The House of the Wolfings
Since first the builder builded in loving and delight!"
Then again she stayed her speech with weeping and sobbing, but after a
while was still again, and then she spoke pointing toward the roof with
her right hand.
"I see the fire-raisers and iron-helmed they are,
Brown-faced about the banners that their hands have borne afar.
And who in the garth of the kindred shall bear adown their shield
Since the onrush of the Wolfings they caught in the open field,
As the might of the mountain lion falls dead in the hempen net?
O Wolfings, long have ye tarried, but the hour abideth yet.
What life for the life of the people shall be given once for all,
What sorrow shall stay sorrow in the half-burnt Wolfing Hall?
There is nought shall quench the fire save the tears of the Godfolk's
kin,
And the heart of the life-delighter, and the life-blood cast therein."
Then once again she fell silent, and her eyes closed again, and the slow
tears gushed out from them, and she sank down sobbing on the grass, and
little by little the storm of grief sank and her head fell back, and she
was as one quietly asleep. Then the carline hung over her and kissed her
and embraced her; and then through her closed eyes and her slumber did
the Hall-Sun see a marvel; for she who was kissing her was young in
semblance and unwrinkled, and lovely to look on, with plenteous long hair
of the hue of ripe barley, and clad in glistening raiment such as has
been woven in no loom on earth.
And indeed it was the Wood-Sun in the semblance of a crone, who had come
to gather wisdom of the coming time from the foreseeing of the Hall-Sun;
since now at last she herself foresaw nothing of it, though she was of
the kindred of the Gods and the Fathers of the Goths. So when she had
heard the Hall-Sun she deemed that she knew but too well what her words
meant, and what for love, what for sorrow, she grew sick at heart as she
heard them.
So at last she arose and turned to look at the Great Roof; and strong and
straight, and cool and dark grey showed its ridge against the pale sky of
the summer afternoon all quivering with the heat of many hours' sun: dark
showed its windows as she gazed on it, and stark and stiff she knew were
its pillars within.
Then she said aloud, but to herself: "What then if a merry and mighty
life be given for it, and the sorrow of the people be redeemed; yet will
not I give the life which is his; nay rather let him give the bliss which
is mine. But oh! how may it be that he shall die joyous and I shall live
unhappy!"
Then she went slowly down from the Hill of Speech, and whoso saw her
deemed her but a gangrel carline. So she went her ways and let the wood
cover her.
But in a little while the Hall-Sun awoke alone, and sat up with a sigh,
and she remembered nothing concerning her sight of the flickering flame
along the hall-roof, and the fire-tongues like strips of scarlet cloth
blown by the wind, nor had she any memory of her words concerning the
coming day. But the rest of her talk with the carline she remembered,
and also the vision of the beautiful woman who had kissed and embraced
her; and she knew that it was her very mother. Also she perceived that
she had been weeping, therefore she knew that she had uttered words of
wisdom. For so it fared with her at whiles, that she knew not her own
words of foretelling, but spoke them out as if in a dream.
So now she went down from the Hill of Speech soberly, and turned toward
the Woman's door of the hall, and on her way she met the women and old
men and youths coming back from the meadow with little mirth: and there
were many of them who looked shyly at her as though they would gladly
have asked her somewhat, and yet durst not. But for her, her sadness
passed away when she came among them, and she looked kindly on this and
that one of them, and entered with them into the Woman's Chamber, and did
what came to her hand to do.
CHAPTER VI--THEY TALK ON THE WAY TO THE FOLK-THING
All day long one standing on the Speech-hill of the Wolfings might have
seen men in their war-array streaming along the side of Mirkwood-water,
on both sides thereof; and the last comers from the Nether-mark came
hastening all they might; for they would not be late at the
trysting-place. But these were of a kindred called the Laxings, who bore
a salmon on their banner; and they were somewhat few in number, for they
had but of late years become a House of the Markmen. Their banner-wain
was drawn by white horses, fleet and strong, and they were no great band,
for they had but few thralls with them, and all, free men and thralls,
were a-horseback; so they rode by hastily with their banner-wain, their
few munition-wains following as they might.
Now tells the tale of the men-at-arms of the Wolfings and the Beamings,
that soon they fell in with the Elking host, which was journeying but
leisurely, so that the Wolfings might catch up with them: they were a
very great kindred, the most numerous of all Mid-mark, and at this time
they had affinity with the Wolfings. But old men of the House remembered
how they had heard their grandsires and very old men tell that there had
been a time when the Elking House had been established by men from out of
the Wolfing kindred, and how they had wandered away from the Mark in the
days when it had been first settled, and had abided aloof for many
generations of men; and so at last had come back again to the Mark, and
had taken up their habitation at a place in Mid-mark where was dwelling
but a remnant of a House called the Thyrings, who had once been exceeding
mighty, but had by that time almost utterly perished in a great sickness
which befel in those days. So then these two Houses, the wanderers come
back and the remnant left by the sickness of the Gods, made one House
together, and increased and throve after their coming together, and
wedded with the Wolfings, and became a very great House.
Gallant and glorious was their array now, as they marched along with
their banner of the Elk, which was drawn by the very beasts themselves
tamed to draught to that end through many generations; they were fatter
and sleeker than their wild-wood brethren, but not so mighty.
So were the men of the three kindreds somewhat mingled together on the
way. The Wolfings were the tallest and the biggest made; but of those
dark-haired men aforesaid, were there fewest amongst the Beamings, and
most among the Elkings, as though they had drawn to them more men of
alien blood during their wanderings aforesaid. So they talked together
and made each other good cheer, as is the wont of companions in arms on
the eve of battle; and the talk ran, as may be deemed, on that journey
and what was likely to come of it: and spake an Elking warrior to a
Wolfing by whom he rode:
"O Wolfkettle, hath the Hall-Sun had any foresight of the day of battle?"
"Nay," said the other, "when she lighted the farewell candle, she bade us
come back again, and spoke of the day of our return; but that methinks,
as thou and I would talk of it, thinking what would be likely to befal.
Since we are a great host of valiant men, and these Welshmen {2} most
valiant, and as the rumour runneth bigger-bodied men than the Hun-folk,
and so well ordered as never folk have been. So then if we overthrow
them we shall come back again; and if they overthrow us, the remnant of
us shall fall back before them till we come to our habitations; for it is
not to be looked for that they will fall in upon our rear and prevent us,
since we have the thicket of the wild-wood on our flanks."
"Sooth is that," said the Elking; "and as to the mightiness of this folk
and their customs, ye may gather somewhat from the songs which our House
yet singeth, and which ye have heard wide about in the Mark; for this is
the same folk of which a many of them tell, making up that story-lay
which is called the South-Welsh Lay; which telleth how we have met this
folk in times past when we were in fellowship with a folk of the Welsh of
like customs to ourselves: for we of the Elkings were then but a feeble
folk. So we marched with this folk of the Kymry and met the men of the
cities, and whiles we overthrew and whiles were overthrown, but at last
in a great battle were overthrown with so great a slaughter, that the red
blood rose over the wheels of the wains, and the city-folk fainted with
the work of the slaughter, as men who mow a match in the meadows when the
swathes are dry and heavy and the afternoon of midsummer is hot; and
there they stood and stared on the field of the slain, and knew not
whether they were in Home or Hell, so fierce the fight had been."
Therewith a man of the Beamings, who was riding on the other side of the
Elking, reached out over his horse's neck and said:
"Yea friend, but is there not some telling of a tale concerning how ye
and your fellowship took the great city of the Welshmen of the South, and
dwelt there long."
"Yea," said the Elking, "Hearken how it is told in the South-Welsh Lay:
"'Have ye not heard
Of the ways of Weird?
How the folk fared forth
Far away from the North?
And as light as one wendeth
Whereas the wood endeth,
When of nought is our need,
And none telleth our deed,
So Rodgeir unwearied and Reidfari wan
The town where none tarried the shield-shaking man.
All lonely the street there, and void was the way
And nought hindered our feet but the dead men that lay
Under shield in the lanes of the houses heavens-high,
All the ring-bearing swains that abode there to die.'
"Tells the Lay, that none abode the Goths and their fellowship, but such
as were mighty enough to fall before them, and the rest, both man and
woman, fled away before our folk and before the folk of the Kymry, and
left their town for us to dwell in; as saith the Lay:
"'Glistening of gold
Did men's eyen behold;
Shook the pale sword
O'er the unspoken word,
No man drew nigh us
With weapon to try us,
For the Welsh-wrought shield
Lay low on the field.
By man's hand unbuilded all seemed there to be,
The walls ruddy gilded, the pearls of the sea:
Yea all things were dead there save pillar and wall,
But _they_ lived and _they_ said us the song of the hall;
The dear hall left to perish by men of the land,
For the Goth-folk to cherish with gold gaining hand.'
"See ye how the Lay tells that the hall was bolder than the men, who fled
from it, and left all for our fellowship to deal with in the days gone
by?"
Said the Wolfing man:
"And as it was once, so shall it be again. Maybe we shall go far on this
journey, and see at least one of the garths of the Southlands, even those
which they call cities. For I have heard it said that they have more
cities than one only, and that so great are their kindreds, that each
liveth in a garth full of mighty houses, with a wall of stone and lime
around it; and that in every one of these garths lieth wealth untold
heaped up. And wherefore should not all this fall to the Markmen and
their valiancy?"
Said the Elking:
"As to their many cities and the wealth of them, that is sooth; but as to
each city being the habitation of each kindred, it is otherwise: for
rather it may be said of them that they have forgotten kindred, and have
none, nor do they heed whom they wed, and great is the confusion amongst
them. And mighty men among them ordain where they shall dwell, and what
shall be their meat, and how long they shall labour after they are weary,
and in all wise what manner of life shall be amongst them; and though
they be called free men who suffer this, yet may no house or kindred