The Roots of the Mountains Part 50

The birds of the air other tidings have borne them - How glad through the wood goeth man beside man.

Then fare forth, O valiant, and loiter no longer Than the cry of the cuckoo when May is at hand; Late waxeth the spring-tide, and daylight grows longer, And nightly the star-street hangs high o'er the land.

Many lives, many days for the Dale do ye carry; When the Host breaketh out from the thicket unshorn, It shall be as the sun that refuseth to tarry On the crown of all mornings, the Midsummer morn.

Again the song fell down till they were well on the western way down Silver-dale; and then Redesman handled his fiddle once more, and again the song rose up, and such-like were the words which were borne back into the Market-place of Silver-stead:

And yet what is this, and why fare ye so slowly, While our echoing halls of our voices are dumb, And abideth unlitten the hearth-brand the holy, And the feet of the kind fare afield till we come?

For not yet through the wood and its tangle ye wander; Now skirt we no thicket, no path by the mere; Far aloof for our feet leads the Dale-road out yonder; Full fair is the morning, its doings all clear.

There is nought now our feet on the highway delaying Save the friend's loving-kindness, the sundering of speech; The well-willer's word that ends words with the saying, The loth to depart while each looketh on each.

Fare on then, for nought are ye laden with sorrow; The love of this land do ye bear with you still.

In two Dales of the earth for to-day and to-morrow Is waxing the oak-tree of peace and good-will.

Thus then they departed from Silver-dale, even as men who were a portion thereof, and had not utterly left it behind. And that night they lay in the wild-wood not very far from the Dale's end; for they went softly, faring amongst so many friends.

CHAPTER LVI. TALK UPON THE WILD-WOOD WAY

On the morrow morning when they were on their way again Face-of-G.o.d left his own folk to go with the House of the Steer a while; and amongst them he fell in with the Sun-beam going along with Bow-may.

So they greeted him kindly, and Face-of-G.o.d fell into talk with the Sun-beam as they went side by side through a great oak-wood, where for a s.p.a.ce was plain green-sward bare of all underwood.

So in their talk he said to her: 'What deemest thou, my speech- friend, concerning our coming back to guest in Silver-dale one day?'

'The way is long,' she said.

'That may hinder us but not stay us,' said Face-of-G.o.d.

'That is sooth,' said the Sun-beam.

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'What things shall stay us? Or deemest thou that we shall never see Silver-dale again?'

She smiled: 'Even so I think thou deemest, Gold-mane. But many things shall hinder us besides the long road.'

Said he: 'Yea, and what things?'

'Thinkest thou,' said the Sun-beam, 'that the winning of Silver-stead is the last battle which thou shalt see?'

'Nay,' said he, 'nay.'

'Shall thy Dale--our Dale--be free from all trouble within itself henceforward? Is there a wall built round it to keep out for ever storm, pestilence, and famine, and the waywardness of its own folk?'

'So it is as thou sayest,' quoth Face-of-G.o.d, 'and to meet such troubles and overcome them, or to die in strife with them, this is a great part of a man's life.'

'Yea,' she said, 'and hast thou forgotten that thou art now a great chieftain, and that the folk shall look to thee to use thee many days in the year?'

He laughed and said: 'So it is. How many days have gone by since I wandered in the wood last autumn, that the world should have changed so much!'

'Many deeds shall now be in thy days,' she said, 'and each deed as the corn of wheat from which cometh many corns; and a man's days on the earth are not over many.'

'Then farewell, Silver-dale!' said he, waving his hand toward the north. 'War and trouble may bring me back to thee, but it maybe nought else shall. Farewell!'

She looked on him fondly but unsmiling, as he went beside her strong and warrior-like. Three paces from him went Bow-may, barefoot, in her white kirtle, but bearing her bow in her hand; a leash of arrows was in her girdle, her quiver hung at her back, and she was girt with a sword. On the other side went Wood-wont and Wood-wise, lightly clad but weaponed. Wood-mother was riding in an ox-wain just behind them, and Wood-father went beside her bearing an axe. Scattered all about them were the men of the Steer, gaily clad, bearing weapons, so that the oak-wood was bright with them, and the glades merry with their talk and singing and laughter, and before them down the glades went the banner of the Steer, and the White Beast led them the nearest way to Burgdale.

CHAPTER LVII. HOW THE HOST CAME HOME AGAIN

It was fourteen days before they came to Rose-dale; for they had much baggage with them, and they had no mind to weary themselves, and the wood was nothing loathsome to them, whereas the weather was fair and bright for the more part. They fell in with no mishap by the way.

But a score and three of runaways joined themselves to the Host, having watched their goings and wotting that they were not foemen.

Of these, some had heard of the overthrow of the Dusky Men in Silver- dale, and others not. The Burgdalers received them all, for it seemed to them no great matter for a score or so of new-comers to the Dale.

But when the Host was come to Rose-dale, they found it fair arid lovely; and there they met with those of their folk who had gone with Dallach. But Dallach welcomed the kindreds with great joy, and bade them abide; for he said that they had the less need to hasten, since he had sent messengers into Burgdale to tell men there of the tidings. Albeit they were mostly loth to tarry; yet when he lay hard on them not to depart as men on the morrow of a gild-feast, they abode there three days, and were as well guested as might be, and on their departure they were laden with gifts from the wealth of Rose- dale by Dallach and his folk.

Before they went their ways Dallach spake with Face-of-G.o.d and the chiefs of the Dalesmen, and said:

'Ye have given me much from the time when ye found me in the wood a naked wastrel; yet now I would ask you a gift to lay on the top of all that ye have given me.'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'Name the gift, and thou shalt have it; for we deem thee our friend.'

'I am no less,' said Dallach, 'as in time to come I may perchance be able to show you. But now I am asking you to suffer a score or two of your men to abide here with me this summer, till I see how this folk new-born again is like to deal with me. For pleasure and a fair life have become so strange to them, that they scarce know what to do with them, or how to live; and unless all is to go awry, I must needs command and forbid; and though belike they love me, yet they fear me not; so that when my commandment pleaseth them, they do as I bid, and when it pleaseth them not, they do contrary to my bidding; for it hath got into their minds that I shall in no case lift a hand against them, which indeed is the very sooth. But your folk they fear as warriors of the world, who have slain the Dusky Men in the Market- place of Silver-stead; and they are of alien blood to them, men who will do as their friend biddeth (think our folk) against them who are neither friends or foes. With such help I shall be well holpen.'

In such wise spake Dallach; and Face-of-G.o.d and the chiefs said that so it should be, if men could be found willing to abide in Rose-dale for a while. And when the matter was put abroad, there was no lack of such men amongst the younger warriors, who had noted that the dale was fair amongst dales and its women fairer yet amongst women.

So two score and ten of the Burgdale men abode in Rose-dale, no one of whom was of more than twenty and five winters. Forsooth divers of them set up house in Rose-dale, and never came back to Burgdale, save as guests. For a half score were wedded in Rose-dale before the year's ending; and seven more, who had also taken to them wives of the goodliest of the Rose-dale women, betook them the next spring to the Burg of the Runaways, and there built them a stead, and drew a garth about it, and dug and sowed the banks of the river, which they called Inglebourne. And as years pa.s.sed, this same stead throve exceedingly, and men resorted thither both from Rose-dale and Burgdale; for it was a pleasant place; and the land, when it was cured, was sweet and good, and the wood thereabout was full of deer of all kinds. So their stead was called Inglebourne after the stream; and in latter days it became a very goodly habitation of men.

Moreover, some of the once-enthralled folk of Rose-dale, when they knew that men of their kindred from Silver-dale were going home with the men of Burgdale to dwell in the Dale, prayed hard to go along with them; for they looked on the Burgdalers as if they were new G.o.ds of the Earth. The Burgdale chiefs would not gainsay these men either, but took with them three score and ten from Rose-dale, men and women, and promised them dwelling and livelihood in Burgdale.

So now with good hearts the Host of Burgdale turned their faces toward their well-beloved Dale; and they made good diligence, so that in three days' time they were come anigh the edge of the woodland wilderness. Thither in the even-tide, as they were making ready for their last supper and bed in the wood, came three men and two women of their folk, who had been abiding their coming ever since they had had the tidings of Silver-dale and the battles from Dallach. Great was the joy of these messengers as they went from company to company of the warriors, and saw the familiar faces of their friends, and heard their wonted voices telling all the story of battle and slaughter. And for their part the men of the Host feasted these stay-at-homes, and made much of them. But one of them, a man of the House of the Face, left the Host a little after nightfall, and bore back to Burgstead at once the tidings of the coming home of the Host.

Albeit since Dallach's tidings of victory had come to the Dale, the dwellers in the steads of the country-side had left Burgstead and gone home to their own houses; so that there was no great mult.i.tude abiding in the Thorp.

So early on the morrow was the Host astir; but ere they came to Wildlake's Way, the Shepherd-folk turned aside westward to go home, after they had bidden farewell to their friends and fellows of the Dale; for their souls longed for the sheepcotes in the winding valleys under the long grey downs; and the garths where the last year's ricks shouldered up against the old stone gables, and where the daws were busy in the tall unfrequent ash-trees; and the green flowery meadows adown along the bright streams, where the crowfoot and the paigles were blooming now, and the harebells were in flower about the thorn-bushes at the down's foot, whence went the savour of their blossom over sheep-walk and water-meadow.

So these went their ways with many kind words; and two hours afterwards all the rest of the Host stood on the level ground of the Portway; but presently were the ranks of war disordered and broken up by the joy of the women and children, as they fell to drawing goodman or brother or lover out of the throng to the way that led speediest to their homesteads and halls. For the War-leader would not hold the Host together any longer, but suffered each man to go to his home, deeming that the men of Burgstead, and chiefly they of the Face and the Steer, would suffice for a company if any need were, and they would be easily gathered to meet any hap.

So now the men of the Middle and Lower Dale made for their houses by the road and the lanes and the meadows, and the men of the Upper Dale and Burgstead went their ways along the Portway toward their halls, with the throng of women and children that had come out to meet them.

And now men came home when it was yet early, and the long day lay before them; and it was, as it were, made giddy and c.u.mbered with the exceeding joy of return, and the thought of the day when the fear of death and sundering had been ever in their hearts. For these new hours were full of the kissing and embracing of lovers, and the sweetness of renewed delight in beholding the fair bodies so sorely desired, and hearkening the soft wheedling of longed-for voices.

There were the cups of friends beneath the chestnut trees, and the talk of the deeds of the fighting-men, and of the heavy days of the home-abiders; many a tale told oft and o'er again. There was the singing of old songs and of new, and the beholding the well-loved nook of the pleasant places, which death might well have made nought for them; and they were sweet with the fear of that which was past, and in their pleasantness was fresh promise for the days to come.