House of the Wolfings: The William Morris Book that Inspired J. R. R. Tolkiena *s The Lord of the Rings (9 page)

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 6

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 befell 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 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 gainsay this rule and order. In sooth they are a people
mighty, but unhappy.”

Said Wolfkettle:

“And hast thou learned all this from the
ancient story lays, O Hiarandi? For some of them I know, though not
all, and therein have I noted nothing of all this. Is there some
new minstrel arisen in thine House of a memory excelling all those
that have gone before? If that be so, I bid him to the Roof of the
Wolfings as soon as may be; for we lack new tales.”

“Nay,” said Hiarandi, “This that I tell thee
is not a tale of past days, but a tale of to-day. For there came to
us a man from out of the wild-wood, and prayed us peace, and we
gave it him; and he told us that he was of a House of the Gael, and
that his House had been in a great battle against these Welshmen,
whom he calleth the Romans; and that he was taken in the battle,
and sold as a thrall in one of their garths; and howbeit, it was
not their master-garth, yet there he learned of their customs: and
sore was the lesson! Hard was his life amongst them, for their
thralls be not so well entreated as their draught-beasts, so many
do they take in battle; for they are a mighty folk; and these
thralls and those aforesaid unhappy freemen do all tilling and
herding and all deeds of craftsmanship: and above these are men
whom they call masters and lords who do nought, nay not so much as
smithy their own edge-weapons, but linger out their days in their
dwellings and out of their dwellings, lying about in the sun or the
hall-cinders, like cur-dogs who have fallen away from kind.

“So this man made a shift to flee away from
out of that garth, since it was not far from the great river; and
being a valiant man, and young and mighty of body, he escaped all
perils and came to us through the Mirkwood. But we saw that he was
no liar, and had been very evilly handled, for upon his body was
the mark of many a stripe, and of the shackles that had been
soldered on to his limbs; also it was more than one of these
accursed people whom he had slain when he fled. So he became our
guest and we loved him, and he dwelt among us and yet dwelleth, for
we have taken him into our House. But yesterday he was sick and
might not ride with us; but may be he will follow on and catch up
with us in a day or two. And if he come not, then will I bring him
over to the Wolfings when the battle is done.”

Then laughed the Beaming man, and spake:

“How then if ye come not back, nor
Wolfkettle, nor the Welsh Guest, nor I myself? Meseemeth no one of
these Southland Cities shall we behold, and no more of the
Southlanders than their war-array.”

“These are evil words,” said Wolfkettle,
“though such an outcome must be thought on. But why deemest thou
this?”

Said the Beaming: “There is no Hall-Sun
sitting under our Roof at home to tell true tales concerning the
Kindred every day. Yet forsooth from time to time is a word said in
our Folk-hall for good or for evil; and who can choose but hearken
thereto? And yestereve was a woeful word spoken, and that by a
man-child of ten winters.”