""In G.o.d"s good time, which because of my sins I shall not live to see, there will be neither Saxon nor Norman in England," said De Aquila. "If I know men, thou art more faithful unsworn than a score of Normans I could name. Take Dallington, and join Sir Richard to fight me to-morrow, if it please thee!"
""Nay," said Hugh. "I am no child. Where I take a gift, there I render service"; and he put his hands between De Aquila"s, and swore to be faithful, and, as I remember, I kissed him, and De Aquila kissed us both.
"We sat afterwards outside the hut while the sun rose, and De Aquila marked our churls going to their work in the fields, and talked of holy things, and how we should govern our Manors in time to come, and of hunting and of horse-breeding, and of the King"s wisdom and unwisdom; for he spoke to us as though we were in all sorts now his brothers. Anon a churl stole up to me-he was one of the three I had not hanged a year ago-and he bellowed-which is the Saxon for whispering-that the Lady aelueva would speak to me at the Great House. She walked abroad daily in the Manor, and it was her custom to send me word whither she went, that I might set an archer or two behind and in front to guard her. Very often I myself lay up in the woods and watched on her also.
"I went swiftly, and as I pa.s.sed the great door it opened from within, and there stood my Lady aelueva, and she said to me: "Sir Richard, will it please you enter your Great Hall?" Then she wept, but we were alone."
The knight was silent for a long time, his face turned across the valley, smiling.
"Oh, well done!" said Una, and clapped her hands very softly. "She was sorry, and she said so."
"Aye, she was sorry, and she said so," said Sir Richard, coming back with a little start. "Very soon-but _he_ said it was two full hours later-De Aquila rode to the door, with his shield new scoured (Hugh had cleansed it), and demanded entertainment, and called me a false knight, that would starve his overlord to death. Then Hugh cried out that no man should work in the valley that day, and our Saxons blew horns, and set about feasting and drinking, and running of races, and dancing and singing; and De Aquila climbed upon a horse-block and spoke to them in what he swore was good Saxon, but no man understood it. At night we feasted in the Great Hall, and when the harpers and the singers were gone we four sat late at the high table. As I remember, it was a warm night with a full moon, and De Aquila bade Hugh take down his sword from the wall again, for the honour of the Manor of Dallington, and Hugh took it gladly enough. Dust lay on the hilt, for I saw him blow it off.
"She and I sat talking a little apart, and at first we thought the harpers had come back, for the Great Hall was filled with a rushing noise of music. De Aquila leaped up; but there was only the moonlight fretty on the floor.
""Hearken!" said Hugh. "It is my sword," and as he belted it on the music ceased.
""Over G.o.ds, forbid that I should ever belt blade like that," said De Aquila. "What does it foretell?"
""The G.o.ds that made it may know. Last time it spoke was at Hastings, when I lost all my lands. Belike it sings now that I have new lands and am a man again," said Hugh.
"He loosed the blade a little and drove it back happily into the sheath, and the sword answered him low and crooningly, as-as a woman would speak to a man, her head on his shoulder.
"Now that was the second time in all my life I heard this Sword sing."...
"Look!" said Una. "There"s mother coming down the Long Slip. What will she say to Sir Richard? She can"t help seeing him."
"And Puck can"t magic us this time," said Dan.
"Are you sure?" said Puck; and he leaned forward and whispered to Sir Richard, who, smiling, bowed his head.
"But what befell the sword and my brother Hugh I will tell on another time," said he, rising. "Ohe, Swallow!"
The great horse cantered up from the far end of the meadow, close to mother.
They heard mother say: "Children, Gleason"s old horse has broken into the meadow again. Where did he get through?"
"Just below Stone Bay," said Dan. "He tore down simple flobs of the bank!
We noticed it just now. And we"ve caught no end of fish. We"ve been at it all the afternoon."
And they honestly believed that they had. They never noticed the Oak, Ash, and Thorn leaves that Puck had slyly thrown into their laps.
SIR RICHARD"S SONG
_I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,_ _To take from England fief and fee;_ _But now this game is the other way over-_ _But now England hath taken me!_
_I had my horse, my shield and banner,_ _And a boy"s heart, so whole and free;_ _But now I sing in another manner-_ _But now England hath taken me!_
_As for my Father in his tower,_ _Asking news of my ship at sea;_ _He will remember his own hour-_ _Tell him England hath taken me!_
_As for my Mother in her bower,_ _That rules my Father so cunningly;_ _She will remember a maiden"s power-_ _Tell her England hath taken me!_
_As for my Brother in Rouen city,_ _A nimble and naughty page is he;_ _But he will come to suffer and pity-_ _Tell him England hath taken me!_
_As for my little Sister waiting_ _In the pleasant orchards of Normandie;_ _Tell her youth is the time for mating-_ _Tell her England hath taken me!_
_As for my Comrades in camp and highway,_ _That lift their eyebrows scornfully;_ _Tell them their way is not my way-_ _Tell them England hath taken me!_
_Kings and Princes and Barons famed,_ _Knights and Captains in your degree;_ _Hear me a little before I am blamed-_ _Seeing England hath taken me!_
_Howso great man"s strength be reckoned,_ _There are two things he cannot flee;_ _Love is the first, and Death is the second-_ _And Love, in England, hath taken me!_
THE KNIGHTS OF THE JOYOUS VENTURE
HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN
_What is a woman that you forsake her,_ _And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,_ _To go with the old grey Widow-maker_?
_She has no house to lay a guest in-_ _But one chill bed for all to rest in,_ _That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in._
_She has no strong white arms to fold you,_ _But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you_ _Bound on the rocks where the tide has rolled you._
_Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,_ _And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,_ _Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken-_
_Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters,_ _You steal away to the lapping waters,_ _And look at your ship in her winter quarters._
_You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,_ _The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables-_ _To pitch her sides and go over her cables!_
_Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow:_ _And the sound of your oar-blades falling hollow,_ _Is all we have left through the months to follow!_
_Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,_ _And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,_ _To go with the old grey Widow-maker?_