41 of the Roots of the Mountains by William Morris. It was about three hours before noon that the host began to enter into the pass out of shadowy Vale by the Riverside, and the women and children and men, unfightworthy, stood on the higher ground at the foot of the cliffs to see the host wend on the way. Of these, many were of the woodlanders, who were now one folk with them of shadowy Vale, and all these had chosen to abide tidings in the Vale, deeming that there was little danger therein, since that last slaughter which folk might had made of the dusky men, albeit face of God had offered to send them all to Burgstead, with two score and ten men at arms, to guard them by the way, and to eke out the warders of the Burg. Now the fighting men of shadowy Vale were two long hundreds lacking five, of whom two score and ten were women, and three score and ten lads under twenty winters. But the women, though you might scare see fairer of face and body, were dowty in arms, all good shooters in the bow, and the swains were eager and light-foot, cragsmen of the best, once a-scaling the cliffs of the Vale, in search of the nests of jur-falkens and such-like fowl, and swimming the strong streams of the shivering flood, tough bodies and wiry, stronger the most-grown men, and as fearless as the best. The order of the departure of the host was this. The woodlanders went first into the pass, and with them were two score of the right warriors of the wolf. Then came of the kindreds of Burgdale, the men of the stear, the bridge and the bull. Then the men of the vine and the sickle. Then the shepherd-folk, and lastly the men of the face, led by stone-face and hall-face. With these went another two score of the dwellers in shadowy Vale, and the rest were scattered up and down the bands of the host, to guide them into the best paths, and to make the way easier to them. Face of God was sundered from his kindred, and went along with folkmite in the forefront of the host, while his father the aldermen went as a simple man at arms, with his house in the rear-wood. The sun-beam followed her brother and face of God amidst the warriors of the wolf, and with her were Bome, clad in the aldermen's gift, and wood-father and his children. Bome had caused her to doff her horberk for that day, whereon they looked to fall in with no foeman. As for the bride, she went with her kindred in all her war-gear, and the morning sun shone in the gems of her apparel, and her dueled feet fell like flowers upon the deep grass of the upper Vale, and shone strange and bright amongst the black stones of the pass. She bore a quiver at her back, and a shining yubo in her hand, and went amongst the bowmen, for she was a very deft archer. So fared they into the pass, leaving peace behind them with all their banners displayed, and the banner of the red-mouthed wolf went with the wolf and the sunburst in the forefront of their battle next after the two captains. As for their road, the grassy space between the rock wall and the water was wide and smooth at first, and the cliffs rose up like bundles of spear-shafts high and clear from the green grass, with no confused litter of fallen stones. So that the men strode on briskly, their hearts high-raised and full of hope. And as they went, the sweetness of songs stood in their souls, and at last Bome fell to singing in a loud, clear voice, and a cousin woodwise answered her, and all the warriors of the wolf who were in their band fell into the song at the ending, and the sound of their melody went down the water, and reached the ears of those that were entering the pass, and of those who were abiding, till the way should be clear of them. And this is some of what they sang. Here ye never a voice come crying, out from the waste where the winds fair wide. Sons of the wolf, the days are dying, and where in the clefts of rocks do ye hide?  Through the trackless waste had the road being riven, for the blade to seek to the heart of the guilt. And yet ye bide, and yet ye tarry, dear deem ye the sleep-twixed hearth and abode, and sweet the maiden mouths ye marry, and bright the blade of the bloodless sword. Ye, here we dwell in the arms of our mother, the shadowy queen and the hope of the waste. Here first we came, when never another, down the rocky stair made haste. Far is the foe, and no sword beholdeth, what deed we work, and wither we end. Dear are the days and the year enfoldeth, the love of our life, from end to end. Voice of our fathers, why, will ye move us, and call up the sun, our swords to behold? Why, will ye cry on the form and to prove us? Why, will ye stir up the heart of the bold? Peer-blind am I, the voice of the chiding, then tell me what is the thing ye bear? What is the gift that your hands are hiding? The gold adorned, the dread and dear. Dark in the sheath lies the anvil's brother, hid is the hammered death of men. Would ye look on the gift of the green-clad mother? How then shall ye ask for a gift again? Show ye the sunlight, the gift of the mother, as foot follows foot to the foreman's den. Gleam's son, breathe the wind on the anvil's brother, for bear is the hammered death of men. Therewith they shook their naked swords in the air, and fared on eagerly, and as swiftly as the pass would have them fair. But so it was, that when the rearward of the host was entering the first of the pass, and was going on the wide smooth sword, the vanward was gotten to where there was but a narrow space, clear betwixt water and cliff. For other where was a litter of great rocks and small, hard to be threaded even by those who knew the pass as well, so that men had to tread along the verge of the shivering flood, and where he must they be. For the water ran swift and deep, betwixt banks of sheer rock, half a fathom below their very foot-soles, which had but bare space to go on the narrow way. So it held on for a while, and then got safer, and there was more space for going betwixt cliff and flood, albeit it was toilsome enough, since for some way yet there was a drift of stones to cumber their feet, some big and some little, and some very big. After a while the way grew better, though here and there where the cliffs lowered were wide screes of loose stones that they must needs climb up and down. Thereafter for a space was there an end of the stony cumber, but the way betwixt the river and the cliffs narrowed again, and the black crags grew higher, and at last so exceeding high, and the way so narrow that the sky overhead was to them, as though they were at the bottom of a well, and men deemed that dense they could see the stars at noontide. For some time with all had the way been mounting up and up, though the cliffs grew higher over it, till at last they were but going on a narrow shelf, the shivering flood swirling and rattling far below them betwixt sheer rock walls grown exceeding high, and above them the cliffs going up towards the heavens as black as a moonless, starless night of winter. And as the flood thundered below, so above them roared the ceaseless thunder of the wind of the pass the blue exceeding fierce down that straight place, so that the skirts of their garments were wrapped about their knees by it, and their feet were well nice stayed at wiles as they breasted the push thereof. But as they mounted higher and higher yet, the noise of the waters swelled into a huge roar that drowned the bellowing of the prisoned wind, and down the pass came drifting a fine rain that fell not from the sky, for between the clouds of that drift could folk see the heavens bright and a blue above them. This rain was but the spray of the great force, up to whose steps they were climbing. Now the way got rougher as they mounted, but this toil was caused by their gain, for the rock wall which thrust out a buttress there, as if it would have gone to the very edge of the gap where through the flood ran, and so have cut the way off utterly, was here somewhat broken down, and its stones scattered down the steep bent, so that there was a passage that were toilsome one. Thus then through the wind-borne drift of the great force, through which men could see the white waters tossing down below, amidst the clattering thunder of the shivering flood, and the rumble of the wind of the gap that tore through their garments and hair, as if it would rend all to rags, and bear it away. The banners of the wolf won their way to the crest of the midmost height of the pass, and the long line of the host came clambering after them, and each band of warriors, as it reached the top, cast an unheard shout from amidst the tangled fury of wind and waters. A little further on, and all that turmoil was behind them, the sun, now grown low, smote the wavering column of spray from the force at their backs, till the rainbows lay bright across it, and the sunshine lay wide over a little valley that sloped somewhat steeply to the west, right up from the edge of the river, and beyond these western slopes could men see a low peak spreading down on all sides to the plain, till it was like to a bost shield, and the name of it was Shield Broad. Dark grey was the valley everywhere, save that by the side of the water was a space of bright green suede, hedged about toward the mountain by a wall of rocks, tossed up into wild shapes of spires and jagged points. The river itself was spread out wide and shallow, and went rattling about, great grey rocks scattered here and there amidst it, till it gathered itself together to tumble headlong over three slant steps into the mighty gap below. From the height in the pass, those grey slopes seemed easy to traverse, but the warriors of the wolf knew that it was far otherwise, for they were but the molten rocksy that in time long past had flowed forth from Shield Broad, and filled up the whole valley endlong and overthwart, cooling as it flowed, and the tumbled hedge of rock round about the green plain by the river was where the said rocksy had been stayed by meeting with soft ground, and had heaped itself up round about the green suede, and that great rock flood as it cooled split in diverse fashions, and the rain and weather had been busy on it for ages so that it was worn into a maze of narrow paths, most of which, after a little, brought the wayfarer to a dead stop, or else led him back again to the place whence he had started, so that only those who knew the passes thoroughly could thread that maze without immeasurable labour. Now when the men of the host looked from the high place whereon they stood toward the green plain by the river, they saw on the top of that rock wall a red pen and waving on a spear, and beside it three or four weaponed men gleaming bright in the evening sun, and they waved their swords to the host and made lightning of the sunbeams, and the men of the host waved swords to them in turn, for these were the outguards of the host, and the place whereon they were was at whilst welting by those who would drive the spoil in Silverdale, and amid most of the green suede was a booth build of rough stones and turf, a refuge for a score of men in rough weather. So the men of the van ward got them down the hill, and made the best of their way toward the grassy plain through that rocky maze which had once been as a lake of molten glass, and as short as the way looked from above it was two hours or ever they came out of it onto the smooth turf, and it was moonlight and night ere the house of the face had gotten onto the green suede. There then the host abode for that night, and after they had eaten lay down on the green grass and slept as they might. Bome would have brought the sunbeam into the booth with some others of the women, but she would not enter it because she deemed that otherwise the bride would abide without. The bride when she came up along with the house of the steer beheld the sunbeam that would father's children had made a lair for her without like a hares form, and for sooth many a time had she laid under the naked heaven in shadowy veil, and the waist about it, even as the bride had in the meadows of Burgdale. So when the bride was bidden there too, she went meekly into the booth, and lay there with others of the damsels at arms. End of chapter 41 Chapter 42 Of the Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The host cometh to the edges of Silverdale. So wore the night, and when the dawn was come, were the two captains afoot, and they went from band to band to see that all was ready, that all men were asturby times. And by the time that the sun smote the eastern side of Shieldbrod ruddy, they had broken their fast, and were died for departure. Then the horns blew up beside the banners, and rejoiced the hearts of men. But by the command of the captains, this was the last time that they should sound, till they blew for onset in Silverdale, because now would they be drawing Nya and Nya to the foe-men, and they wotted not, but that wandering bands of them might be hard on the lips of the pass, and might hear the horns voice, and turn to see what was toward. Forth then went the banners of the wolf, and the men of the vanward fell to threading the rock-maze toward the north, and into hours time were clear of the dale under Shieldbrod. All went in the same order as yesterday, but on this day the sunbeam would bear her horberk, and had a sword gore to her side, and her heart was high and her speech merry. When they left the dale under Shieldbrod, the way was easy and wide for a good way, the river flowing betwixt low banks, and the pass being more like a string of little valleys than a mere gap as it had been on the other side of the dale. But when one-third of the day was passed, the way began to narrow on them again, and to rise up, little by little, and at last the rock-walls drew close to the river, and when men looked toward the north, they saw no way, and not but a wall. For the gap of the shivering flood turned now to the east, and the flood came down from the east in many falls, as it were over a fearful stair, through a gap where there was no path between the cliffs and the water, not but the boiling flood and its turmoil, so that they who knew not the road wondered what they should do. But folk might led the banners to wear a great buttress of the cliffs thrust itself into the way, coming well nigh down to the water, just at the corner where the river turned eastward, and they got them about it as they might, and on the other side thereof, low, another gap exceeding straight, scarce twenty foot over, wall-sided, rugged beyond measure, going up steeply from the great valley. A little water ran through it, mostly filling up the floor of it from side to side, but it was shallow. This was now the battle-road of the host, and the vanward entered it at once, turning their backs upon the shivering flood. Full, toilsome, and dreary was that straight way. Often great stones hung above their heads, bridging the gap and hiding the sky from them, nor was there any path for them save the stream itself, so that wiles were they wading its waters to the knee or higher, and wiles were they striding from stone to stone amidst the rattle of the waters, and wiles were they stepping warily along the ledges of rock above the deeper pools, and in all wise laboring in overcoming the rugged road amidst the twilight of the gap. Thus they toiled till the afternoon was well worn, and so at last they came to where the rock wall was somewhat broken down on the north side, and great rocks had fallen across the gap and dammed up the waters which fell scantily over the dam from stone to stone into a pool at the bottom of it. Up to this breach then, below the force they scrambled and struggled, for rough indeed was the road for them, and so came they up out of the gap onto the open hillside, a great shoulder of the heath sloping down from the north, and littered over with big stones, born thither be like by some ice-river of the earlier days. And one great rock was in special as great as the hall of a wealthy goodman, and shaped like to a hall with hipped gables, which same the men of the wolf called House Stone. There then the noise and clatter of the vanward rose up on the face of the heath, and men were exceeding joyous that they had come so far without mishap. Their width came weapon men out from under the House Stone, and they came toward the men of the vanward, and they were a half-score of the forerunners of the wolf. Therefore folkmite and face of God fell at once into speech with them, and had their tidings, and when they had heard them they saw naught a hinder the host from going on their road to Silverdale forthright, and there was still three hours of daylight before them. So the vanward of the host tarried naught, and the captains left word with the men from under House Stone that the rest of the host should fare on after them speedily, and that they should give this word to each company, as men came up from out the gap. Then they fared speedily up the hillside, and in an hour's wearing had come to the crest thereof, and to where the ground fell steadily toward the north, and here about the scattered stone ceased, and on the other side of the crest the heath began to be soft and boggy, and at last so soft, that if they had not been wisely led they had been be mired often times. At last they came to where the flows that trickled through the mires drew together into a stream, so that men could see it running, and thereon some of the woodlanders cried out joyously that the waters were running north, and then all knew that they were drawing night to Silverdale. No man they met on the road, nor did they of shadowy veil look to meet any, because the dusky men were not great hunters for the more part, except it were of men, and especially of women, and moreover these hill slopes of the mountain necks led no wither, and were utterly waste and dreary, and there was naught to be seen there but snipes and bitons and whimbrel and plover, and here and there a hill-fox, or the great urn hanging over the heath on his way to the mountain. When sunset came they were getting clear of the mirey ground, and the stream which they had come across amidst of the mires had got clearer and greater and rattled down between wide stony sides over the heath, and here and there it deepened as it cleft its way through little knolls that rose out of the face of the mountain neck. As the host climbed one of these, and was come to its topmost, it was low enough not to turn the stream, face of God looked and beheld dark blue mountains rising up far off before him, and higher than these, but away to the east the snowy peaks of the world mountains. Then he called to mind what he had seen from the burg of the runaways, and he took Folkmite by the arm, and pointed toward those far off mountains. Ye, said Folkmite, so it is war-leader, silver-dale lyeth between us and yonder blue ridges, and it is far nigher to us than to them. But the sun-beam came close to those twain, and took face of God by the hand, and said, And he turned about and beheld her, and saw how her cheeks flamed and her eyes glittered, and he said in a low voice, Tomorrow, for mirth or silence, for life or death. But the whole vanward as they came up, stayed to behold the sight of the mountains on the other side of Silverdale, and the banners of the Folk hung over their heads, moving but little in the soft air of the evening, so went they on their ways. The sun sank, and dust came on them, as they followed down the stream, and night came, and was clear and starlit, though the moon was not yet risen. Now was the ground firm and the grass sweet and flowery, and wind-worn bushes were scattered round about them, as they began to go down into the gill that cleft the wall of Silverdale, and the night wind blew in their faces from the very dale and place of the battle to be. The path down was steep at first, but the gill was wide, and the sides of it no longer straight walls, as in the gaps of their earlier journey, but broken, sloping back, and, as they might see on the morrow, partly of big stones and shaley grit, partly grown over with bushes and rough grass, with here and there a little stream trickling down their sides. As they went, the gill widened out, till at last they were in a valley going down to the plain, in places steep, in places flat and smooth, the stream ever rattling down the midst of it, and they on the west side there off. The veil was well grasped, and oak trees and ash and holly and hazel grew here and there about it, and at last the host had before it a wood which filled the veil from side to side, not much tangled with undergrowth, and quite clear of it night at the stream side. There into the vanward entered, but went no long way ere the leaders called a halt, and bade pitch the banners, for that there should they abide the daylight. Thus it had been determined at the council of the hall of the wolf, for folk might has said, with an host as great as ours, and mostly of men coming to a land of which they know not at all, and onslaught by night is perilous, yea, and our foes should be over much scattered, and we should have to wonder about seeking them. Let us rather abide in the wood of wood-dale till the morning, and then display our banners on the hillside above Silverdale, so that they may gather together to fall upon us. In no case shall they keep us out of the dale. There then they stayed, and as each company came up to the wood they were marshaled into their due places, so that they might set the battle in array on the edge of Silverdale. Chapter 43 Of the Roots of the Mountains by William Morris. There then they rested, as folk wear it with the toilsome journey, when they had set sure watches round about their campment, and they ate quietly what meats they had with them, and so got them to sleep in the wood on the eve of battle. But not all slept, for the two captains went about amongst the companies, folk might to the east, face of God to the west, to Luke to the watches, and to see that all was ordered duly. Also the sunbeam slept not, but she lay beside Bome at the foot of an oak tree. She watched face of God as he went away amidst the men of the host, and watched and waked abiding his returning footsteps. The night was well worn by then he came back to his place in the van ward, and on his way back he passed through the folk of the steer, laid along the grass, all save those of the watch, and the light of the moon higher loft was mingled with the light of the earliest dawn. And as it tapped he looked down, and low, close to his feet, the face of the bride, as she lay beside her grand sire, her head pillowed on a bundle of bracken.  Her hands were laid together by her side, her cheek was as fair and clear as it was want to be at her best.  Face of God turned his eyes from her at once, and went by swiftly, and came to his own company. The sunbeam saw him coming, and rose straight way to her feet from beside Bome, who lay fast asleep. And she held out her hands to him, and he took them and kissed them, and he cast his arms about her, and kissed her mouth and her face, and she hissing likewise, and she said, Oh, goldman, if this were but the morrow of tomorrow, yet shall all be well, shall it not? Her voice was low, but it waked Bome, who sat up at once, broad awake, after the manner of a hunter of the waist, ever ready for the next thing to be tied. And moreover, the sunbeam had been in her thoughts these two days, and she feared for her, lest she should be slain or maimed. Now she smiled on the sunbeam, and said, What is it? Does thy mind forbore evil? That needeth not. I tell thee, it is not so ill for us of the sword to be in Silverdale. Thrice have I been here since the overthrow, and never more than a half score in company, and yet am I whole today. Ye sister, said face of God, but in past times ye did your deed, and then fled away, but now we come to abide here, and this night is the last of lurking. Ah, she said, A little away from this, I saw such things as we had good will to abide here longer, few as we were, but that we feared to be taken alive. What things were these, said face of God. Nay, she said, I will not tell thee now, but may have been the lighted winter feast all, when the kindred are so nigh as and about us, that they seem to us as if they were all the world. I may tell it thee, and may have I never shall. Said sunbeam smiling, Thou wilt ever be talking bore me. Now let the war leader depart, for he will have much to do. And she was well at ease that she had seen face of God again. But he said, Nay, not so much. All is well nigh done. In an hour it will be broad day, and two hours thereafter shall the banner be displayed on the edge of Silverdale. The cheek of the sunbeam flushed and paled again, as she said, Ye, we shall stand even as our father stood on the day when, coming from off the waist, they beheld it, and knew it would be theirs. Ah, me, how I have longed for this morn. But now, tell me, Gourmain, dost thou deem that I am afraid? And I, whom thou hast deem to be a God? Thou shalt deem a twice a God air noon tide, brother Gourmain. But come now, the hour of deadly battle is at hand, and we may not laugh that away. And therefore I bid thee remember, Gourmain, how thou didst promise to kiss me once more on the verge of deadly battle. Therewith she stood up before him, and he tarried not, but kind and smiling, took her face between his two hands, and kissed her lips.  And they could see that she was weeping, and her body was shaken with sobs.  Now was the dawn fading into full daylight, and between dawn and sunrise were all men stirring, for the watch had waked the hundred leaders, and they the leaders of scores and half scores, and they the whole folk, and they sat quietly in the wood, and made no noise. In the night the watch of the sickle had fallen in with the thrall who had stolen up from the dale to set jins for hairs, and now in the early morning they brought him to the war-leader. He was even such a man as those with whom face of God had fallen in before, neither better nor worse than most of them. He was so afraid at first, but by then he was come to the captains, he understood that he had happened upon friends. But he was dull of comprehension and slow of speech, albeit folk might gathered from him that the dusky men had some inkling of the onslaught, for he said that they had been gathering together in the marketplace of Silvestead, and would do so again soon. Moreover, the captains deemed from his speech that those new tribes had come to hand sooner than was looked for, and were even now in the dale. Folk might smiled as one who is not best pleased when he heard these tidings, but face of God was glad to hear thereof, for what he loathed most was that the war should drag out in hunting of scattered bands of the foe. Herewith came Dalek to them as they talked, for face of God had sent for him, and he felt a questioning the man further, by whose answers it seemed that many men had come into the dale from Rosdale, so that they of the kindreds were like to have their hands full. Lastly Dalek drew from the thrall, that it was on that very morning that the great folkmote of the dusky men should be holding in the marketplace of the stead, which was right great, and about it were the biggest of the houses where in the men of the kindred had once dwelt. So when they had made an end of questioning the thrall, and had given him meat and drink, they asked him if he would take weapons in his hand, and lead them on the ways into the dale, bidding him to look about the wood, and note how great and mighty and host they were. And the Carl Yee said this, after staring about him a while, and they gave him spear and shield, and he went with the vanward as a wayleader. Again presently came a watch of the shepherds, and they had found a man and a woman dead and stark naked hanging to the boughs of a great oak tree deep in the wood. This men knew for some vengeance of the dusky men, for it was clear to see that these poor people had been sorely tormented before they were slain. Also the same watch had stumbled on the dead body of an old woman, clad in rags, lying amongst the rank grass about a little flow. She was exceeding, lean and hunger-starved, and in her hand was a frog which she had half eaten. And Dalek when he heard of this, said that it was the want of the dusky men to slay their thralls when they were past work, or to drive them into the wilderness to die. Lastly came a watch from the men of the face, having with them two more thralls, lusty young men, these they had come upon in company of their master, who had brought them up into the wood to shoot him a book, and therefore they bear bows and arrows. The watch had slain the master straightway, while the thralls stood looking on. They were much afraid of the weapon men, but answered to the questioning much readyer than the first man, for they were household thralls, and better fed and clad than he, who was but a toiler in the fields. They yea said all his tale, and said, moreover, that the folk-moat of the dusky men should be holding in the market's place that forenoon, and that most of the warriors should be there, both the newcomers and the rose-dale lords, and that without doubt they should be under arms. To these men also they gave a good sword and a helm each, and bade them be brisk with their bows. And they said yea to marching with the host, and indeed they feared nothing so much as being left behind, for if they fell into the hands of the dusky men, and their master missing, they should first be questioned with torments, and then slain in the evilest manner. Now whereas things had thus be tidd, and that they knew thus much of their foemen, the face of God called all the chieftains together, and they sat on the green grass and held counsel amongst them, and to one and all it seemed good that they should suffer the dusky men to gather together before they meddled with them, and then fall upon them in such order and such time as should seem good to the captains watching how things went, and this would be easy, whereas they were all lying in the wood in the same order as they would stand in battle array if they were all drawn up together on the brow of a hill. Or be its face of God deemed its good after he had heard all that they who had been in the stead could tell him thereof that the shepherd folk who were more than three long hundreds, and they of the stear, the bridge, and the bull, four hundreds in all, should take their places eastward of the woodlanders who had led the vanward. Straight away the word was born to these men, and the shift was made, so that presently the woodlanders were amid most of the host, and had with them on their right hands the men of the stear, the bridge, and the bull, and beyond them the shepherd folk. But on their left hand they the men of the vine, then they of the sickle, and lastly the men of the face, and these three kindreds were over five hundreds of warriors. As for the men of the wolf, they abode at first with those companies which they had led through the wastes, though this was changed afterwards. All this being done, face of God gave out that all men should break their fast in peace and leisure, and while men were at their meat, folk might speak to face of God, and said, Come, brother, for I would show thee a goodly thing, and thou, Daluch, come with us. Then he brought them by paths in the wood till face of God saw the sky shine white between the three bowls, and in a little while they would come well nigh out of the thicket, and then they went warily, for before them was nought but the slopes of wood dale going down steeply into Silverdale, with nought to hinder the sight of it, save here and there, bushes or scattered trees. And so fair and lovely it was that face of God could scarce for bear to cry out. He saw that it was only at the upper or eastern end where the mountains of the waste went round about it that the dale was narrow. It soon widened out toward the west, and for the most part was encompassed by no such straight sided a wall as was Burgadale, but by sloping hills and bends, mostly indeed somewhat higher and steeper than the pass wherein they were, but such as men could well climb if they had a mind to, and there were any end to their journey. The dale went due west a good way, and then winded about to the southwest, and so was hidden from them there away by the bends that lay on their left hand. As it was wider, so it was not so plain a ground as was Burgadale, but rose in nolls and little hills here and there. A river greater than the weltering water wound about amongst the said mounds, and along the side of it out in the open dale were many goodly houses and homesteads of stone. The nolls were mostly covered over with vines, and there were goodly and great trees in groves and clumps, chiefly oak and sweet chestnut and linden. Many were the orchards, now in blossom about the homesteads. The pastures of the neat and horses spread out bright green up from the water side, and deeper green showed the acres of the wheat on the lower slopes of the nolls, and in wide fields away from the river. Just below the pitch of the hill where on they were lay Silverstead, the town of the dale. Hitherto it had been an unfenced place, but Folkmite pointed to where on the western side a new white wall was rising, and on which, young as the day yet was, men were busy laying the stones and spreading the mortar. Fair seemed that town to face of God. The houses were all build of stone, and some of the biggest were roofed with lead, which also, as well as silver, was dug out of the mountains at the eastern end of the dale. The market place was clear to see from where they stood, though there were houses on all sides of it, so wide it was. From their standing place it was but three furlongs to this heart of silver dale, and face of God could see brightly clad men moving about in it already. High above their heads he beheld two great clots of scarlet and yellow raised on poles, and pitched in front of a great stone-built hall, roofed with lead, which stood amid most of the west end of the place, and betwixt those poles he saw on a mound, with long slopes at its sides, somewhat of white stone, and amid most of the whole place, a great stack of faggot wood built up four square. Those red and yellow things on the poles he deemed would be the banners of the murder-calls, and Folkmite told him that even so it was, and that they were but big bunches of strips of woolen cloth, much like to great ragmops, save that the rags were larger and longer. No other token of war, said Folkmite, did those folk carry, save a crook-bladed sword, smeared with man's blood, and bigger than any man might wield in battle. At thou far-seeing, war-leader, wuffy, what canst thou see in the marketplace? Said face of God, far-seeing am I above most men, and I see in the place a man in scarlet standing by the banner, which is pitched in front of the great stone-hall, near to the mound with the white stone on it, and me see with thee beareth a great horn in his hand. Said Folkmite, yea, and that stone-hall was our moat-house when we were lords of the dale, and hence it was that they who are now thralls of the dusky men, sent to them their message and token of yielding. And as for that white stone, it is the altar of their god, for they have but one, and he is that same crook-bladed sword. And now that I look, I see a great stack of wood amid most the marketplace, and well I know what that be-tokeneth.  I can then, said Folkmite, and in a moment came the hoarse tuneless sound of the horn, down the wind towards them, and Folkmite said, I deem I should know what that blast meaneth. And now is it time that the host drew Naya to set them in array behind these very trees. But if you will, war-leader, we will abide here and watch the ways of the foemen, and send Dallach with the word to the host. Also, I would have thee suffer me to bid hither at once, to score in ten of the best of the bowmen of our folk in the woodlanders, and woodwise to lead them, for he knoweth well the land here about, and what is good to do. It is good, said face of God, be speedy, Dallach. So Dallach departed, running lightly, and the two chiefs abode there, and the horn in Silverstead blew at Wiles for a little, and then stayed. And Folkmite said, Lo you, they come flock meel to the moatstead, the place will be filled ere long. Said face of God, will they make offerings to their God at the hallowing in of their folkmoat? Where then are the slaughter-beasts? They shall not long be lacking, said Folkmite. See you, it is getting thronged about the altar and the moat house. Now there were four ways into the marketplace of Silverstead, turned toward the four airts, and the midmost of the kindred's battle looked right down the southern one, which went up to the wood, but stopped there in a mere woodland path, and the more part of the town lay north and west of this way, albeit there was a way from the east also. But the hillside just below the two captains, lay two furlongs west of this southern way, and it went down softly till it was gotten quite near to the backs of the houses on the south side of the marketplace, and was sprinkled scantily with bushes and trees as aforesaid. But at last were there more bushes, which well now made a hedge across it, reaching from the side of the southern way, and a foot or two beyond these bushes, the ground fell by a steep and broken bent down to the level of the marketplace. And betwixt that fringe of bushes and the backs of the houses on the south side of the place was less it's may be than a full furlong. But the southern road aforesaid went down softly into the marketplace, since it had been fashioned so by men. Now the two chiefs heard a loud blast of horns come up from the town, and lo, a great crowd of men wending their ways down the road from the north, and they came into the marketplace with spears and other weapons tossing in the air. And amidst of these men, who seemed to be all of the warriors, they saw as they drew naya some two score and ten of men clad in long raiment of yellow and scarlet, with tall spiring hats of strange fashion on their heads, and in their hands long staves with great blades like scythe's done on to them, and again in the midst of these yellow and red glaive bearers in the very heart of the throng were some score of naked folk. They deemed both men and women, but were not sure so close was the throng, nor could they see if they were utterly naked. Lo, you brother, quoth folk might, said I not that the beasts for the hewing should not tarry. Yonder naked folk are even they, and you may well deem that they are the thralls of the dusky men, and be seamoth by the whiteness of the skins they be of the best of them. For these felons it is like Luke to winning great plenty of thralls in Burgdale, and so set the less store on them they have, and may expend them freely. As he spake they heard the sound of men marching into the wood behind them, and they turned about and saw that there was come woodwise, and with him upwards of two score in ten of the bowmen of the woodlanders and the wolf, huntsmen, cragsmen, and scourers of the waste, men who could shoot the chapinch on the twig a hundred yards aloof, who could make a hiding place of the bennets of the wayside grass, or the stem of the slender birch tree, with these must needs be bome, who was the closest shooter of all the kindreds. So then woodwise told the war leader that Dallach had given the word to the host, and that all men were a stir, and would be there presently in their ordered companies, and face of God spake to fulgmites, and said, Chief of the wolf, will thou not give command to these bowmen, and set them to work, for thou wattest thereof? Yea, that will I, said fulgmites, and turned to woodwise, and said, Woodwise, get ye down the slope, and loose on these felons who have a murder on hand, if so be ye have a chance to do it wisely. But in any case, come ye all back, for all shall be needed yet today. So flee if they pursue, for ye shall have us to flee too.  Woodwise did but nod his head, and lift his hand to his fellows, who set off after him down the slope, without more tarrying. They went very warily, as if they were hunting a quarry which would flee from them, and they crept amongst the grass and stones from bush to bush like serpents, and so, unseen by the dusky men, who indeed were busied over their own matters, they came to the fringe of bushes above the broken ground aforesaid, and there they took their stand, and before them, below those steep banks, was but the space at the back of the houses. As to the houses, as aforesaid, they were not so high as elsewhere about the marketplace, and at the end of a long low hall, there was a gap between its gable and the next house, whereby they had a clear sight of the place about the God's altar and the banners, and the great hall of Silverdale, with the double stair that went up to the door thereof. There then, they made them ready, and Woodwise set men to watch, that none should come side-long on them unawares. Their bows were bent, and their quivers open, and they were eager for the fray. Thus they beheld the marketplace from their cover, and saw that those folk who were to be hewn to the God were now standing, facing the altar in a half-ring, and behind them in another half-ring, the glaive-bearers who had brought them thither, stood glaive in hand, ready to hew them down when the token should be given, and these were indeed the priests of the God. There was clear space round about these poor slaughter-thralls, so that the bowmen could see them well, and they told up a score of them, half men, half women, and they were all stark-naked, safe for wreaths of flowers about their middles and their necks, and they had shackles of lead about their wrists, which same lead should be taken out of the fire wherein they should be burned, and from the shape it should take after it had passed through the fire, would the priests foretell the look of the deed to be done. It was clear to be seen from thence that folk-might was right when he said that these slaughter-thralls were of the best of the house-thralls and bed-emates of the dusky men, and that these felons were open-handed to their God, and would not cheat him, or withhold from him the best and most delicate of all they had. Now, speak woodwise to those about him, it is sure that the folk-might would have us give these poor thralls a chance, and that we must loose upon the felons who would hew them down. And if we'd to come back again, we can go know Naya. What sayest thou, Bome? Is it Naya enough? Can ought be done. Yeah, yeah, she said. Naya enough it is. But let gold-ring be with me, and offer score of the very best, whether they be of our folk or the woodlanders. Men who cannot miss such a mark. And when we have loosed, then let all loose, and stay not till our shop be spent. Haste, now haste, time presseth, for if the host showeth on the brow of the hill, these felons will hew down their slaughter-beasts before they turn on their foremen. Let the gray goose-wing speed, trouble, and confusion amongst them. But ere she had done her words, woodwise had got to speaking quietly with the woodlanders, and a bearsbane, who was amidst them, chose out eight of the best of his folk, men who doubted nothing of hitting whatever they could see in the marketplace, and they took their stand for shooting, and with them, besides Bome, were two women, and four men of the wolf, and gold-ring with all, carl of fifty winters, long, lean, and wiry, a fell-shooter, if ever anyone were. So all these notched their shafts, and laid them on the you, and each had between the two last fingers of the shaft-hand, another shaft ready, and a half score more, stuck into the ground before him. Now giveth woodwise the word to these sixteen, as to which of the felons with the glaives they shall each one aim at, and he sayeth with all in a soft voice, help, gummeth from the hill, soon shall battle be joined in Silverdale. Thus stand they watching Bome and gold-ring, till they draw home the notches, and amidst their waiting the glaive-bearing felons fall, as singing a harsh and ugly hymn to their crooked sword-god, and the market-stud is thronged, end-long, and over-thwart with the tribes of the dusky men. There now standeth Bome, far-sighted, and keen-eyed, her face as pale as a linen sleeve, an awful smile on her glittering eyes and close-set lips, and she, feeling the twisted string of the red you, and the polished sides of the notch, while the yelling song of the dusky priests quavers now and ends with a wild shrill cry, and she noticed the midmost of the priests beginning to handle his weapon. Then swift and steady she draweth home the notches, while the youboe standeth still as the oak-bowl ere the summer storm ariseeth, and the twang of the sixteen strings maketh but one fel sound, as the feathered bane of men goeth on its way. There was silence for a moment of time in the markets of Silverstead, as if the bolts of the gods had fallen there, and then arose a huge wordless yell from those about the altar, and one of the priests who was left hove up his glaive too-handed to smite the naked slaughter-thrawls. But, or ever the stroke fell, Bome's second shaft was through his throat, and he rolled over amidst his dead fellows, and the other fifteen had loosed with her, and then, even as they could, woodwise and the others of their company, and all they notched and loosed without tarrying, and no shout, no word came from their lips, only the twanging strings spake for them, for they deemed the minutes that hurried by were worth much joy of their lives to be, and few indeed were the passing minutes ere the dead men lay in heaps about the altar of the crooked sword, and the wounded men wallowed amidst them. End of Chapter 43, Chapter 44 of The Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain, of the onslaught of the men of the steer, the bridge, and the bull. Wild was the turmoil and confusion in the markets stead, for the more part of the men therein knew not what had befallen about the altar, though some clumb up to the top of that stack of faggots built for the burning of the thralls, and when they saw what was toward, felt a yelling and cursing, and their fellows on the plain place could not hear their story for the clamour, and they also felt a howling, as if a wood full of wild dogs was there. And still the shafts rained down on that throng from the bent of the bowmen, for another two score men of the woodlanders had crept down the hill to them, and shafts failed them not. But the dusky men about the altar, for all their terror, or even maybe because of it, now began to turn upon the scarce seen foremen, and to press up wildly toward the hillside, though as it were without any order or aim. Every man of them had his weapons, and those no mere gilded toys, but their very tools of battle, and some but no great number had their bows with them, and a few shafts, and these began to shoot at whatsoever they could see on the hillside, but at first so wildly and hurriedly that they did no harm. It must be said of them that at first only those about the altar fell on toward the hill, for those about the road that led southward knew not what had betided nor withered to turn. So that's at the beginning of this battle, of all the thousands in the great place. It was but a few hundreds that set on the bent of the bowmen, and at these the bowmen of the kindreds shot so close and so holy together that they fell one over another in the narrow ways between the houses, whereby they must need go to gather on the plain ground betwixt the back of the houses and the break of the hillside. But little by little the arches of the dusky men gathered behind the corpses of the slain, and fell to shooting at what they could see of the men of the kindreds, which at that while was not much, for as bold as they were, they fought like wary hunters of the wood and the waste. But now at last throughout all that throng of felons in the market place, the tale began to spread of foemen coming to the dale and shooting from the bents, and all they turned their faces to the hill, and the whole set of the throng was thitherward, though they fared but slowly, so evil was the order of them, each man hindering his neighbour as he went. And not only did the dusky men come flockmeal toward the bent of the bowmen, but also they jostled along toward the road that led southward. That beheld woodwise from the bent, and he was minded to get him and his aback, now that they had made so great a slaughter of the foemen. And to a three of his fellows had been hurt by arrows, and Bome, she would have been slain thrice over but for the hammer-work of the alderman, and no marvel was that. For now she stood on a little mound, not half covered by a thin thorn-bush, and notched and loosed at whatever was most notable, as though she was shooting at the mark on a summer evening in shadowy veil. But as woodwise was at point to give the word to depart, from behind them rang out the merry sound of the burgdale horns, and he turned to look at the wood side, and lo, there under was the hill bright and dark with men at arms, and over them floated the banners of the wolf and the banners of the steer, the bridge and the bull. Then gave forth the bullmen of the kindreds their first shout, and they made no stay in their shooting, but shot the eagerer, for they deemed that's help would come without their turning about to draw it to them. And even so it was, for straight way down the bend came striding, face of God betwixt the two banners of the wolf, and beside him were red wolf, the tall, and war-grove, and there with all wood wants and wood wicked, and many other men of the wolf. For now that the men of the kindreds had been brought face to face with the foe, and there was less need of them for way-leaders, the more part of them were leaver to fight under their own banner, along with the woodlanders, so that the company of those who went under the wolves was more than three long hundreds and a half, and the bullmen on the edge of the bend shouted again and merrily when they felt that their brothers were amongst them, and presently was the arrow-storm at its fiercest, and the twanging of bow-strings, and the whistle of the shafts was as the wind among the clefts of the mountains, for all the newcomers were bowmen of the best. But the kindreds of the steered, the bridge, and the bull, they hung on yet a while longer on the hill's brow, their banners floating over them and their horns blowing, and the dusky felons in the marketplace beheld them, and fear and rage at once filled their hearts, and a fierce and dreadful yell break out from them, and joyously did the men of Bergdale answer them, and song a rose amongst them, even such as this. The men of the bridge sing, Why stand ye together, why bear ye the shield, now the carves straineth tether at the edge of the field, now the lamb bleedseth stronger, and waters run clear, and the day grows longer and glad is the year. Now the mead-flowers jostle so thick as they stand, and singeth the throttle all over the land. The men of the steers sing, No cloud the day darkened, no thunder we heard, but the horn's speech we harkened as men unafraid. Yea, so merrily it sounded we turned from the dale, where all wealth abounded to what of its tale. The men of the bridge sing, What white bulls then bear ye, what wealth of the woods, what chafferers hear ye, be loud for your goods. The men of the bulls sing, Oh, the bright beams we carry are stems of the steel, no long shall we tarry across them to deal. Hark, the men of the cheaping, how loudly they cry, on the hook for the reaping of men doomed to die. They all sing, Eag's spear up, fair forward, O men of the dale, for the warrior our war-war shall hearken the tale. Therewith they ceased a moment, and then gave a great and hearty shout altogether, and all their horns blew, and they moved on down the hill as one man, slowly and with no jostling, the spearmen first, and then they of the axe and the sword, and on their flanks the deft archers loosed on the stumbling jostling throng of the dusky men, who for their part came on drifting and surging up the road to the hill. But when those big spearmen of the dale had gone a little way, the horn's voice died out, and their great staved spears rose up from their shoulders into the air, and stood so a moment, and then slowly fell forward as the oars of the longship fall into the rollocks, and then over the shoulders of the foremost men showed the steel of the five ranks behind them, and their own spears cast long bars of shadow on the whiteness of the sunny road. No sound came from them now, save the rattle of their armour and the tramp of their steady feet, but from the dusky men rose up hideous, confused, yelling, and those that could free themselves from the tangle of the throng rushed desperately against the unrolling hedge of steel, and the whole throng shoved on behind them. Then met steel and men, here and there, that ash-dave broke, here and there, a dusky felon rolled himself unhurt under the ash-daves, and hewed the knees of the dalesmen, and a tall man came tottering down. But what men or wood-whites could endure the push of spears of these mighty husband men? The dusky ones shrunk back yelling, or turned their backs and rushed at their own folk, with such fierce agony that they entered into the throng till the terror of the spear reached to the midmost of it, and swayed them back on the hindermost. Then neither was there out-gates for the felons on the flanks of the spearmen, since there the feathered death beset them, and the bowmen, and the bride amongst the foremost, shot wholly together, and no shaft flew idly. But the wise leaders of the dalesmen would not that they should thrust in too far amongst the howling throng of the dusky men, lest they should be hemmed in by them, for they were but a handful in regard to them. So there they stayed, barring the way to the dusky men, and the bowmen still loosed from the flanks of them, or aimed deftly from betwixt the ranks of the spearmen. And now there was a space of ten strides or more betwixt the dalesmen and their foes, over which the spears hung terribly, nor durst the dusky men adventure there, and thereon was naught but men dead or sorely hurt. Then suddenly a horn rang thrice shrilly over all the noise and clamour of the throng, and the ranks of the spearmen opened, and forth into that space strode to score of the swordsmen and axe-wielders of the dale, their weapons raised in their hands. And he who led them was iron hand of the house of the bull. Tall he was, wide-shouldered, exceeding strong, but beardless and fair-faced. He bore aloft a two-edged sword, broad-bladed, exceeding heavy, so that few men could wield it in battle, but not ride long. It was an ancient weapon, and his father before him had called its barley-side. With him was some of the best of the kindreds, as a wolf of Whitegarth, longhand of occult, heart of Highcliff and Warwell, the captain of the bridge. These made no tarrying on that space of the dead, but cried aloud their cries, for the burg and the steer, for the dale and the bridge, for the dale and the bull. And so fell it once on the felons, who fled not, nor had room to flee, and also they feared not the edge-weapons, so sorely as they feared those huge spears. So they turned fiercely on the swordsmen, and chiefly on Ironhand, as he entered in amongst them, the first of all, hewing to the right hand and the left, and many a man fell before the barley-side, for they were but little before him. Yet as one fell, another took his place, and hewed at him with the steel axe and the crooked sword, and with many strokes they clave his shield and break his helm and rent his bernie, while he heeded little, safe smiting with the barley-side, and the blood ran from his arm and his shoulder and his thigh. But Warwell had entered in among the foe on his left hand, and unshielded, over a great broad-bladed axe that clave the iron helms of the dusky men, and rent their horn-scaled bernies. He was not very tall, but his shoulders were huge, and his arms long, and naught could abide his stroke. He cleared a ring round Ironhand, whose eyes were growing dim, as the blood flowed from him, and hewed three strokes before him, then turned and drew the champion out of the throng, and gave him into the arms of his fellows, to staunch the blood that drained away the might of his limbs. And then, with a great wordless roar, leapt back again on the dusky men, as the lion leapeth on the herd of swine, and they shrank away before him, and all the swordsmen shouted, for the bridge, for the bridge, and pressed on the harder, smiting down all before them. On his left hand now was heart of Highcliff, wielding a good-sword height-chip-driver, wherewith he had slain and hurt a many, fighting wisely with sword and shield, and driving the point home through the joints of the armour. But even therewith, as he drove a great stroke at a lord of the dusky ones, a casper came flying and smote him on the breast, so that he staggered, and the stroke fell flaplings on the shield-boss of his foe, and chip-driver break a twain neither hilt's. But heart closed with him, and smote him on the face with the pommel, and tore his axe from his hand, and clave his skull therewith, and slew him with his own weapon, and fought on valiantly beside Warwell. Now Warwell had fought so fiercely, that he had rent his own horberk with the might of his strokes, and as he raised his arm to smite a huge stroke, the deft man of the felons thrust the spike of his war-axe up under his arm, and when Warwell felt the smart of the steel, he turned on that man, and letting his axe fall down to his wrist, and hang there by its loop, he caught the foe-man up by the neck and the breech, and draved him against the other dusky ones before him, so that their weapons pierced and rent their own friend and fellow. Then he put forth the might of his arms and the pith of his body, and hove up that felon, and cast him on to the heads of his fellow murder-carls, so that he rent them, and was rent by them. Then Warwell fell on again with the axe, and all the champions of the dales shouted and fell on with him, and the foes shrank away, and the dalesmen cleared a space five fathoms length before them, and the spearmen drew onward and stood on the space whereon the first onslaught had been. Then drew those hewers of the dales together, and forth from the company came the man that bared the banner of the bridge, and the champions gathered round him, and they ordered their ranks and strode with the banner before them three times to and fro across the road a thwart to the front of the spearmen, and then with a great shout drew back within the spear-hedge, albeit five of the champions of the dales had been slain out right there, and the more part of them hurt more or less. But when all Warwell within the ranks, once again blew the horn, and all the spears sank to the rest, and the kindreds draved the spear-for-o, and a space was swept clear before them, and the cries and yells of the dusky men were so fierce and wild that the rough voices of the dalesmen were drowned amidst them. Fourth then came every bowmen of the kindred that was there, and loosed on the dusky men, and they forsooth had some bowmen amongst them, but cooped up and jostled as they were, they shot but wildly, whereas each shaft of the dale went home truly. But amongst the bowmen, fourth came the bride in her glittering war-gear, and stepped lightly to the front of the spearmen. Her own yubo had been smitten by a shaft and broken in her hand, so she had caught up a short hornbow and a quiver from one of the slain of the dusky men, and now she knelt on one knee under the shadow of the spear's night at her grand sire, Hallward, and with a pale face and knitted brow, notched and loosed and notched and loosed on the throng of foemen, as if she were some daintily-fashioned engine of war. So fared the battle on the road that went from the south into the market-stead. Valiantly had the kindred fought there, and no man of them had blenched, and much they had won, but the way was perilous before them, for the foe was many and many. End of Chapter 44 Chapter 45 of The Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Libyrox recording is in the public domain Of face of gods on slot. Now the banners of the wolf flapped and rippled over the heads of the woodlanders and the men of the wolf, and the men shot all they might, nor took heed now to cover themselves against the shafts of the dusky men. As for these, for all they were so many, their arrow-shot was no great matter, for they were in very evil order, as has been said, and moreover, their rage was so great to come to handy-strokes with these foemen, that some of them flung away their bows to brandish the ax or the sword. Nevertheless were some among the kindred hurt or slain by their arrows. Thou stood face of God with the foremost, and from where he stood he could see somewhat of the battle of the Dale'smen, and he wanted that it was thriving. Therefore he looked before him and close around him, and noted what was toward there. The space betwixt the houses and the break of the bents was crowded with the fury of the dusky men, tossing their weapons aloft, crying to each other and at the kindred, and here and there, loosing a bowstring on them. But whatever was their rage, they might not come and many together passed a line within ten fathom of the bent's end. The three hundred of the best of bowmen were shooting at them so ceaselessly that no dusky man was safe of any bare place of his body, and they fell over one another in that penfold of slaughter, and for all their madness did but little. Yet was the heart of the war-leader troubled, for he wanted that it might not last for ever, and there seemed no end to the throng of murder-calls. At the time would come when the arrow-shots would be spent, and they must needs come to handy-strokes, and that with so many. Now a voice spake to him as he gazed with knitted brows and careful heart on that turmoil of battle. What now is thou done with the sun-beam, and where is a brother? Is the chief of the wolf skulking when our work is so heavy, and thou me seemeth art over late on the field? The mowing of this meadow is no sluggard's work. He turned and beheld bow-may, and gazed on her face for a moment, and saw her eyes, how they glittered, and how the pommels of her cheeks were burning red, and her lips dryened gray. But before he answered, he looked all around about to see what was to note, and he touched bow-may on the shoulder, and pointed to down below, where a man of the felons had just come out of the court of one of the houses. A man tall of them most, very gaily arrayed with gilded scales all over him, so that, with his dark face and blue eyes, he looked like some strange dragon. Bow-may spake not, but stamped her foot with anger, yet if her heart were hot her hand was steady, for she notched a shaft, and just as the dusky chief raised his axe and brandished it aloft, she loosed, and the shaft flew and smote the felon in the armpit, and the default of the armour, and he fell to earth. But even as she loosed, face of God cried out in a loud voice, O lads of battle, shoot close and all together, tarry not, tarry not, for we need a little time here, sword meets sword, and the others of the kindreds are at work. But bow-may turned round to him and said, Will I not answer me? Where is thy kindness gone? Even as she was speaking, she had notched and loosed another shaft, speaking as folk do, who turned from busy work at Lumor Bench.  He broke off here, for a man fell beside him, hurt in the neck, and face of God took his bow from his hands and shot a shaft, while one of the women who had been hurt also tended the newly wounded man. Then face of God went on speaking. She was unwilling to go, but folk-mite and I constrained her, for we knew that this is the most perilous place of the battle. See those three felons, Bow-may, they are aiming hither. And again he loosed and bow-may also, but a shaft rattled on his helm with all, and another smoter woodlander beside him, and pierced through the calf of his leg, as he turned and stooped to take fresh arrows from a sheaf that lay there. But the calf took it by the notch and the point and break it, and drew it out, and then stood up and went on shooting. And face of God spake again. Folk-mite skulketh not, nor the men of the vine, and the sickle in the face, nor the shepherd folk. Soon shall they be making our work easy to us, if we can hold our own till then. They are on the other roads that lead into the square. Now suffer me, and shoot on. Therewith he looked round about him, and he saw on the left hand that all was quiet, and before him was the confused throng of the dusky men, trampling their own dead and wounded, and not able as yet to cross that death-line of the arrow so near to them. But on his right hand he saw how they of the kindreds held them firm on the way. Then for a moment of time he considered and thought, till him seemed he could see the whole battle yet to be fought on, and his face flushed, and he said sharply, Bome, abide here and shoot, and show the others where to shoot, while the arrows hold out. But we will go further for a while, and ye shall follow when we have made the rent great enough. She turned to him and said, Why art thou not more joyous? Thou art like an host without music or banners. Nay, said he, heed me not, but my bidding. She said hastily, I think I shall die here, since for all we have shot we minnish them no wise. Now kiss me this once amidst the battle and say farewell. He said, Nay, Nay, it shall not go thus, abide a little while, and thou shall see all this tangle open as the sun cleave up the clouds on the autumn morning. Yet lo, thou, since thou wilt have it so. And he bent forward and kissed her face, and now the tears ran over it, and she said, smiling somewhat. Now this is more than I look for, what so may be tied. But while she was yet speaking, he cried in a great voice, Ye who have spent your shot, have Nay spent it, to ax and sword, and follow me to clear the ground, twix the bent and the halls. Let each help each, but throng not each other. Shoot wisely ye bowmen, and keep our backs clear of the foe. On, on, for the burg and the face, for the burg and the face. Therewith he leapt down the steep of the hill, bounding like the heart, with daleward and naked in his hand, and they that followed were two score and ten, and the arrows of their bowmen reigned over their heads on the dusky men, as they smoked down the first of the foe men, and the other shrieked and shrank before them, or turned on them smiting wildly and desperately. But face of God swept round the great sword, and plunged into that sea of turmoil and noise, and evil sights and savours, and even therewith he heard clearly a voice that said, Goldring I'm hurt, take my bow a while, and knew it for bomeys. But it came to his ears like the song of a bird without meaning, for it was as if his life were changed at once, and in a minute or two he had cut thrice with the edge, and thrust twice with the point, eager but clear-eyed and deft, and he saw, as in a picture, the foe before him, and the grey roofs of Silverstead, and through the gap in them, the tops of the blue ridges far aloof, and now had three fallen before him, and they feared him, and turned on him, and smote so many together that their strokes crossed each other, and one warded him from the other, and he laughed aloud and shielded himself, and draved the point of daleward and amidst the tangle of weapons, through the open mouth of a captain of the felons, and slashed a cheek with a backstroke, and swept round the edge to his right hand, and smote off a blue-eyed, snub-nosed head, and therewith a pollack smote him on the left side of his helm, so that he tottered, but he swung himself round, and stood stark and upright, and gave a short hack with the edge, keeping daleward and well in hand, and a gold-clad felon, a champion of them, and their tallest on the ground, fella back, his throat gaping more than the mouth of him. Then face of God shouted, and waved daleward and aloft to the banner of the wolf that floated behind and above him, and he cried out, as I have promised, so have I done, and he looked about and beheld how valiantly his felons had been doing, for before him now was a space of earth with no man standing on his feet thereon, like the swathe of the mowers of June, and beyond that was the crowd of the dusky men, wavering like the tall grass abiding the scythe. But in a minute, and they fell to casting at face of God, and his fellow spears and knives and shields, and whatsoever would fly, and a spear smote him on the breast, but entered not, and a boss-shield fell over his face with all, and a plummet of sling-led smote his helm, and he fell to earth, but leapt up again straight away, and heard as he arose a great shout close to him, and a shrill cry, and lo, at his left side, Bome, her sword in her hand, and the hand red with blood from her shaft-graze on her wrist, and a white cloth stained with blood about her neck, and on his right side, woodwise, bearing the banner and crying the wolf-woop, for the whole company was come down from the slope and stood around him. Then, for a little while, was there such a stilling of the tumult about him there, that he heard great and glad cries from the road of the south, of the burg and the stear, the dale and the bridge, the dale and the bull, and thereafter a terrible great shrieking cry, and a huge voice that cried, death, death to the dusky men, and thereafter again fierce cries, and great tumult of the battle. Then face of God shook Dalewarden in the air, and strode forward fiercely, but not speedily, and the whole company went foot for foot along with him, and as he went, would he or would he not, song came into his mouth, a song of the meadows of the dale, even such as this. The wheat is done blooming and rusts on the sickle, and green are the meadows grown after the scythe. Come, hands for the dance, for the toil hath been mickle, and twix-hastle and harvest is time to be blithe. And watch all the tail-beed now dancing is over, and kind on the meadow sits made and by man. The old man be-thinks him of days of the lover, the warrior remembers the field that he won. Shall we tell of the dear days wherein we are dwelling, the best days of our mother, the cherishing dale, when all round of outers the summer is telling, to ears that may harken the heart of the tale? Shall we sing of these hands and these lips that caress us, and the limbs that sun-dackled lie light here beside, when still in the morning they rise but to bless us, and often the midnight our footsteps abide. O, nay, but to tell of the fathers were better, and how we were fashioned from out of the earth, of how the one slowly spurned strong at the fetter, of the days of the deeds and the beginning of mirth. And then, when the feast-tide is done in the morning, shall we wet the grey sickle that bideth the wheat, till one grow the edges and gleam forth a warning of the field and the fallow where edges shall meet. And when cometh the harvest and hook upon shoulder, we enter the red wheat from out of the road, we shall sing as we wend of the bold and the bolder, and the burg of their building, the beauty as a bold. As smighteth the sickle amid the sun's burning, we shall sing how the sun saw the token unfurled, when forth fared the folk with no thought of returning, in the days when the banner went wide in the world. Many saw that he was singing, but heard not the words of his mouth, for great was the noise and clamour. But he heard Bome, how she laughed by his side, and cried out, Go, main, dear heart, now art thou merry indeed, and glad am I, though they told me the time hurt. Ah, now beware, beware! For indeed the dusky men, seeing the wall of steel rolling down upon them, and cooped up by the houses, so that they scarce knew how to flee, turned in the face of death, the foremost of them, and rushed furiously on the array of the woodlanders. And all those behind pressed on them like the big wave of the ebbing sea, when the gust of the wind driveth it landward. The woodlanders met them shouting out, The green wood and the wolf, the green wood and the wolf. But not a few of them fell there, though they gave not back a foot, so fierce now with the dusky men, the towing and thrusting at them availed not, unless they were slain outright or stunned. And even if they fell, they rolled themselves up against their tall foremen, heeding not death or wounds if they might, but sleigh or wound. There then fell Wargrove and ten others of the woodlanders, and four men of the wolf, but none before he had slain his foeman, and as each man fell or was hurt grievously, another took his place.  But the stout Karl drove a wood knife into the side of the first felon, and drew it out speedily and smote the other, the smiter, in the face with the same knife. At their width they all three rolled together on the earth amongst the feet of men. Even so did another felon by Bome, and dragged her down to the ground, and smote her with a long knife as she tumbled down, and this was a feet of theirs, for they were long armed like apes. But as to this felon, Dalewarden's edge split his skull, and face of God gathered his might together and bestowed Bome, till he had hewed a space round about him with great two-handed strokes, and yet the blade break not. Then he caught up Bome from the earth, and the felon's knife had not pierced her horberk, but she was astonished and might not stand upon her feet. And face of God turned aside a little with her, and half bore her, half thrust her through the throng to the rearward of his folk, and left her there with two car lines of the wolf, who followed the host for leechcraft's sake, and then turned back shouting, for the face, for the face! And there followed him back to the battle, a band of those who were fresh as yet, and their blades unblooded, the young men of the woodlands. The wearier fighters made way for them as they came on shouting, and face of God was ahead of them all, and leapt at the foeman, as a man unwearied and striking his first stroke, so wondrous hail he was. And they drove a wedge amidst of the dusky men, and then turned about and stood back to back, hewing at all that drifted on them. But as face of God cleared a space about him, lo, almost within reach of his sword-point, up rose a grim shape from the earth, tall grey-haired and bloody-faced, who uttered the wolf-woop from amidst the terror of his visage, and turned and swung round his head at acts of the dusky men, and fell to smiting them with their own weapon. The dusky men shrieked in answer to his woop, and all shrunk from him and face of God, but a cry of joy went up from the kindred, for they knew Goldring, whom they deemed had been slain. So they all pressed on together, smiting down the foe before them, and the dusky men, some turned their backs and draved those behind them, till they too turned, and were strained through the passages and courts of the houses, and some were overthrown and trodden down as they strove to hold face to the woodlanders, and some were hewn down where they stood. But the whole throng of those that were on their feet drifted toward the marketplace, the woodlanders following them ever with point and edge, till betwixt the bent and the houses, no foemen stood up against them. Then they stood together and raised the whoop of victory, and blew their horns long and loud in the token of their joy, and the woodland men lifted up their voices and sang, now far, far aloof, standeth lintel and roof, the dwelling of days of the woodland ways. Now, nought to endeth there, save the wolf and the bear, and the fox of the waist, fairing soft without haste, no carl, the axe, wetteth on oak-laden hill, no shaft, the heart, letteth to endeth his will, non-heedeth the thunder clap over the glade, and the windstorm there under makes no man afraid. Is it thus then that endeth man's days on mid-earth, for no man there wendeth in sorrow or mirth? Day, look down on the road from the ancient abode, betwixt acre and field, shineeth helm, shineeth shield, and high over the heath, there's the bane in his sheath, for the wise men and bold go their ways o'er the wold. Now the warrior hath given them heart and fair day, unbidden, undriven, they fair to the free, by the rock and the river the banners they bear, and their battle-staves quiver neath Halberton spear. On the hills brow they gather, and hang o'er the dale, as the clouds of the father hang laden with bale. Down, shineeth the sun, o'er the war deed half done, o'er the fordoom to die, in the pale dust they lie. There they leapt, there they fell, and their tales shall we tell, but we, e'en in the gates of the war-garth, we wait. Till the drift of war-weather shall whistle us on, and we tread altogether the way to be won, to the dear land the dwelling for whose sake we came, to do deeds for the telling of song-be-crowned fame. Settle helm on the head, then, heave sword for the dale, nor be mocked of the dead men for deedless and pale. CHAPTER 46 OF THE ROOTS OF THE MOUNTAINS BY WILLIAM MORRIS This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Men meet in the market of Silverstead. So sang they, but face of God went with Redwolf, who was hurt sorely, but not deadly, and led him back toward the place just under the break of the bent, and there he found Bome in the hands of the women who were tending her hurts.  He left Redwolf to the tending of the women, and clumbed the bent hastily, and when he deemed he was high enough, he looked about him, and somewhat more than half an hour had worn since Bome had sped the first shaft against the dusky men. He looked down into the market-stead, and deemed he would see that nigh the moat-house, the dusky men were gathering into some better order, but they were no longer drifting toward the Southern Bents, but were standing round about the altar, as men abiding somewhat. And he deemed that they had gotten more bow-shot than before, and that most of them bear bows. Though so many had been slain in the battles of the Southern Bents, yet was the market-stead full of them, so to say, but others had come there too in place of those that had fallen. But now, as he looked, arose mighty clamour amongst them, and a little west of the altar was a stir and a hurrying onward and around, as in the eddies of a swift stream. Face of God wanted not what was betiding there, but he deemed that they were now aware of the unfall of Folk-mite and Hall-face, and the men of Burgdale, for their faces were all turned to where that was to be looked for. So he turned and looked on the road to the east of him, where had been the battle of the steer. But now it was all gone down toward the market-place, and he could but hear the clamour of it. But naught he saw thereof, because of the houses that hid it. Then he cast his eyes on the road that entered the market-stead from the north, and he saw thereon many men gathered, and he wanted not what they were, for though there were weapons amongst them, yet were they not all weaponed, as far as he could see. Now as he looked this way and that, and it seemed that he must tarry no longer, but must enter into the courts of the houses before him and make his way into the market-stead, lo a change in the throng of dusky warriors nigh the moat-house, and the ordered bands about the altar fell to drifting toward the western way with one accord, with one great noise and hurry, and fierce cries of wrath. Then made face of God no delay, but ran down the bends at once, and at the break of it came upon Bo-me standing upright and sword in hand, and as he passed she joined herself to him, and said, What new tidings now go, main? Tidings of battle, he cried, tidings of victory. Folk might have fallen on, and the dusky men run hastily to meet him, hark, hark! For as he spoke came a great noise of horns, and Bo-me said, What horn is that blowing? He stayed not, but shouted aloud, For the face, for the face! Now we will fall upon their backs! Their width was he come to his company, and he cried out to them, Heard ye the horn, heard ye the horn! Now follow me into the market-place, much is yet to do! Even their width came the sound of other horns, and all men were silent a moment, and then shouted altogether, for the woodlanders knew it for the horn of the shepherds coming on by the east-way face. But face of God waved his sword aloft and set on at once, and they followed and gapped them through the courts of the houses and their passages into the market-place. There they found more room than they looked to find, for the foe-men had drawn away on the left hand toward the battle of Folk-might, and on the right hand toward the battle of the stear, and great was the noise and cry that came thence. Now stood face of God under the two banners of the wolf in the market-place of Silverstead, and scarce had he time to be high-hearted, for needs must he ponder in his mind what thing were best to do. For on the left hand he deemed the foe as the strongest and best-ordered, but there also were kindreds of the doubtiest, and it was little like that the felons should overcome the spear-casters of the face, and the glaive-bearers of the sickle, and the bowmen of the vine. There also were the wisest leaders, as the stark elder-stone-face, and the tall-haul-face, and his father of the unshaken heart, and above all Folk-might, fierce in his wrath, but his anger burning steadily and clear like the oaken butts on the hearth of the hall. Then, as his mind pictured him amongst the foe, it's made there with another picture of the slender warrior Sunbeam caught in the tangle of battle, and longing for him, and calling for him amidst the hard hand-play. And there at his face flushed, and all his body waxed hot, and he was on the very point of leading the onset against the foe on the left. But therewith he bethought him of the bold men of the steer and the bridge and the bull, weary with much fighting, and he remembered also that the bride was amongst them, and fighting it might be amidst the foremost, and if she were slain, how should he ever hold up his head again? He bethought him also that the shepherds, who had fallen on by the eastern road, valiant as they were, were scarce so well armed or so well led as the others. Therewith all he bethought him, and again it came like a picture into his mind, of falling on the foe-man by whom the southern battle was beset, and then the twain of them meeting the shepherds, and lastly all those three companies joined together, clearing the marketplace, and meeting the men under Folk-might in the midst thereof. Therefore, scanted he been pondering these things in his mind for a minute, ere he cried out, Blow up horns, blow up, forward banners, and follow me, O valiant men, to the helping of the steer, the bridge, and the bull, deep of they thrust into the dusky throng, and be like a hard-pressed, hark how the clamour arisen from their besetters. On now, on! Therewith hung a star of sunlight on his sword, as he raised it aloft, and the wolf-woop rang out terribly in the marketplace, for now had the woodlanders also learned it, and the hearts of the foe-men sank as they heard the might and mass thereof. Then the battle of the woodlanders swept round, and fell upon the flank of them who were besetting the kindreds, as an iron bar smite up the soft firwood, and they of the kindreds heard their cry, but faintly and confusedly, so great was the turmoil of battle about them. Now once more was Bome by the side of face of God, and if she had not the might of the mightiest, yet had she the deftness of the deftest, and now was she calm and cool, shielding herself with a copper-boss target, and driving home the point of her sharp sword. White was her face, and her eyes glittered amidst it, and she seemed to men, like to those on whose heads the warrior had flayed the holy bread. As to Woodwise, he had given the banner of the red-jawed wolf to Stonewolf, a huge and dreadful warrior, some forty winters old, who had fought in the great overthrow, and now hewed down the dusky men, wielding a heavy short sword left-handed. But Woodwise himself fought with a great sword, giving great strokes to the right-handed to the left, and was no more hasty than is the hewer in the winter wood. Face of God fought wisely and coldly now, and looked more to warding his friends than destroying his foes, and both to Bome and Woodwise, his sword was a shield, but oft he took the life from the edge of the upraised axe, and stayed the point of the foe-men in mid-air. Even so wisely fought the whole band of the woodlanders and the wolves, who got within smiting-space of the foe, for they had no will to cast away their lives, when assured victory was so nigh to them. Sooth to say, the hand-play was not so hard to them as it had been betwixt the bent and the houses, for the dusky men were intent on dealing with the men of the kindreds from the southern road, who stood war-wearied before them, and they were hewing and casting at them, and obeying and yelling like dogs, and though they turned about to meet the storm of the woodlanders, yet their hearts failed them with awe, and they strove to edge away from betwixt those two fearful sides of war, fighting as men fleeing, not as men in onset. But still the woodlanders and the wolves came on, hewing and thrusting, smiting down the foe-men in heaps till the dusty throng grew thin, and the staves of the dalesmen and their bright banners in the morning sun were clear to see, and at last their very faces, kindly and familiar, worn and strained with the stress of battle, or laughing wildly, or pale with the fury of the fight. Then rose up to the heavens, the blended shouts of the woodlanders and the dalesmen, and now there was nought of foe-men betwixt them, save the dead and the wounded. Then face of God thrust his sword into its sheath, all bloody as it was, and strove over the dead men, to where hall-wards stood under the banner of the steer, and cast his arms about the old carl, and kissed him for joy of the victory.  Then grew face of God as pale as a linen sleeve, and all the newcomers groaned and cried out. But a bystander said, Nay, nay, it is not so bad as that, she is hurt and sorely, but she livert yet. Face of God hurt him not, he forgot Dale Warden lying in his sheath, and saw that the last speaker had a great wood axe broad and heavy in his hand, and so he cried, Man, man, thine axe! and snatched it from him, and turned about to the foe again, and thrust through the ranks, suffering none to stay him, so all his friends were behind, and all his foes before him.  Fear of him smote their hearts, and they howled and fled before him as they might, for they said that the Dale's men had prayed their gods into the battle. But not so fast could they flee, but he was presently amidst them, smiting down all about him, and they so terror-stricken that scarce might they raise a hand against him. All that blended host followed him mad with wrath and victory, and as they pressed on, they heard behind him the horns and war cries of the shepherds falling on from the east. Nor they heeded that now, but drove on a fearful storm of war, and terrible was the slaughter of the felons. It was but a few minutes ere they had driven them up against that great stack of faggots that had been dyed for the burnt offering of men, and many of the felons had mounted up onto it, and now, in their anguish of fear, were shooting arrows and casting spears on all about them, heeding little if they were friend or foe. Now were the men of the kindreds at point to climb this twig and burg, but by this time the fury of face of God had run clear, and he knew where he was and what he was doing, so he stayed his foe and cried out to them, for bear, climb not, let the torch help the sword! And therewith he looked about and saw the fire-pots which had been set down there for the kindling of the bale-fire, and the coals were yet red in it, so he snatched up a dry brand and lighted it there at, and so did diverse others, and they thrust them among the faggots, and the fire caught at once, and the tongs of flame began to leap from faggot to faggot till all was in a light low, for the wood had been laid for that very end, and smeared with grease and oil, so that the burning to the God might be speedy. But the fierceness of the kindreds he did not the fire, nor over much the men who leapt down from the stack before it, but they left all behind them, faring straight toward the western out-gate from the market-stead, and face of God still led them on, though by now he was wholly come to his right mind again, albeit the burden of sorrow lay heavy on his heart. He had broken his axe, and had once more drawn Dale Warden from his sheath, and many felt his point and edge. But now as they chased, came a rush of men upon them again, as though a new onset were at hand. That saw face of God, and Hallward and Warwell, and other wise leaders of men, and they bade their folk forbear the chase, and luck their ranks to meet the onfall of this new wave of foe-men. And they did so, and stood fast as a wall. But lo! the onrush that drove up against them was but a fleeing, shrieking, throng, and no longer an array of warriors, for many had cast away their weapons, and were rushing they knew not wither. But they were being thrust on the bitter edges of face of God's companies by the terror of the fleers from the onset of the men of the face, the sickle and the vine, whom Hallface and Stoneface were leading, along with Folkmite. Then once again, the men of face of God gave forth the whoop of victory, and pressed forward again, hewing their way through the throng of fleers, but turning not to chase to the right or to the left, while at their backs came on the shepherd folk, who had swept down all that withstood them. But now indeed was the market-stead getting thinner of living men. So led the war-leader his ordered ranks, till at last, over the tangled crowd of runaways, he saw the banners of the burg and the face flashing against the sun, and heard the roar of the kindreds as they draved the chase towards them. Then he lifted up his sword, and stood still, and all the host behind him stayed, and cast a huge shout up to the heavens. And there they abode the coming of the other dalesmen. But the war-leader sent a message to hound under Greenberry, bidding him lead the shepherds to the chase of the dusky men, who were now all fleeing toward the northern out gate of the market. How be it he called to mind the throng he had seen on the northern road, before they were come into the market-stead, and deemed that way also death awaited the foemen, even if the men of the kindreds forbore them. But presently the space betwixt the woodlanders, and the men of the face was clear of all but the dead, so that friends saw the face of friend, and it could be seen that the warriors of the face were ruddy and smiling for joy, because the battle had been easy to them, and but few of them had fallen. For the dusky men, who had left the market-stead to fall on them, had had room for fleeing behind them, and had speedily turned their backs before the spear-casting of the men of the face and the onrush of the swordsmen. They then stood these victorious men facing one another, and the banner-bearers on either side came through the throng, and brought the banners together between the two hosts, and the wolf kissed the face, and the sickle and the vine met the steer and the bridge and the bull, but the shepherds were yet chasing the flears. There in the forefront stood Hall-face, the tall, with the joy of battling his eyes, and Stone-face, the wise Carlin War, stood Solomon Stark beside him, and there was the goodly body and the fair and kindly visage of the alderman, smiling on the faces of his friends. But as for Folk-mite his face was yet white and awful with anger, and he looked restlessly up and down the front of the kindreds, though he spake no word. Then face of God could no longer forbear, but he thrust Daleward and into his sheath, and ran forward, and cast his arms about his father's neck, and kissed him. And the blood of himself and of the foe-men was on him, for he had been hurt in diverse places, but not sorely, because of the good hammer-work of the alderman. Then he kissed his brother and Stone-face, and he took Folk-mite by the hand, and was on the point of speaking some word to him, when the ranks of the face opened, and lo! the sun-beam and her bright war-gear, and the sword good to her side, and she, unhurt and unsullied. Then was it to him, as when he met her first in shadowy veil, and he thought of little else than her, but she stepped lightly up to him, and unashamed before the whole host, she kissed him on the mouth, and he cast his mailed arms about her, and joy made him forget many things, and what was next to do. Though even at that moment came afresh a great clamour of shrieks and cries from the northern out-gate of the market-stead, and the burning pile behind them cast a great wavering flame into the air, contending with the bright sun of that fair day, now come hard on noontide. But ere he drew away his face from the sun-beams, came memory to him, and a sharp pang shot through his heart as he heard folk might say, Where, then, is the shield-may of Burgstead? Where is the bride?  And then he stared out straight before him, and waited till someone else should say it aloud. But Bome stepped forward and said, Che, for the wolf be of good cheer, Akin's woman is hurt, but not deadly. The old man's face changed, and he said, Has thou seen her, Bome? Ne, she said, How should I leave the battle? But others have told me who have seen her. Folk might stared into the ranks of men before him, but said nothing. Said the old man, Is she well-tended? Ye, surely, said Bome, since she is amongst friends, and there are no foemen behind us. Then came a voice from Folk might which said, Now are it best to send good men and deft in arms, and who know Silverdale, from house to house, To search for foemen who may be lurking there. The old man looked kindly and sadly on him, and said, Kinsman, storm-face, and whore-face, my son, The brunt of the battle is now over, And I am but a simple man amongst you. Therefore, if you will give me leave, I will go see this poor kinswoman of ours, and comfort her. They bade him go, so he sheathed his sword, And went through the press with the two men of the steer, To awed the southern road, for the bride had been brought into a house, Nigh the corner of the market place.  Nor had he any shame of all those bystanders, Who in sooth were men good and kindly, And had no shame of his grief or marveled at it, For indeed their own hearts were sore for their lovely kinswoman, And many of them also wept with face of God. But the sunbeam stood by, and looked on her betrothed, And she thought many things of the bride, And was sorry, albeit no tears came into her eyes. Then she looked to scan some folkmite, And trembled, but he said coldly, and in a loud voice, Nades must research the houses for the lurking felons, And many a man will yet be murdered, Let Woodwickid lead a band of men at once from house to house. Then said a man of the wolf height hard grip, Woodwickid was slain between the bends in the houses, Said folkmite, let it be woodwise then, But Bomey said, woodwise is even now hurt in the leg by a wounded felon, And may not go afoot. Then said folkmite, his crow the shaft speeder an eye, Yes, here am I, what the tall man of fifty winters, Coming from out the ranks where stood the wolves, Said folkmite, kinsmen crow, do thou take, Two score and ten of doubty men, Who are not too hot headed, And search every house about the marketplace, But if ye come on any house that makes a stout defence, Send ye word thereof to the moat house, Where we will presently be, and we shall send you help, Slay every felon that ye fall in with, But if ye find in the houses any of the poor folk, Crouching and afraid, comfort their hearts all ye may, And tell them that now his life come to them. So crow fell to getting his band together, And presently departed with them on his errand. End of Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Of the Roots of the Mountains by William Morris This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The kindreds win the moat house. The din and tumult still came from the north side of the marketplace, So that all the air was full of noise, And face of God deemed that the thralls had gotten weapons into their hands, And was slaying their masters. Now he lifted up his face, And put his hand on Folkmite's shoulder, And said in a loud voice, Kinsman, it were well if our brother were to bid the banners into the moat house of the wolf, And let all the host set itself in array, Before the said house, And abide till the chasers of the foe come to us thither, For I perceive that they are now become many, And are more than those of our kindred. Then Folkmite looked at him with kind eyes, and said, Thou sayest well, brother, even so let it be, And he lifted up his sword, And face of God cried out in a loud voice, Forward banners, blow up thy horns, fair we forth with victory! So the host drew its ranks together in good order, And they all set forward, And all stone face took the sunbeam by the hand, And led on behind Folkmite and the war leader. But when they came to the hall, They saw how the steps that led up to the door were high and double, Going up from each side without any railing or fool-guard, And crowding the stairs and the platform thereof Was a band of the dusky men, As many as could stand thereon, Who shot arrows at the host of the kindreds, Howling like dogs and chattering like apes. And arrows and spears came from the windows of the hall, Ye, and on the very roof, A score of those felons were riding the ridge, And mocking like the trolls of old days. Now when they saw this, They stayed awhile, And men shielded them against the shafts, But the leaders drew together in front of the host, And Folkmite fell to speech, And his face was very pale and stern, For now he had had time to think of the case of the bride, And fierce wrath and grief on Holpen filled his soul. So he said, Brothers, this is my business to deal with, For I see before me the stair that ledeth To the moat-house of my people, And now would I sit there whereas my father's sat, When peace was upon the dale, As once more it shall be tomorrow. Therefore, up this stair will I go, And none shall hinder me, And let no man of the host follow me, Till I have entered the hall, And lest by chance I fall dead by the way, But stand ye still and look on. Nay, said face of God, This is partly the business of the war-leader. There are two stairs, Be content to take the southern one, And I will take the northern, Which I'll meet on the plain stone at the top. But Holfen said, War-leader, may I speak? Speak, brother, said face of God, said Holfence. I have done but little today, war-leader. I would stand by thee on the northern stair. So shall folk might be content, If ye doeth two men's work who are not little-hearted. Said face of God, The doom of the war-leader is that folk might Shall fall on by the southern stair, To slake his grief and increase his glory, And face of God and Holfence by the northern, Haste to the work, O brothers! And he and Holfence went to their places, While all looked on. But the sun-beam, with her hands still in stone-faces, She turned white to the lips, And stared with wild eyes before her, Not knowing where she was. For she had deemed that the battle was over, And face of God saved from it. But folk might tossed his head up and laughed, And cried out, At last, at last, That his sword was in his hand, The sleep-thorn to it, A blade of ancient fame. So now, he let it fall and hanged to his wrist by the leash, While he clapped his hands together, And uttered the wolf-woop mightily, And all the men of the wolf that were in the host, And the woodlanders with all, Uttered it with him. Then he put his shield over his head, And stood before the first of the steps. And the dusky men laughed, To see one man come against them, Though there was death in their hearts. But he laughed back at them in triumph, And set his foot on the step, And let sleep-thorns point, Go into the throat of a dusky lord, And thrust amongst them, Hewing right and left, And tumbling men over the edge of the stair, Which was to them as the narrow path Along the cliff-side, That hangeth over the unfathomed sea. They hewed and thrust at him in turn, But so close were they packed, That their weapons crossed about him, And one shielded him from the other, And they swayed staggering on that fearful verge, While the sleep-thorn crept here and there amongst them, Lulling their hot fury. For, as desperate as they were, And fighting for death and not for life, They had a horror of him, And of the sea of hatred below them, And feared where to set their feet. And he feared not at all, But from feet to sword-point was but an engine of slaughter. While the heart within him throbbed With fury long held back, As he thought upon the bride and her wounding, And all the wrongs of his people, Since their great undoing. So he smote and thrust, Till him seemed the throng of foes thinned before him. With his sword-pommel, He smote a lord of the dusky ones in the face, So that he fell over the edge Amongst the spears of the kindred. Then he thrust the point of sleep-thorn Towards the whole door, Through the breast of another, And then it seemed to him that he had but won before him. So he hove up the edges to cleave him down, But ere the stroke fell, Close to his ears, Exceeding loud rang out the cry, For the burg and the face, For the face, for the face!  There stood those three, With no other living man upon the plain of the stairs. Then face of God turned shouting to the folk and cried, Forth now with the banners, But now is the wolf come home, On into the hall, O kindred of the gods! Then poured the folk up over the stairs, And into the hall of the wolf, The banners flapping over their heads, And first went the war-leader and folk-mite and hall-face, And then the three delivered thralls, Wolf-stone, God-swayne and Spear-fist, And Dalak with them, Though both he and Wolf-stone had been hurt in the battle. And then came blended together the men of the face, Along with them of the wolf who had entered the market-stead with them, And with these were Stone-face and Wood-want and Bo-me, Leading the Sun-beam betwixt them. And now wish she come to herself again, Though her face was yet pale, And her eyes gleamed as she stepped across the threshold of the hall. But when a many were gotten in, And the first-comers had had time to handle their weapons and look about them, A cry of the utmost wrath broke from folk-mite, And those others who remembered the hall from of old. For wretched and befouled was that well-builded house, The hangings rent away, The goodly-painted walls, Dorbed and smeared with wicked tokens of the alien murderers, The floor, once bright with polished stones of the mountain, And strewn with sweet-smelling flowers, Was now as foul as the den of the mandivouring troll of the heaths. From the fair-carven roof of oak and chestnut beams, Hung ugly knots of rags, And shapeless images of the sorcery of the dusky men, And furthermore, and above all, From the last tie-beam of the roof over the dais, Dangled four shapes of men-at-arms, Whom the older men of the wolf knew at once For the embalmed bodies of their four great chieftains, Who had been slain on the day of the great undoing. And they cried out with horror and rage As they saw them hanging there in their weapons, As they had lived. There was the hostage of the earth, His shield painted with the green world, Circled with the worm of the sea. There was the older folk-mite, The uncle of the living-man, Bearing a shield with an oak and a lion done thereon. There was wealth-eaker, On whose shield was done a golden sheaf of wheat. There was he who bore a name great from of old, Folk-wolf to it, Bearing on his shield the axe of the hewer. There they hung, dusty, befouled, With sightless eyes and grinning mouths, In the dim sunlight of the hall, Before the eyes of that victorious host, Stricken silent at the sight of them. Underneath them on the dais, Stood the last remnant of the battle of the dusky men. And they, as men mad with coming death, Shook their weapons and with streaking laughter Mocked at the overcomers, And pointed to the long-dead chiefs, And called on them in the tongue of the kindreds, To come down and lead their dear kinsmen to the high seat. And then they cried out to the living warriors of the wolf, And bade them better their deed of slaying, And set to work to make a life again, And cause their kinsmen to live merry on the earth. With that last mock, They handled their weapons, And rushed howling on the warriors to meet their death. Nor was it long denied them, For the sword of the wolf, The axe of the woodland, And the spear of the dale, Soon made an end of the dreadful lives Of these destroyers of the folks. End of Chapter 47