House of the Wolfings: The William Morris Book that Inspired J. R. R. Tolkiena *s The Lord of the Rings (14 page)

That blooms with the life of the people
which is and yet shall be!

It is helmed with ancient wisdom, and the
long remembered thought,

That liveth when dead is the iron, and its
very rust but nought.

Ah! were I but young as aforetime, I would
fare to the battle-stead

And stand amidst of the spear-hail for the
praise of the hand and the head!

Then his hands left Thiodolf’s head, and
strayed down to his shoulders and his breast, and he felt the cold
rings of the hauberk, and let his hands fall down to his side
again; and the tears gushed out of his old eyes and again he
spake:

O house of the heart of the mighty, O breast
of the battle-lord

Why art thou coldly hidden from the
flickering flame of the sword?

I know thee not, nor see thee; thou art as
the fells afar

Where the Fathers have their dwelling, and
the halls of Godhome are:

The wind blows wild betwixt us, and the
cloud-rack flies along,

And high aloft enfoldeth the dwelling of the
strong;

They are, as of old they have been, but
their hearths flame not for me;

And the kindness of their feast-halls mine
eyes shall never see.

Thiodolf’s lips still smiled on the old man,
but a shadow had come over his eyes and his brow; and the chief of
the Daylings and their mighty guests stood by listening intently
with the knit brows of anxious men; nor did any speak till the
ancient man again betook him to words:

I came to the house of the foeman when
hunger made me a fool;

And the foeman said, ‘Thou art weary, lo,
set thy foot on the stool;’

And I stretched out my feet,—and was
shackled: and he spake with a dastard’s smile,

‘O guest, thine hands are heavy; now rest
them for a while!’

So I stretched out my hands, and the
hand-gyves lay cold on either wrist:

And the wood of the wolf had been better
than that feast-hall, had I wist

That this was the ancient pit-fall, and the
long expected trap,

And that now for my heart’s desire I had
sold the world’s goodhap.

Therewith the ancient man turned slowly away
from Thiodolf, and departed sadly to his own place. Thiodolf
changed countenance but little, albeit those about him looked
strangely on him, as though if they durst they would ask him what
these words might be, and if he from his hidden knowledge might fit
a meaning to them. For to many there was a word of warning in them,
and to some an evil omen of the days soon to be; and scarce anyone
heard those words but he had a misgiving in his heart, for the
ancient man was known to be foreseeing, and wild and strange his
words seemed to them.

But Agni would make light of it, and he
said: “Asmund the Old is of good will, and wise he is; but he hath
great longings for the deeds of men, when he hath tidings of
battle; for a great warrior and a red-hand hewer he hath been in
times past; he loves the Kindred, and deems it ill if he may not
fare afield with them; for the thought of dying in the straw is
hateful to him.”

“Yea,” said another, “and moreover he hath
seen sons whom he loved slain in battle; and when he seeth a
warrior in his prime he becometh dear to him, and he feareth for
him.”

“Yet,” said a third, “Asmund is foreseeing;
and may be, Thiodolf, thou wilt wot of the drift of these words,
and tell us thereof.”

But Thiodolf spake nought of the matter,
though in his heart he pondered it.

So the guests were led to table, and the
feast began, within the hall and without it, and wide about the
plain; and the Dayling maidens went in bands trimly decked out
throughout all the host and served the warriors with meat and
drink, and sang the overword to their lays, and smote the harp, and
drew the bow over the fiddle till it laughed and wailed and
chuckled, and were blithe and merry with all, and great was the
glee on the eve of battle. And if Thiodolf’s heart were overcast,
his face showed it not, but he passed from hall to Wain-burg and
from Wain-burg to hall again blithe and joyous with all men. And
thereby he raised the hearts of men, and they deemed it good that
they had gotten such a War-duke, meet to uphold all hearts of men
both at the feast and in the fray.

Chapter 10

That Carline Cometh to the Roof of the
Wolfings

Now it was three days after this that the
women were gathering to the Women’s-Chamber of the Roof of the
Wolfings a little before the afternoon changes into evening. The
hearts of most were somewhat heavy, for the doubt wherewith they
had watched the departure of the fighting-men still hung about
them; nor had they any tidings from the host (nor was it like that
they should have). And as they were somewhat down-hearted, so it
seemed by the aspect of all things that afternoon. It was not yet
the evening, as is aforesaid, but the day was worn and worsened,
and all things looked weary. The sky was a little clouded, but not
much; yet was it murky down in the south-east, and there was a
threat of storm in it, and in the air close round each man’s head,
and in the very waving of the leafy boughs. There was by this time
little doing in field and fold (for the kine were milked), and the
women were coming up from the acres and the meadow and over the
open ground anigh the Roof; there was the grass worn and dusty, and
the women that trod it, their feet were tanned and worn, and dusty
also; skin-dry and weary they looked, with the sweat dried upon
them; their girt-up gowns grey and lightless, their half-unbound
hair blowing about them in the dry wind, which had in it no morning
freshness, and no evening coolness.

It was a time when toil was well-nigh done,
but had left its aching behind it; a time for folk to sleep and
forget for a little while, till the low sun should make it evening,
and make all things fair with his level rays; no time for anxious
thoughts concerning deeds doing, wherein the anxious ones could do
nought to help. Yet such thoughts those stay-at-homes needs must
have in the hour of their toil scarce over, their rest and mirth
not begun.

Slowly one by one the women went in by the
Women’s-door, and the Hall-Sun sat on a stone hard by, and watched
them as they passed; and she looked keenly at all persons and all
things. She had been working in the acres, and her hand was yet on
the hoe she had been using, and but for her face her body was as of
one resting after toil: her dark blue gown was ungirded, her dark
hair loose and floating, the flowers that had wreathed it, now
faded, lying strewn upon the grass before her: her feet bare for
coolness’ sake, her left hand lying loose and open upon her
knee.

Yet though her body otherwise looked thus
listless, in her face was no listlessness, nor rest: her eyes were
alert and clear, shining like two stars in the heavens of dawntide;
her lips were set close, her brow knit, as of one striving to shape
thoughts hard to understand into words that all might
understand.

So she sat noting all things, as woman by
woman went past her into the hall, till at last she slowly rose to
her feet; for there came two young women leading between them that
same old carline with whom she had talked on the Hill-of-Speech.
She looked on the carline steadfastly, but gave no token of knowing
her; but the ancient woman spoke when she came near to the
Hall-Sun, and old as her semblance was, yet did her speech sound
sweet to the Hall-Sun, and indeed to all those that heard it: and
she said:

“May we be here to-night, O Hall-Sun, thou
lovely Seeress of the mighty Wolfings? may a wandering woman sit
amongst you and eat the meat of the Wolfings?”

Then spake the Hall-Sun in a sweet measured
voice: “Surely mother: all men who bring peace with them are
welcome guests to the Wolfings: nor will any ask thine errand, but
we will let thy tidings flow from thee as thou wilt. This is the
custom of the kindred, and no word of mine own; I speak to thee
because thou hast spoken to me, but I have no authority here, being
myself but an alien. Albeit I serve the House of the Wolfings, and
I love it as the hound loveth his master who feedeth him, and his
master’s children who play with him. Enter, mother, and be glad of
heart, and put away care from thee.”

Then the old woman drew nigher to her and
sat down in the dust at her feet, for she was now sitting down
again, and took her hand and kissed it and fondled it, and seemed
loth to leave handling the beauty of the Hall-Sun; but she looked
kindly on the carline, and smiled on her, and leaned down to her,
and kissed her mouth, and said:

“Damsels, take care of this poor woman, and
make her good cheer; for she is wise of wit, and a friend of the
Wolfings; and I have seen her before, and spoken with her; and she
loveth us. But as for me I must needs be alone in the meads for a
while; and it may be that when I come to you again, I shall have a
word to tell you.”

Now indeed it was in a manner true that the
Hall-Sun had no authority in the Wolfing House; yet was she so well
beloved for her wisdom and beauty and her sweet speech, that all
hastened to do her will in small matters and in great, and now as
they looked at her after the old woman had caressed her, it seemed
to them that her fairness grew under their eyes, and that they had
never seen her so fair; and the sight of her seemed so good to
them, that the outworn day and its weariness changed to them, and
it grew as pleasant as the first hours of the sunlight, when men
arise happy from their rest, and look on the day that lieth hopeful
before them with all its deeds to be.

So they grew merry, and they led the carline
into the Hall with them, and set her down in the Women’s-Chamber,
and washed her feet, and gave her meat and drink, and bade her rest
and think of nothing troublous, and in all wise made her good
cheer; and she was merry with them, and praised their fairness and
their deftness, and asked them many questions about their weaving
and spinning and carding; (howbeit the looms were idle as then
because it was midsummer, and the men gone to the war). And this
they deemed strange, as it seemed to them that all women should
know of such things; but they thought it was a token that she came
from far away.

But afterwards she sat among them, and told
them pleasant tales of past times and far countries, and was blithe
to them and they to her and the time wore on toward nightfall in
the Women’s-Chamber.

Chapter 11

The Hall-Sun Speaketh

But for the Hall-Sun; she sat long on that
stone by the Women’s-door; but when the evening was now come, she
arose and went down through the cornfields and into the meadow, and
wandered away as her feet took her.

Night was falling by then she reached that
pool of Mirkwood-water, whose eddies she knew so well. There she
let the water cover her in the deep stream, and she floated down
and sported with the ripples where the river left that deep to race
over the shallows; and the moon was casting shadows by then she
came up the bank again by the shallow end bearing in her arms a
bundle of the blue-flowering mouse-ear. Then she clad herself at
once, and went straight as one with a set purpose toward the Great
Roof, and entered by the Man’s-door; and there were few men within
and they but old and heavy with the burden of years and the coming
of night-tide; but they wondered and looked to each other and
nodded their heads as she passed them by, as men who would say,
There is something toward.

So she went to her sleeping-place, and did
on fresh raiment, and came forth presently clad in white and shod
with gold and having her hair wreathed about with the herb of
wonder, the blue-flowering mouse-ear of Mirkwood-water. Thus she
passed through the Hall, and those elders were stirred in their
hearts when they beheld her beauty. But she opened the door of the
Women’s-Chamber, and stood on the threshold; and lo, there sat the
carline amidst a ring of the Wolfing women, and she telling them
tales of old time such as they had not yet heard; and her eyes were
glittering, and the sweet words were flowing from her mouth; but
she sat straight up like a young woman; and at whiles it seemed to
those who hearkened, that she was no old and outworn woman, but
fair and strong, and of much avail. But when she heard the Hall-Sun
she turned and saw her on the threshold, and her speech fell
suddenly, and all that might and briskness faded from her, and she
fixed her eyes on the Hall-Sun and looked wistfully and anxiously
on her.

Then spake the Hall-Sun standing in the
doorway:

Hear ye a matter, maidens, and ye Wolfing
women all,

And thou alien guest of the Wolfings! But
come ye up the hall,

That the ancient men may hearken: for
methinks I have a word

Of the battle of the Kindreds, and the
harvest of the sword.

Then all arose up with great joy, for they
knew that the tidings were good, when they looked on the face of
the Hall-Sun and beheld the pride of her beauty unmarred by doubt
or pain.

She led them forth to the dais, and there
were the sick and the elders gathered and some ancient men of the
thralls: so she stepped lightly up to her place, and stood under
her namesake, the wondrous lamp of ancient days. And thus she
spake:

On my soul there lies no burden, and no
tangle of the fight

In plain or dale or wild-wood enmeshes now
my sight.

I see the Markmen’s Wain-burg, and I see
their warriors go

As men who wait for battle and the coming of
the foe.

And they pass ’twixt the wood and the
Wain-burg within earshot of the horn,

But over the windy meadows no sound thereof
is borne,

And all is well amongst them. To the burg I
draw anigh

And I see all battle-banners in the breeze
of morning fly,