due array going on its ways dark and bright and beautiful;
then she made as if to turn aback to the Great Roof; but all at once it
seemed to her as if something held her back, as if her will to move had
departed from her, and that she could not put one foot before the other.
So she lingered on the Hill, and the quenched candle fell from her hand,
and presently she sank adown on the grass and sat there with the face of
one thinking intently. Yet was it with her that a thousand thoughts were
in her mind at once and no one of them uppermost, and images of what had
been and what then was flickered about in her brain, and betwixt them
were engendered images of things to be, but unstable and not to be trowed
in. So sat the Hall-Sun on the Hill of Speech lost in a dream of the
day, whose stories were as little clear as those of a night-dream.
But as she sat musing thus, came to her a woman exceeding old to look on,
whom she knew not as one of the kindred or a thrall; and this carline
greeted her by the name of Hall-Sun and said:
"Hail, Hall-Sun of the Markmen! how fares it now with thee
When the whelps of the Woodbeast wander with the Leafage of the Tree
All up the Mirkwood-water to seek what they shall find,
The oak-boles of the battle and the war-wood stark and blind?"
Then answered the maiden:
"It fares with me, O mother, that my soul would fain go forth
To behold the ways of the battle, and the praise of the warriors'
worth.
But yet is it held entangled in a maze of many a thing,
As the low-grown bramble holdeth the brake-shoots of the Spring.
I think of the thing that hath been, but no shape is in my thought;
I think of the day that passeth, and its story comes to nought.
I think of the days that shall be, nor shape I any tale.
I will hearken thee, O mother, if hearkening may avail."
The Carline gazed at her with dark eyes that shone brightly from amidst
her brown wrinkled face: then she sat herself down beside her and spake:
"From a far folk have I wandered and I come of an alien blood,
But I know all tales of the Wolfings and their evil and their good;
And when I heard of thy fairness, thereof I heard it said,
That for thee should be never a bridal nor a place in the warrior's
bed."
The maiden neither reddened nor paled, but looking with calm steady eyes
into the Carline's face she answered:
"Yea true it is, I am wedded to the mighty ones of old,
And the fathers of the Wolfings ere the days of field and fold."
Then a smile came into the eyes of the old woman and she said.
"How glad shall be thy mother of thy worship and thy worth,
And the father that begat thee if yet they dwell on earth!"
But the Hall-Sun answered in the same steady manner as before:
"None knoweth who is my mother, nor my very father's name;
But when to the House of the Wolfings a wild-wood waif I came,
They gave me a foster-mother an ancient dame and good,
And a glorious foster-father the best of all the blood."
Spake the Carline.
"Yea, I have heard the story, but scarce therein might I trow
That thou with all thy beauty wert born 'neath the oaken bough,
And hast crawled a naked baby o'er the rain-drenched autumn-grass;
Wilt thou tell the wandering woman what wise it cometh to pass
That thou art the Mid-mark's Hall-Sun, and the sign of the Wolfings'
gain?
Thou shalt pleasure me much by the telling, and there of shalt thou be
fain."
Then answered the Hall-Sun.
"Yea; thus much I remember for the first of my memories;
That I lay on the grass in the morning and above were the boughs of
the trees.
But nought naked was I as the wood-whelp, but clad in linen white,
And adown the glades of the oakwood the morning sun lay bright.
Then a hind came out of the thicket and stood on the sunlit glade,
And turned her head toward the oak tree and a step on toward me made.
Then stopped, and bounded aback, and away as if in fear,
That I saw her no more; then I wondered, though sitting close anear
Was a she-wolf great and grisly. But with her was I wont to play,
And pull her ears, and belabour her rugged sides and grey,
And hold her jaws together, while she whimpered, slobbering
For the love of my love; and nowise I deemed her a fearsome thing.
There she sat as though she were watching, and o'er head a blue-winged
jay
Shrieked out from the topmost oak-twigs, and a squirrel ran his way
Two tree-trunks off. But the she-wolf arose up suddenly
And growled with her neck-fell bristling, as if danger drew anigh;
And therewith I heard a footstep, for nice was my ear to catch
All the noises of the wild-wood; so there did we sit at watch
While the sound of feet grew nigher: then I clapped hand on hand
And crowed for joy and gladness, for there out in the sun did stand
A man, a glorious creature with a gleaming helm on his head,
And gold rings on his arms, in raiment gold-broidered crimson-red.
Straightway he strode up toward us nor heeded the wolf of the wood
But sang as he went in the oak-glade, as a man whose thought is good,
And nought she heeded the warrior, but tame as a sheep was grown,
And trotted away through the wild-wood with her crest all laid adown.
Then came the man and sat down by the oak-bole close unto me
And took me up nought fearful and set me on his knee.
And his face was kind and lovely, so my cheek to his cheek I laid
And touched his cold bright war-helm and with his gold rings played,
And hearkened his words, though I knew not what tale they had to tell,