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Project Gutenberg's Etext of Child Christopher by William Morris

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Child Christopher, by William Morris

March, 1995 [Etext #234]

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Child Christopher and Goldilind the Fair
by William Morris
1895


CHAPTER I.

OF THE KING OF OAKENREALM, AND HIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD.


Of old there was a land which was so much a woodland, that a
minstrel thereof said it that a squirrel might go from end
to end, and all about, from tree to tree, and never touch
the earth:  therefore was that land called Oakenrealm.

The lord and king thereof was a stark man, and so great a
warrior that in his youth he took no delight in aught else
save battle and tourneys.  But when he was hard on forty
years old, he came across a daughter of a certain lord, whom
he had vanquished, and his eyes bewrayed him into longing,
so that he gave back to the said lord the havings he had
conquered of him that he might lay the maiden in his kingly
bed.  So he brought her home with him to Oakenrealm and
wedded her.

Tells the tale that he rued not his bargain, but loved her
so dearly that for a year round he wore no armour, save when
she bade him play in the tilt-yard for her desport and
pride.

So wore the days till she went with child and was near her
time, and then it betid that three kings who marched on
Oakenrealm banded them together against him, and his lords
and thanes cried out on him to lead them to battle, and it
behoved him to do as they would.

So he sent out the tokens and bade an hosting at his chief
city, and when all was ready he said farewell to his wife
and her babe unborn, and went his ways to battle once more:
but fierce was his heart against the foemen, that they had
dragged him away from his love and his joy.

Even amidst of his land he joined battle with the host of
the ravagers, and the tale of them is short to tell, for
they were as the wheat before the hook.  But as he followed
up the chase, a mere thrall of the fleers turned on him and
cast his spear, and it reached him whereas his hawberk was
broken, and stood deep in, so that he fell to earth
unmighty:  and when his lords and chieftains drew about him,
and cunning men strove to heal him, it was of no avail, and
he knew that his soul was departing.  Then he sent for a
priest, and for the Marshal of the host, who was a great
lord, and the son of his father's brother, and in few words
bade him look to the babe whom his wife bore about, and if
it were a man, to cherish him and do him to learn all that a
king ought to know; and if it were a maiden, that he should
look to her wedding well and worthily:  and he let swear him
on his sword, on the edges and the hilts, that he would do
even so, and be true unto his child if child there were:
and he bade him have rule, if so be the lords would, and all
the people, till the child were of age to be king:  and the
Marshal swore, and all the lords who stood around bare
witness to his swearing.  Thereafter the priest houselled
the King, and he received his Creator, and a little while
after his soul departed.

But the Marshal followed up the fleeing foe, and two battles
more he fought before he beat them flat to earth; and then
they craved for peace, and he went back to the city in
mickle honour.

But in the King's city of Oakenham he found but little joy;
for both the King was bemoaned, whereas he had been no hard
man to his folk; and also, when the tidings and the King's
corpse came back to Oakenrealm, his Lady and Queen took sick
for sorrow and fear, and fell into labour of her child, and
in childing of a man-bairn she died, but the lad lived, and
was like to do well.

So there was one funeral for the slain King and for her whom
his slaying had slain:  and when that was done, the little
king was borne to the font, and at his christening he gat to
name Christopher.

Thereafter the Marshal summoned all them that were due
thereto to come and give homage to the new king, and even so
did they, though he were but a babe, yea, and who had but
just now been a king lying in his mother's womb.  But when
the homage was done, then the Marshal called together the
wise men, and told them how the King that was had given him
in charge his son as then unborn, and the ruling of the
realm till the said son were come to man's estate:  but he
bade them seek one worthier if they had heart to gainsay the
word of their dying lord.  Then all they said that he was
worthy and mighty and the choice of their dear lord, and
that they would have none but he.

So then was the great folk-mote called, and the same matter
was laid before all the people, and none said aught against
it, whereas no man was ready to name another to that charge
and rule, even had it been his own self.

Now then by law was the Marshal, who hight Rolf, lord and
earl of the land of Oakenrealm.  He ruled well and strongly,
and was a fell warrior:  he was well befriended by many of
the great; and the rest of them feared him and his friends:
as for the commonalty, they saw that he held the realm in
peace; and for the rest, they knew little and saw less of
him, and they paid to his bailiffs and sheriffs as little as
they could, and more than they would.  But whereas that left
them somewhat to grind their teeth on, and they were not
harried, they were not so ill content.  So the Marshal
throve, and lacked nothing of a king's place save the bare
name.



CHAPTER II.

OF THE KING'S SON.


As for the King's son, to whom the folk had of late done
homage as king, he was at first seen about a corner of the
High House with his nurses; and then in a while it was said,
and the tale noted, but not much, that he must needs go for
his health's sake, and because he was puny, to some stead
amongst the fields, and folk heard say that he was gone to
the strong house of a knight somewhat stricken in years, who
was called Lord Richard the Lean.  The said house was some
twelve miles from Oakenham, not far from the northern edge
of the wild-wood.  But in a while, scarce more than a year,
Lord Richard brake up house at the said castle, and went
southward through the forest.  Of this departure was little
said, for he was not a man amongst the foremost.  As for the
King's little son, if any remembered that he was in the
hands of the said Lord Richard, none said aught about it;
for if any thought of the little babe at all, they said to
themselves, Never will he come to be king.

Now as for Lord Richard the Lean, he went far through the
wood, and until he was come to another house of his, that
stood in a clearing somewhat near to where Oakenrealm
marched on another country, which hight Meadham; though the
said wild-wood ended not where Oakenrealm ended, but
stretched a good way into Meadham; and betwixt one and the
other much rough country there was.

It is to be said that amongst those who went to this
stronghold of the woods was the little King Christopher, no
longer puny, but a stout babe enough:  so he was borne
amongst the serving men and thralls to the castle of the
Outer March; and he was in no wise treated as a great man's
son; but there was more than one woman who was kind to him,
and as he waxed in strength and beauty month by month, both
carle and quean fell to noting him, and, for as little as he
was, he began to be well-beloved.

As to the stead where he was nourished, though it were far
away amongst the woods, it was no such lonely or savage
place:  besides the castle and the houses of it, there was a
merry thorpe in the clearing, the houses whereof were set
down by the side of a clear and pleasant little stream.
Moreover the goodmen and swains of the said township were no
ill folk, but bold of heart, free of speech, and goodly of
favour; and the women of them fair, kind, and trusty.
Whiles came folk journeying in to Oakenrealm or out to
Meadham, and of these some were minstrels, who had with them
tidings of what was astir whereas folk were thicker in the
world, and some chapmen, who chaffered with the
thorpe-dwellers, and took of them the woodland spoil for
such outland goods as those woodmen needed.

So wore the years, and in Oakenham King Christopher was well
nigh forgotten, and in the wild-wood had never been known
clearly for King's son.  At first, by command of Rolf the
Marshal, a messenger came every year from Lord Richard with
a letter that told of how the lad Christopher did.  But when
five years were worn, the Marshal bade send him tidings
thereof every three years; and by then it was come to the
twelfth year, and still the tidings were that the lad throve
ever, and meanwhile the Marshal sat fast in his seat with
none to gainsay, the word went to Lord Richard that he
should send no more, for that he, the Marshal, had heard
enough of the boy; and if he throve it were well, and if
not, it was no worse.  So wore the days and the years.



CHAPTER III.

OF THE KING OF MEADHAM AND HIS DAUGHTER.


Tells the tale that in the country which lay south of
Oakenrealm, and was called Meadham, there was in these days
a king whose wife was dead, but had left him a fair
daughter, who was born some four years after King
Christopher.  A good man was this King Roland, mild,
bounteous, and no regarder of persons in his justice; and
well-beloved he was of his folk:  yet could not their love
keep him alive; for, whenas his daughter was of the age of
twelve years, he sickened unto death; and so, when he knew
that his end drew near, he sent for the wisest of his wise
men, and they came unto him sorrowing in the High House of
his chiefest city, which hight Meadhamstead.  So he bade
them sit down nigh unto his bed, and took up the word and
spake:

"Masters, and my good lords, ye may see clearly that a
sundering is at hand, and that I must needs make a long
journey, whence I shall come back never; now I would, and am
verily of duty bound thereto, that I leave behind me some
good order in the land. Furthermore, I would that my
daughter, when she is of age thereto, should be Queen in
Meadham, and rule the land; neither will it be many years
before she shall be of ripe age for ruling, if ever she may
be; and I deem not that there shall be any lack in her,
whereas her mother could all courtesy, and was as wise as a
woman may be.  But how say ye, my masters?"

So they all with one consent said Yea, and they would ask
for no better king than their lady his daughter.  Then said
the King:

"Hearken carefully, for my time is short:  Yet is she young
and a maiden, though she be wise.  Now therefore do I need
some man well looked to of the folk, who shall rule the land
in her name till she be of eighteen winters, and who shall
be her good friend and counsellor into all wisdom
thereafter.  Which of you, my masters, is meet for this
matter?"

Then they all looked one on the other, and spake not.  And
the King said:  "Speak, some one of you, without fear; this
is no time for tarrying."

Thereon spake an elder, the oldest of them, and said:
"Lord, this is the very truth, that none of us here present
are meet for this office:  whereas, among other matters, we
be all unmeet for battle; some of us have never been
warriors, and other some are past the age for leading an
host.  To say the sooth, King, there is but one man in
Meadham who may do what thou wilt, and not fail; both for
his wisdom, and his might afield, and the account which is
had of him amongst the people; and that man is Earl
Geoffrey, of the Southern Marches."

"Ye say sooth," quoth the King; "but is he down in the
South, or nigher to hand?"

Said the elder:  "He is as now in Meadhamstead, and may be
in this chamber in scant half an hour."  So the King bade
send for him, and there was silence in the chamber till he
came in, clad in a scarlet kirtle and a white cloak, and
with his sword by his side.  He was a tall man, bigly made;
somewhat pale of face, black and curly of hair; blue-eyed,
thin-lipped, and hook-nosed as an eagle; a man warrior-like,
and somewhat fierce of aspect.  He knelt down by the King's
bedside, and asked him in a sorrowful voice what he would,
and the King said:  "I ask a great matter of thee, and all
these my wise men, and I myself, withal, deem that thou
canst do it, and thou alone--nay, hearken:  I am departing,
and I would have thee hold my place, and do unto my people
even what I would do if I myself were living; and to my
daughter as nigh to that as may be.  I say all this thou
mayst do, if thou wilt be as trusty and leal to me after I
am dead, as thou hast seemed to all men's eyes to have been
while I was living.  What sayest thou?"

The Earl had hidden his face in the coverlet of the bed
while the King was speaking; but now he lifted up his face,
weeping, and said:  "Kinsman and friend and King; this is
nought hard to do; but if it were, yet would I do it."

"It is well," said the King:  "my heart fails me and my
voice; so give heed, and set thine ear close to my mouth:
hearken, belike my daughter Goldilind shall be one of the
fairest of women; I bid thee wed her to the fairest of men
and the strongest, and to none other."

Thereat his voice failed him indeed, and he lay still; but
he died not, till presently the priest came to him, and, as
he might, houselled him:  then he departed.

As for Earl Geoffrey, when the King was buried, and the
homages done to the maiden Goldilind, he did no worse than
those wise men deemed of him, but bestirred him, and looked
full sagely into all the matters of the kingdom, and did so
well therein that all men praised his rule perforce, whether
they loved him or not; and sooth to say he was not much
beloved.



CHAPTER IV.

OF THE MAIDEN GOLDILIND.


AMIDST of all his other business Earl Geoffrey bethought him
in a while of the dead King's daughter, and he gave her in
charge to a gentlewoman, somewhat stricken in years, a widow
of high lineage, but not over wealthy.  She dwelt in her own
house in a fair valley some twenty miles from Meadhamstead:
thereabode Goldilind till a year and a half was worn, and
had due observance, but little love, and not much kindness
from the said gentlewoman, who hight Dame Elinor Leashowe.
Howbeit, time and again came knights and ladies and lords to
see the little lady, and kissed her hand and did obeisance
to her; yet more came to her in the first three months of
her sojourn at Leashowe than the second, and more in the
second than the third.

At last, on a day when the said year and a half was fully
worn, thither came Earl Geoffrey with a company of knights
and men-at-arms, and he did obeisance, as due was, to his
master's daughter, and then spake awhile privily with Dame
Elinor; and thereafter they went into the hall, he, and she,
and Goldilind, and there before all men he spake aloud and
said:

"My Lady Goldilind, meseemeth ye dwell here all too
straitly; for neither is this house of Leashowe great enough
for thy state, and the entertainment of the knights and
lords who shall have will to seek to thee hither; nor is the
wealth of thy liege dame and governante as great as it
should be, and as thou, meseemeth, wouldst have it.
Wherefore I have been considering thy desires herein, and if
thou deem it meet to give a gift to Dame Elinor, and live
queenlier thyself than now thou dost, then mayst thou give
unto her the Castle of Greenharbour, and the six manors
appertaining thereto, and withal the rights of wild-wood and
fen and fell that lie thereabout.  Also, if thou wilt, thou
mayst honour the said castle with abiding there awhile at
thy pleasure; and I shall see to it that thou have due meney
to go with thee thither.  How sayest thou, my lady?"

Amongst that company there were two or three who looked at
each other and half smiled; and two or three looked on the
maiden, who was goodly as of her years, as if with
compassion; but the more part kept countenance in full
courtly wise.

Then spake Goldilind in a quavering voice (for she was
afraid and wise), and she said: "Cousin and Earl, we will
that all this be done; and it likes me well to eke the
wealth of this lady and my good friend Dame Elinor."

Quoth Earl Geoffrey:  "Kneel before thy lady, Dame, and put
thine hands between hers and thank her for the gift."  So
Dame Elinor knelt down, and did homage and obeisance for her
new land; and Goldilind raised her up and kissed her, and
bade her sit down beside her, and spake to her kindly; and
all men praised the maiden for her gentle and courteous
ways; and Dame Elinor smiled upon her and them, what she
could.

She was small of body and sleek; but her cheeks somewhat
flagging; brown eyes she had, long, half opened; thin lips,
and chin somewhat falling away from her mouth; hard on fifty
winters had she seen; yet there have been those who were
older and goodlier both.



CHAPTER V.

GOLDILIND COMES TO GREENHARBOUR.


But a little while tarried the Earl Geoffrey at Leashowe,
but departed next morning and came to Meadhamstead.  A month
thereafter came folk from him to Leashowe, to wit, the new
meney for the new abode of Goldilind; amongst whom was a
goodly band of men-at-arms, led by an old lord pinched and
peevish of face, who kneeled to Goldilind as the new
burgreve of Greenharbour; and a chaplain, a black canon,
young, broad-cheeked and fresh-looking, but hard-faced and
unlovely; three new damsels withal were come for the young
Queen, not young maids, but stalworth women, well-grown, and
two of them hard-featured; the third, tall, black-haired,
and a goodly-fashioned body.

Now when these were come, who were all under the rule of
Dame Elinor, there was no gainsaying the departure to the
new home; and in two days' time they went their ways from
Leashowe.  But though Goldilind was young, she was wise, and
her heart misgave her, when she was amidst this new meney,
that she was not riding toward glory and honour, and a world
of worship and friends beloved.  Howbeit, whatso might lie
before her, she put a good face upon it, and did to those
about her queenly and with all courtesy.

Five days they rode from Leashowe north away, by thorpe and
town and mead and river, till the land became little
peopled, and the sixth day they rode the wild-wood ways,
where was no folk, save now and again the little cot of some
forester or collier; but the seventh day, about noon, they
came into a clearing of the wood, a rugged little plain of
lea-land, mingled with marish, with a little deal of
acre-land in barley and rye, round about a score of poor
frame-houses set down scattermeal about the lea.  But on a
long ridge, at the northern end of the said plain, was a
grey castle, strong, and with big and high towers, yet not
so much greater than was Leashowe, deemed Goldilind, as for
a dwelling-house.

Howbeit, they entered the said castle, and within, as
without, it was somewhat grim, though nought was lacking of
plenishing due for folk knightly.  Long it were to tell of
its walls and baileys and chambers; but let this suffice,
that on the north side, toward the thick forest, was a
garden of green-sward and flowers and potherbs; and a
garth-wall of grey stone, not very high, was the only
defence thereof toward the wood, but it was overlooked by a
tall tower of the great wall, which hight the Foresters'
Tower.  In the said outer garth-wall also was a postern,
whereby there was not seldom coming in and going out.

Now when Goldilind had been in her chamber for a few days,
she found out for certain, what she had before misdoubted,
that she had been brought from Leashowe and the peopled
parts near to Meadhamstead unto the uttermost parts of the
realm to be kept in prison there.

Howbeit, it was in a way prison courteous; she was still
served with observance, and bowed before, and called my lady
and queen, and so forth:  also she might go from chamber to
hall and chapel, to and fro, yet scarce alone; and into the
garden she might go, yet not for the more part
unaccompanied; and even at whiles she went out a-gates, but
then ever with folk on the right hand and the left.
Forsooth, whiles and again, within the next two years of her
abode at Greenharbour, out of gates she went and alone; but
that was as the prisoner who strives to be free (although
she had, forsooth, no thought or hope of escape), and as the
prisoner brought back was she chastised when she came within
gates again.

Everywhere, to be short, within and about the Castle of
Greenharbour, did Goldilind meet the will and the tyranny of
the little sleek widow, Dame Elinor, to whom both carle and
quean in that corner of the world were but as servants and
slaves to do her will; and the said Elinor, who at first was
but spiteful in word and look toward her lady, waxed worse
as time wore and as the blossom of the King's daughter's
womanhood began to unfold, till at last the she-jailer had
scarce feasted any day when she had not in some wise grieved
and tormented her prisoner; and whatever she did, none had
might to say her nay.

But Goldilind took all with a high heart, and her courage
grew with her years, nor would she bow the head before any
grief, but took to her whatsoever solace might come to her;
as the pleasure of the sun and the wind, and the beholding
of the greenery of the wood, and the fowl and the beasts
playing, which oft she saw afar, and whiles anear, though
whiles, forsooth, she saw nought of it all, whereas she was
shut up betwixt four walls, and that not of her chamber, but
of some bare and foul prison of the Castle, which, with
other griefs, must she needs thole under the name and guise
of penance.

However, she waxed so exceeding fair and sweet and lovely,
that the loveliness of her pierced to the hearts of many of
her jailers, so that some of them, and specially of the
squires and men-at-arms, would do her some easement which
they might do unrebuked, or not sorely rebuked; as bringing
her flowers in the spring, or whiles a singing-bird or a
squirrel; and an old man there was of the men-at-arms, who
would ask leave, and get it at whiles, to come to her in her
chamber, or the garden? and tell her minstrel tales and the
like for her joyance.  Sooth to say, even the pinched heart
of the old Burgreve was somewhat touched by her; and he
alone had any might to stand between her and Dame Elinor; so
that but for him it had gone much harder with her than it
did.

For the rest, none entered the Castle from the world
without, nay not so much as a travelling monk, or a friar on
his wanderings, save and except some messenger of Earl
Geoffrey who had errand with Dame Elinor or the Burgreve.

So wore the days and the seasons, till it was now more than
four years since she had left Leashowe, and her eighteenth
summer was beginning.

But now the tale leaves telling of Goldilind, and goes back
to the matters of Oakenrealm, and therein to what has to do
with King Christopher and Rolf the Marshal.



CHAPTER VI.

HOW ROLF THE MARSHAL DREAMS A DREAM AND COMES TO THE CASTLE
OF THE UTTERMOST MARCH.


Now this same summer, when King Christopher was of twenty
years and two, Rolf the Marshal, sleeping one noontide in
the King's garden at Oakenham, dreamed a dream. For
himseemed that there came through the garth-gate a woman
fair and tall, and clad in nought but oaken-leaves, who led
by the hand an exceeding goodly young man of twenty summers,
and his visage like to the last battle-dead King of
Oakenrealm when he was a young man.  And the said woman led
the swain up to the Marshal, who asked in his mind what
these two were:  and the woman answered his thought and
said:  "I am the Woman of the Woods, and the Landwight of
Oakenrealm; and this lovely lad whose hand I hold is my King
and thy King and the King of Oakenrealm.  Wake, fool--wake!
and look to it what thou wilt do!"

And therewith he woke up crying out, and drew forth his
sword.  But when he was fully awakened, he was ashamed, and
went into the hall, and sat in his high-seat, and strove to
think out of his troubled mind; but for all he might do, he
fell asleep again; and again in the hall he dreamed as he
had dreamed in the garden:  and when he awoke from his dream
he had no thought in his head but how he might the speediest
come to the house of Lord Richard the Lean, and look to the
matter of his lord's son and see him with his eyes, and, if
it might be, take some measure with the threat which lay in
the lad's life. Nought he tarried, but set off in an hour's
time with no more company than four men-at-arms and an old
squire of his, who was wont to do his bidding without
question, whether it were good or evil.

So they went by frith and fell, by wood and fair ways, till
in two days' time they were come by undern within sight of
the Castle of the Outer March, and entered into the street
of the thorpe aforesaid; and they saw that there were no
folk therein and at the house-doors save old carles and
carlines scarce wayworthy, and little children who might not
go afoot.  But from the field anigh the thorpe came the
sound of shouting and glad voices, and through the lanes of
the houses they saw on the field many people in gay raiment
going to and fro, as though there were games and sports
toward.

Thereof Lord Rolf heeded nought, but went his ways straight
to the Castle, and was brought with all honour into the
hall, and thither came Lord Richard the Lean, hastening and
half afeard, and did obeisance to him; and there were but a
few in the hall, and they stood out of earshot of the two
lords.

The Marshal spoke graciously to Lord Richard, and made him
sit beside him, and said in a soft voice:  "We have come to
see thee, Lord, and how the folk do in the Uttermost
Marches.  Also we would wot how it goes with a lad whom we
sent to thee when he was yet a babe, whereas he was some
byblow of the late King, our lord and master, and we deemed
thee both rich enough and kind enough to breed him into
thriving without increasing pride upon him:  and, firstly,
is the lad yet alive?"

He knitted his brow as he spake, for carefulness of soul;
but Lord Richard smiled upon him, though as one somewhat
troubled, and answered:  "Lord Marshal, I thank thee for
visiting this poor house; and I shall tell thee first that
the lad lives, and hath thriven marvellously, though he be
somewhat unruly, and will abide no correction now these last
six years.  Sooth to say, there is now no story of his being
anywise akin to our late Lord King; though true it is that
the folk in this faraway corner of the land call him King
Christopher, but only in a manner of jesting.  But it is no
jest wherein they say that they will gainsay him nought, and
that especially the young women.  Yet I will say of him that
he is wise, and asketh not overmuch; the more is the sorrow
of many of the maidens.  A fell woodsman he is, and
exceeding stark, and as yet heedeth more of valiance than of
the love of woman."

The Marshal looked no less troubled than before at these
words; he said:  "I would see this young man speedily."

"So shall it be, Lord," said Lord Richard.  Therewith he
called to him a squire, and said: "Go thou down into the
thorpe, and bring hither Christopher, for that a great lord
is here who would set him to do a deed of woodcraft, such as
is more than the wont of men."

So the squire went his ways, and was gone a little while,
and meantime drew nigh to the hall a sound of triumphing
songs and shouts, and right up to the hall doors; then
entered the squire, and by his side came a tall young man,
clad but in a white linen shirt and deerskin brogues, his
head crowned with a garland of flowers:  him the squire
brought up to the lords on the dais, and louted to them, and
said:  "My lords, I bring you Christopher, and he not
overwilling, for now hath he been but just crowned king of
the games down yonder; but when the carles and queans there
said that they would come with him and bear him company to
the hall doors, then, forsooth, he yea-said the coming.  It
were not unmeet that some shame were done him."

"Peace, man!" said Lord Richard, "what hath this to do with
thee? Seest thou not the Lord Marshal here?" The Lord Rolf
sat and gazed on the lad, and scowled on him; but
Christopher saw therein nought but the face of a great lord
burdened with many cares; so when he had made his obeisance
he stood up fearlessly and merrily before them.

Sooth to say, he was full fair to look on:  for all his
strength, which, as ye shall hear, was mighty, all the
fashion of his limbs and his body was light and clean done,
and beauteous; and though his skin, where it showed naked,
was all tanned with the summer, it was fine and sleek and
kindly, every deal thereof:  bright-eyed and round-cheeked
he was, with full lips and carven chin, and his hair golden
brown of hue, and curling crisp about the blossoms of his
garland.

So must we say that he was such an youngling as most might
have been in the world, had not man's malice been, and the
mischief of grudging and the marring of grasping.

But now spake Lord Rolf:  "Sir varlet, they tell me that
thou art a mighty hunter, and of mickle guile in woodcraft;
wilt thou then hunt somewhat for me, and bring me home a
catch seldom seen?"

"Yea, Lord King," said Christopher, "I will at least do my
best, if thou but tell me where to seek the quarry and
when."

"It is well," said the Marshal, "and to-morrow my squire,
whom thou seest yonder, and who hight Simon, shall tell thee
where the hunt is up, and thou shalt go with him.  But
hearken! thou shalt not call me king; for to-day there is no
king in Oakenrealm, and I am but Marshal, and Earl of the
king that shall be."

The lad fell a-musing for a minute, and then he said:  "Yea,
Lord Marshal, I shall do thy will:  but meseemeth I have
heard some tale of one who was but of late king in
Oakenrealm:  is it not so, Lord?"

"Stint thy talk, young man," cried the Marshal in a harsh
voice, "and abide to-morrow; who knoweth who shall be king,
and whether thou or I shall live to see him."

But as he spake the words they seemed to his heart like a
foretelling of evil, and he turned pale and trembled, and
said to Christopher:  "Come hither, lad; I will give thee a
gift, and then shalt thou depart till to-morrow."  So
Christopher drew near to him, and the Marshal pulled off a
ring from his finger and set it on the lad's, and said to
him: "Now depart in peace;" and Christopher bent the knee to
him and thanked him for the gracious gift of the ruler of
Oakenrealm, and then went his ways out of the hall, and the
folk without gave a glad cry as he came amongst them.

But by then he was come to the door, Lord Rolf looked on his
hand, and saw that, instead of giving the youngling a
finger-ring which he had bought of a merchant for a price of
five bezants, as he had meant to do, he had given him a ring
which the old King had had, whereon was the first letter of
his name (Christopher to wit), and a device of a crowned
rose, for this ring was a signet of his.  Wherefore was the
Marshal once more sore troubled, and he arose, and was half
minded to run down the hall after Christopher; but he
refrained him, and presently smiled to himself, and then
fell a-talking to Lord Richard, sweetly and pleasantly.

SO wore the day to evening; but, ere he went to bed, the
Lord Rolf had a privy talk, first with Lord Richard, and
after with his squire Simon.  What followed of that talk ye
may hear after.



CHAPTER VII.

HOW CHRISTOPHER WENT A JOURNEY INTO THE WILD-WOOD.


Next morning Christopher, who slept in the little hall of
the inner court of the Castle, arose betimes, and came to
the great gate; but, for as early as he was, there he saw
the squire Simon abiding him, standing between two strong
horses; to him he gave the sele of the day, and the squire
greeted him, but in somewhat surly wise.  Then he said to
him:  "Well, King Christopher, art thou ready for the road?"

"Yea, as thou seest," said the youngling smiling.  For,
indeed, he had breeches now beneath his shirt, and a surcoat
of green woollen over it; boots of deerskin had he withal,
and spurs thereon:  he was girt with a short sword, and had
a quiver of arrows at his back, and bare a great bow in his
hand.

"Yea," quoth Simon, "thou deemest thee a gay swain belike;
but thou lookest likelier for a deerstealer than a rider,
thou, hung up to thy shooting-gear.  Deemest thou we go
a-hunting of the hind?"

Quoth Christopher:  "I wot not, squire; but the great lord
who lieth sleeping yonder, hath told me that thou shouldest
give me his errand; and of some hunting or feat of
wood-craft he spake.  Moreover, this crooked stick can drive
a shaft through matters harder than a hind's side."

Simon looked confused, and he reddened and stammered
somewhat as he answered: "Ah, yea:  so it was; I mind me;
I will tell thee anon."

Said Christopher:  "Withal, squire, if we are wending into
the wood, as needs we must, unless we ride round about this
dale in a ring all day, dost thou deem we shall go at a
gallop many a mile? Nay, fair sir; the horses shall wend a
foot's pace oftenest, and we shall go a-foot not unseldom
through the thickets."

Now was Simon come to himself again, and that self was
surly, so he said:  "Ay, ay, little King, thou deemest thee
exceeding wise in these woods, dost thou not? and forsooth,
thou mayst be.  Yet have I tidings for thee."

"Yea, and what be they?" said Christopher.

Simon grinned:  "Even these," said he, "that Dr. Knowall was
no man's cousin while he lived, and that he died last week."

Therewith he swung himself into his saddle, and Christopher
laughed merrily at his poor gibe and mounted in like wise.

Wherewithal they rode their ways through the thorpe, and at
the southern end thereof Simon drew rein, and looked on
Christopher as if he would ask him something, but asked not.
Then said Christopher:  "Whither go we now?"

Said Simon:  "It is partly for thee to say:  hearken, I am
bidden first to ride the Redwater Wood with thee:  knowest
thou that?"

"Yea," said the lad, "full well:  but which way shall we
ride it? Wilt thou come out of it at Redwater Head, or Herne
Moss, or the Long Pools?"

Said Simon:  "We shall make for the Long Pools, if thou
canst bring me there."

Christopher laughed:  "Aha!" said he, "then am I some
faraway cousin of Dr. Knowall when the whole tale is told:
forsooth I can lead thee thither; but tell me, what shall I
do of valiant deeds at the Long Pools? for there is no
fire-drake nor effit, nay, nor no giant, nor guileful dwarf,
nought save mallard and coot, heron and bittern; yea, and
ague-shivers to boot."

Simon looked sourly on him and said:  "Thou are bidden to go
with me, young man, or gainsay the Marshal.  Art thou mighty
enough thereto? For the rest, fear not but that the deed
shall come to thee one day."

"Nay," said Christopher, "it is all one to me, for I am at
home in these woods and wastes, I and my shafts.  Tell me of
the deeds when thou wilt."  But indeed he longed to know the
deed, and fretted him because of Simon's surliness and
closeness.  Then he said:  "Well, Squire Simon, let us to
the road; for thou shalt know that to-night we must needs
house us under the naked heaven; in nowise can we come to
the Long Pools before to-morrow morning."

"Yea, and why not?" said the squire; "I have lain in worse
places."

"Wilt thou tell me thereof?" said Christopher.

"Mayhappen," said Simon, "if to-morrow comes and goes for
both of us twain."

So they rode their ways through the wood, and baited at
midday with what Simon bare in his saddle-bags, and then
went on till night fell on them; then asked Simon how long
they were from the Long Pools, and Christopher told him that
they were yet short of them some fifteen miles, and those
long ones, because of the marish grounds.  So they tethered
their horses there and ate their supper; and lay down to
sleep in the house of the woods, by a fire-side which they
lighted.

But in the midnight Christopher, who was exceeding
fine-eared, had an inkling of someone moving afoot anigh
him, and he awoke therewith, and sprang up, his drawn
short-sword in his hand, and found himself face to face with
Simon, and he also with his sword drawn.  Simon sprang
aback, but held up his sword-point, and Christopher, not yet
fully awake, cried out:  "What wouldst thou? What is it?"

Simon answered, stammering and all abashed:  "Didst thou not
hear then? it wakened me."

"I heard nought," said Christopher; "what was it?"

"Horses going in the wood," said Simon

"Ah, yea," said Christopher, "it will have been the wild
colts and the mares; they harbour about these marsh-land
parts.  Go to sleep again, neighbour, the night is not yet
half worn; but I will watch a while."

Then Simon sheathed his sword, and turned about and stood
uneasily a little while, and then cast him down as one who
would sleep hastily; but slept not forsooth, though he
presently made semblance of it:  as for Christopher, he drew
together the brands of the fire, and sat beside it with his
blade over his knees, until the first beginning of the
summer dawn was in the sky; then he began to nod, and
presently lay aback and slept soundly.  Simon slept not, but
durst not move.  So they lay till it was broad day, and the
sunbeams came thrusting through the boughs of the thicket.



CHAPTER VIII.

CHRISTOPHER COMES TO THE TOFTS.


When they arose in the sunshine, Simon went straightway to
see to the horses, while Christopher stayed by the fire to
dight their victuals; he was merry enough, and sang to
himself the while; but when Simon came back again,
Christopher looked on him sharply, but for a while Simon
would not meet his eye, though he asked divers questions of
him concerning little matters, as though he were fain to
hear Christopher's voice; at last he raised his eyes, and
looked on him steadily, and then Christopher said:  "Well,
wayfarer mine, and whither away this morning?"

Said Simon:  "As thou wottest, to the Long Pools."

Said the lad:  "Well, thou keepest thy tidings so close,
that I will ask thee no more till we come to the Long Pools;
since there, forsooth, thou must needs tell me; unless we
sunder company there, whereof I were nought grieving."

"Mayhappen thou shalt fare a long way to-day," muttered
Simon.

But the lad cried out aloud, while his eye glittered and his
cheek flushed:  "Belike thou hadst well-nigh opened the door
thereto last night!" And therewith he leapt to his feet and
drew his short-sword, and with three deft strokes sheared
asunder an overhanging beech-bough as thick as a man's
wrist, that it fell crashing down, and caught Simon amongst
the fall of its leafy twigs, while Christopher stood
laughing on him, but with a dangerous lofty look in his
eyes:  then he turned away quietly toward the horses and
mounted his nag, and Simon followed and did the like,
silently; crestfallen he looked, with brooding fierceness in
his face.

So they rode their ways, and spake but little each to each
till they came to where the trees of the wood thinned
speedily, and gave out at last at the foot of a low stony
slope but little grassed; and when they had ridden up to the
brow and could see below, Christopher stretched out his
hand, and said:  "Lo thou the Long Pools, fellow wayfarer!
and lo some of the tramping; horses that woke thee and not
me last night."

Forsooth there lay below them a great stretch of grass,
which whiles ran into mere quagmire, and whiles was sound
and better grassed; and the said plain was seamed by three
long shallow pools, with, as it were, grassy causeways
between them, grown over here and there with ancient alder
trees; but the stony slope whereon they had reined up bent
round the plain mostly to the east, as though it were the
shore of a great water; and far away to the south the hills
of the forest rose up blue, and not so low at the most, but
that they were somewhat higher than the crest of the White
Horse as ye may see it from the little Berkshire hills above
the Thames.  Down on the firm greensward there was indeed a
herd of wild horses feeding; mallard and coot swam about the
waters; the whimbrel laughed from the bent-sides, and three
herons stood on the side of the causeway seeking a good
fishing-stead.

Simon sat a-horseback looking askance from the marish to
Christopher, and said nothing a while; then he spake in a
low croaking voice, and said:  "So, little King, we have
come to the Long Pools; now I will ask thee, hast thou been
further southward than this marish land?"

"That have I," said the lad, "a day's journey further; but
according to the tales of men it was at the peril of my
life."

Simon seemed as if he had not noted his last word; he said:
"Well then, since thou knowest the wild and the wood,
knowest thou amidst of the thickets there, two lumps of bare
hills, like bowls turned bottom up, that rise above the
trees, and on each a tower, and betwixt them a long house."

"Save us, Allhallows!" quoth Christopher, "but thou wilt
mean the Tofts! Is it so, sir squire?"

"Even so," said Simon.

"And thou knowest what dwellest there, and wouldst have me
lead thee thither?" said the lad.

"I am so bidden," said Simon; "if thou wilt not do my
bidding, seek thou some place to hide thee in from the hand
of the Earl Marshal."

Said the youngling:  "Knowest thou not Jack of the Tofts and
his seven sons, and what he is, and that he dwelleth there?"

Said Simon:  "I know of him; yea, and himself I know, and
that he dwelleth there; and I wot that men call him an
outlaw, and that many rich men shall lack ere he lacks.
What then?"

"This," said Christopher, "that, as all tales tell, he will
take my life if I ride thither. And," said he, turning to
Simon, "this is belike what thou wouldest with me?" And
therewith he drew out his sword, for his bow was unstrung.

But Simon sat still and let his sword abide, and said,
sourly enough:  "Thou art a fool to think I am training thee
to thy death by him; for I have no will to die, and why
shall he not slay me also? Now again I say unto thee, thou
hast the choice, either to lead me to the Tofts, where shall
be the deed for thee to do, or to hide thee in some hole, as
I said afore, from the vengeance of the Lord of Oakenrealm.
But as for thy sword, thou mayst put it up, for I will not
fight with thee, but rather let thee go with a string to thy
leg, if thou wilt not be wise and do as thy lords ordain for
thee."

Christopher sheathed his sword, and a smile came into his
face, as if some new thought were stirring in him, and he
said:  "Well, since thou wilt not fight with me, and I but a
lad, I will e'en do thy will and thine errand to Jack of the
Tofts.  Maybe he is not so black as he is painted, and not
all tales told of him are true.  But some of them I will
tell thee as we ride along."

"And some thereof I know already, O woodland knight," said
Simon, as they rode down the bent, and Christopher led on
toward the green causeway betwixt the waters.  "Tell me,"
quoth he, when they had ridden awhile, "is this one of thy
tales, how Jack of the Tofts went to the Yule feast of a
great baron in the guise of a minstrel, and, even as they
bore in the boar's head, smote the said baron on the neck,
so that his head lay by the head of the swine on the
Christmas board?"

"Yea," said Christopher, "and how Jack cried out:  'Two
heads of swine, one good to eat, one good to burn.' But, my
master, thou shalt know that this manslaying was not for
nought:  whereas the Baron of Greenlake had erewhile slain
Jack's father in felon wise, where he could strike no stroke
for life; and two of his brethren also had he slain, and
made the said Jack an outlaw, and he all sackless.  In the
Uttermost March we deem that he had a case against the
baron."

"Hah!" said Simon.  "Is this next tale true, that this Jack
o' the Tofts slew a good knight before the altar, so that
the priest's mass-hackle was all wet with his blood, whereas
the said priest was in the act of putting the holy body into
the open mouth of the said knight?"

Christopher said eagerly:  "True was it, by the Rood! and
well was it done, for that same Sir Raoul was an ugly
traitor, who had knelt down where he died to wed the Body of
the Lord to a foul lie in his mouth; whereas the man who
knelt beside him he had trained to his destruction, and was
even then doing the first deal of his treason by forswearing
him there."

"And that man who knelt with him there," said Simon, "what
betid to him?"

Said Christopher:  "He went out of the church with Jack of
the Tofts that minute of the stroke; and to the Tofts he
went with him, and abode with him freely:  and a valiant man
he was...and is."

"Hah!" said Simon again.  "And then there is this:  that the
seven sons of Jack of the Tofts bore off perforce four fair
maidens of gentle blood from the castle wherein they dwelt,
serving a high dame in all honour; and that moreover, they
hanged the said dame over the battlements of her own castle.
Is this true, fair sir?"

"True is it as the gospel," said Christopher:  "yet many say
that the hanged dame had somewhat less than her deserts; for
a foul & cruel whore had she been; and had done many to be
done to death, and stood by while they were pined.  And the
like had she done with those four damsels, had there not
been the stout sons of Jack of the Tofts; so that the dear
maidens were somewhat more than willing to be borne away."

Simon grinned:  "Well, lad," said he, "I see that thou
knowest Jack of the Tofts even better than I do; so why in
the devil's name thou art loth to lead me to him, I wot
not."

Christopher reddened, and held his peace awhile; then he
said:  "Well fellow-farer, at least I shall know something
of him ere next midnight."

"Yea," said Simon, "and shall we not come to the Tofts
before nightfall?"

"Let us essay it," said Christopher, "and do our best, it
yet lacketh three hours of noon." Therewith he spurred on,
for the greensward was hard under the hooves, and they had
yet some way to go before they should come amongst the trees
and thickets.

Into the said wood they came, and rode all day diligently,
but night fell on them before they saw either house or man
or devil; then said Simon:  "Why should we go any further
before dawn? Will it not be best to come to this perilous
house by daylight?"

Said Christopher:  "There be perils in the wood as well as
in the house.  If we lie down here, maybe Jack's folk may
come upon us sleeping, and some mischance may befall us.
Withal, hereabout be no wild horses to wake thee and warn
thee of thy foeman anigh. Let us press on; there is a moon,
though she be somewhat hidden by clouds, and meseemeth the
way lieth clear before me; neither are we a great way from
the Tofts."

Then Simon rode close up to Christopher, and took his rein
and stayed him, and said to him, as one who prayeth:  "Young
man, willest thou my death?"

"That is as it may be," said Christopher; "willest thou
mine?"

Simon held his peace awhile, and Christopher might not see
what was in his face amidst the gathering dusk; but he
twitched his rein out of the squire's hand, as if he would
hasten onward; then the squire said:  "Nay, I pray thee
abide and hear a word of me."

"Speak then," said Christopher, "but hasten, for I hunger,
and I would we were in the hall."  And therewith he laughed.

Said Simon:  "Thus it is:  if I go back to my lord and bear
no token of having done his errand to Jack of the Tofts,
then am I in evil case; and if I come to the Tofts, I wot
well that Jack is a man fierce of heart, and ready of hand:
now, therefore, I pray thee give me thy word to be my
warrant, so far as thou mayst be, with this woodman and his
sons."

At that word Christopher brake out a-laughing loudly, till
all the dusk wood rang with the merry sound of his fresh
voice; at last he said:  "Well, well, thou art but a craven
to be a secret murderer:  the Lord God would have had an
easy bargain of Cain, had he been such as thou.  Come on,
and do thine errand to Jack of the Tofts, and I will hold
thee harmless, so far as I may.  Though, sooth to say, I
guessed what thine errand was, after the horses waked thee
and put a naked sword in thine hand last night.  Marry! I
had no inkling of it when we left the Castle yesterday
morning, but deemed thy lord needed me to do him some
service.  Come on then! or rather go thou on before me a
pace; there, where thou seest the glimmer betwixt the
beech-trees yonder; if thou goest astray, I am anigh thee
for a guide.  And I say that we shall not go far without
tidings."

Simon went on perforce, as he was bidden, and they rode thus
a while slowly, Christopher now and then crying, as they
went:  "To the right, squire! To the left! Straight on now!"
and so on.  But suddenly they heard voices, and it was as if
the wood had all burst out into fire, so bright a light
shone out.  Christopher shouted, and hastened on to pass
Simon, going quite close to his right side thereby, and as
he did so, he saw steel flashing in his hand, and turned
sidling to guard him, but ere he could do aught Simon drave
a broad dagger into his side, and then turned about and fled
the way they had come, so far as he knew how.

Christopher fell from his horse at once as the stroke came
home, but straightway therewith were there men with torches
round about him, a dozen of them; men tall and wild-looking
in the firelight; and one of them, a slim young man with
long red hair falling all about his shoulders, knelt down by
him, while the others held his horse and gat his feet out of
the stirrups.

The red-head laid his hand on his breast, and raised his
head up till the light of a torch fell on it, and then he
cried out:  "Masters, here hath been a felon; the man hath
been sticked, and the deed hath to do with us; for lo you,
this is none other than little Christopher of the Uttermost
March, who stumbled on the Tofts last Yule, and with whom we
were so merry together.  Here, thou Robert of Maisey, do thy
leechdom on him if he be yet living; but if he be dead, or
dieth of his hurt, then do I take the feud on me, to follow
it to the utmost against the slayer; even I, David the Red,
though I be the youngest of the sons of Jack of the Tofts.
For this man I meant should be my fellow in field and fell,
ganging and galloping, in hall and high-place, in cot and in
choir, before woman and warrior, and priest and
proud-prince.  Now thou Robert, how does he?"

Said the man who had looked to Christopher's wound, and had
put aside his coat and shirt:  "He is sore hurt, but
meseemeth not deadly.  Nay, belike he may live as long as
thou, or longer, whereas thou wilt ever be shoving thy red
head and lank body wheresoever knocks are going."

David rose with a sigh of one who is lightened of a load,
and said:  "Well Robert, when thou hast bound his wound let
us have him into the house:  Ho lads! there is light enough
to cut some boughs and make a litter for him.  But, ho
again! has no one gone after the felon to take him?"

Robert grinned up from his job with the hurt man:  "Nay,
King David," said he, "it is mostly thy business; mayhappen
thou wilt lay thy heels on thy neck and after him."

The red-head stamped on the ground, and half drew his sax,
and shoved it back again unto the sheath, and then said
angrily:  "I marvel at thee, Robert, that thou didst not
send a man or two at once after the felon:  how may I leave
my comrade and sweet board-fellow lying hurt in the
wild-wood? Art thou growing over old for our woodland ways,
wherein loitering bringeth louting?"

Robert chuckled and said:  "I thought thou wouldst take the
fly in thy mouth, foster-son: if the felon escape Ralph
Longshanks and Anthony Green, then hath he the devil's luck;
and they be after him."

"That is well," said the young man, "though I would I were
with them."  And therewith he walked up and down
impatiently, while the others were getting ready the litter
of boughs.

At last it was done, and Christopher laid thereon, and they
all went on together through the woodland path, the torches
still flaring about them.  Presently they came out into a
clearing of the wood, and lo, looming great and black before
them against the sky, where the moon had now broken out of
the clouds somewhat, the masses of the tofts, and at the top
of the northernmost of them a light in the upper window of a
tall square tower.  Withal the yellow-litten windows of a
long house showed on the plain below the tofts; but little
else of the house might be seen, save that, as they drew
near, the walls brake out in doubtful light here and there
as the torches smote them.

So came they to a deep porch, where they quenched all the
torches save one, and entered a great hall through it, David
and two other tall young men going first, and Robert Maisey
going beside the bier.  The said hall was lighted with
candles, but not very brightly, save at the upper end; but
amidmost a flickering heap of logs sent a thin line of blue
smoke up to the luffer.  There were some sixty folk in the
hall, scattered about the end-long tables, a good few of
whom were women, well grown and comely enough, so far as
could be seen under the scanty candle-light.  At the
high-table, withal, were sitting both men and women, and as
they drew near to the greater light of it, there could be
seen in the chief seat a man, past middle age, tall,
wide-shouldered and thin-flanked, with a short peaked beard
and close-cut grizzled hair; he was high of cheekbones,
thin-faced, with grey eyes, both big and gentle-looking; he
was clad in a green coat welted with gold.  Beside him sat a
woman, tall and big-made, but very fair of face, though she
were little younger, belike, than the man.  Out from these
two sat four men and four women, man by man and woman by
woman, on either side of the high-seat.  Of the said men,
one was of long red hair as David, and like to him in all
wise, but older; the others were of like fashion to him in
the high-seat.  Shortly to say it, his sons they were, as
David and the two young men with him.  The four women who
sat with these men were all fair and young, and one of them,
she who drank out of the red-head's cup, so fair, and with
such a pleasant slim grace, that her like were not easy to
be found.

Again, to shorten the tale, there in the hall before
Christopher, who lay unwotting, were Jack of the Tofts and
his seven sons, and the four wives of four of the same, whom
they had won from the Wailful Castle, when they, with their
father, put an end to the evil woman, and the great
she-tyrant of the Land betwixt the Wood and the River.

Now when David and his were come up to the dais, they stayed
them, and their father spake from his high-seat and said:
"What is to do, ye three? and what catch have ye?"

Said David:  "I would fain hope 'tis the catch of a life
that or I love; for here is come thy guest of last Yule,
even little Christopher, who wrestled with thee and threw
thee after thou hadst thrown all of us, and he lying along
and hurt, smitten down by a felon hard on our very doors.
What will ye do with him?"

"What," said Jack of the Tofts, "but tend him and heal him
and cherish him.  And when he is well, then we shall see.
But where is the felon who smote him?"

Said David:  "He fled away a-horseback ere we came to the
field of deed, and Anthony Green and Ralph Longshanks are
gone after him, and belike, will take him."

"Mayhappen not," said the master.  "Now, forsooth, I have an
inkling of what this may mean; whereas there can be but one
man whose business may be the taking of our little guest's
life.  But let all be till he be healed and may tell us his
tale; and, if he telleth it as I deem he will, then shall we
seek further tidings.  Meanwhile, if ye take the felon, keep
him heedfully till I may see him; for then may I have a true
tale out of him, even before Christopher is hale again."

So therewith David and Robert, with two or three others,
brought Christopher to a chamber, and did what leechdoms to
him they might; but Jack of the Tofts, and his sons and
their fair wives, and his other folk, made merry in the hall
of the Tofts.



CHAPTER IX.

SQUIRE SIMON COMES BACK TO OAKENHAM.  THE EARL MARSHAL TAKEN
TO KING IN OAKENREALM.


Now as to Squire Simon, whether the devil helped him, or his
luck, or were it his own cunning and his, horse's stoutness,
we wot not; but in any case he fell not in with Ralph
Longshanks and Anthony Green, but rode as far and as fast as
his horse would go, and then lay down in the wild-wood; and
on the morrow arose and went his ways, and came in the even
to the Castle of the Uttermost March, and went on thence the
morrow after on a fresh horse to Oakenham.  There he made no
delay but went straight to the High House, and had privy
speech of the Earl Marshal; and him he told how he had
smitten Christopher, and, as he deemed, slain him.  The Earl
Marshal looked on him grimly and said:  "Where is the ring
then?"

"I have it not," said Simon.  "How might I light down to
take it, when the seven sons were hard on us?" And therewith
he told him all the tale, and how he had risen to slay
Christopher the even before; and how he had found out after
that the youngling had become guest and fosterling of the
folk of the Tofts; and how warily Christopher had ridden, so
that he, Simon, had had to do his best at the last moment.
"And now, Lord," quoth he, "I see that it will be my luck to
have grudging of thee, or even worse it may be; yea, or thou
wilt be presently telling me that I am a liar and never
struck the stroke: but I warrant me that by this time Jack
of the Tofts knoweth better, for I left my knife in the
youngling's breast, and belike he wotteth of my weapons.
Well, then, if thou wilt be quit of me, thou hast but to
forbear upholding me against the Toft folk, and then am I
gone without any to-do of thee."

Earl Rolf spake quietly in answer, though his face was
somewhat troubled:  "Nay, Simon, I doubt thee not, not one
word; for why shouldest thou lie to me? nor do I deem thou
wouldest, for thou art trusty and worthy.  Yet sore I doubt
if the child be dead. Well, even so let it be, for I am
alive; and full surely I am mightier than Jack of the Tofts,
both to uphold thee against him (wherein I shall not fail),
and otherwise.  But may God make me even as that young man
if I be not mightier yet in a few days.  But now do thou go
and eat and drink and take thy disport; for thou hast served
me well; and in a little while I shall make thee knight and
lord, and do all I can to pleasure thee."

So then Simon knelt to the Earl and made obeisance to him,
and arose and went his ways, light-hearted and merry.

But within the month it so befel that some of the lords and
dukes came to the Earl Marshal, and prayed him to call
together a great Folk-mote of all Oakenrealm; and he
answered them graciously, and behight them to do as they
would; and even so did he.

And that Mote was very great, and whenas it was hallowed,
there arose a great lord, grey and ancient, and bewailed him
before the folk, that they had no king over Oakenrealm to
uphold the laws & ward the land; and "Will ye live bare and
kingless for ever?" said he at last.  "Will ye not choose
you a king, and crown him, before I die, and we others of
the realm who are old and worn?" Then he sat down, and
another arose, and in plain terms he bade them take the Earl
Marshal to king.  And then arose one after other, and each
sang the same song, till the hearts of the people grew warm
with the big words, and at first many, and then more cried
out:  "A King, a King! The Earl Marshal for King! Earl Rolf
for King!" So that at last the voices rose into a great
roar, and sword clashed on shield, and they who were about
the Earl turned to him and upraised him on a great
war-shield, and he stood thereon above the folk with a naked
sword in his hand, and all the folk shouted about him.

Thereafter the chiefs and all the mightiest came and did
homage to him for King of Oakenrealm as he sat on the Hill
of the Folk-mote:  and that night there was once more a King
of Oakenrealm, and Earl Rolf was no more, but King Rolf
ruled the people.

But now the tale leaves telling of him, and turns again to
Christopher the woodman, who lay sick of his hurt in the
House of the Tofts.



CHAPTER X.

OF CHRISTOPHER AT THE TOFTS.


Christopher was six weeks ere he could come and go as he was
wont; but it was but a few days ere he was well enough to
tell his tale to Jack of the Tofts and his seven bold sons;
and they cherished him and made much of him, and so
especially did David, the youngest son, to his board-fellow
and troth-brother.

On a day when he was well-nigh whole, as he sat under an
oak-tree nigh the house, in the cool of the evening, Jack of
the Tofts came to him and sat beside him, and made him tell
his tale to him once more, and when he was done he said to
him:  "Foster-son, for so I would have thee deem of thyself,
what is the thing that thou rememberest earliest in thy
days?"

Said Christopher:  "A cot without the Castle walls at the
Uttermost Marches, and a kind woman therein, big,
sandy-haired, and freckled, and a lad that was white-haired
and sturdy, somewhat bigger than I.  And I mind me standing
up against the door-post of the cot and seeing men-at-arms
riding by in white armour, and one of them throwing an apple
to me, and I raised my arm to throw it back at him, but my
nurse (for somehow I knew she was not my mother) caught my
hand and drew me back indoors, and I heard the men laughing
behind me.  And then a little after my nurse took me into
the Castle court, and there was again the man who had thrown
me the apple, sitting on a bench therein, clad in a scarlet
gown furred with brown fur; and she led me up to him, and he
stooped down and chucked me under the chin and put his hand
on my head, and looked at my nurse and said:  'Yea, he is a
big lad, and groweth apace, whereas he is but of six
winters.'  'Nay, Lord,' said my nurse, 'he is but scantly
five.'  He knit his brows and said: 'Nay, I tell thee he is
six.'  She shook her head, but said nought, and the great
man scowled on her and said:  'Mistress, wilt thou set thy
word against mine? Know now that this child is of six years.
Now then, how old is he?' She said faintly:  'Six years.'
Said he:  'Look to it that thy head and thy mouth forget it
not, else shall we make thy back remember it.'  Then he put
his hand on my head again, and said:  'Well, I say thou art
a big lad for six years;' and therewith he gave me a silver
penny; and even as he spake, came up a grey-clad squire to
him and looked on me curiously.  Then I went away with my
nurse, and wondered why she was grown so pale, whereas she
was mostly red-cheeked and jolly.  But when she had brought
me into the cot again, she kissed me and clipped me, weeping
sorely the while; wherefore I wept, though I knew not why.
Sithence, I soon came to know that the man was the lord and
governor of the Castle, as ye may well wot; but to this hour
I know not what he meant by threatening my nurse."

Said Jack:  "And how old art thou now, Christopher mine?"

Said the youngling, laughing:  "By my lord the Castellan's
reckoning I am twenty and two years; but if thou wilt trow
my good and kind nurse, that yet liveth a kind dame, thou
must take twelve months off the tale."

Jack sat silent a little; then he laughed and said:  "Well,
thou art a mickle babe, Christopher, and it may be that one
day many a man shall know it.  But now tell me again; thou
hadst said to me before that thou hast known neither father
nor mother, brother nor sisters:  is it so, verily?"

Said Christopher:  "Never a kinsman of blood have I, though
many well-wishers."

Said Jack:  "Well, now hast thou father and mother, brethren
and sisters, though they be of the sort of man-slayers and
strong-thieves and outlaws; yet they love thee, lad, and
thou mayst one day find out how far thou mayst trust them."

Christopher nodded and smiled at him merrily; then he fell
silent awhile, and the outlaw sat looking on him; at last he
said suddenly:  "Foster-father, tell me what I am, and of
what kindred, I pray thee; for, methinks, thou knowest
thereof; and what wonder, wise man as thou art."

"Forsooth, son Christopher, I have a deeming thereof, or
somewhat more, and when it is waxen greater yet, I will tell
it thee one day, but not now.  But hearken! for I have other
tidings for thee.  Thou art now whole and strong, and in a
few days thou mayst wend the wild-wood as stoutly as e'er a
one of us.  Now, therefore, how sayest thou, if I bid thee
fare a two days' journey with David and Gilbert thy
brethren, and thy sister Joanna, till they bring thee to a
fair little stead which I call mine own, to dwell there
awhile? For, meseemeth, lad, that the air of the Tofts here
may not be overwholesome unto thee."

Christopher reddened, and he half rose up, and said:  "What
is this, foster-father? Is it that there shall be battle at
the Tofts, and that thou wouldst have me away thence? Am I
then such a weakling?"

Said Jack, laughing:  "Be still now, thou sticked one.  The
Tofts go down to battle at some whiles; but seldom comet
battle to the Tofts; and no battle do I look for now.  But
do my bidding, sweet fosterling, and it will be better for
me and better for thee, and may, perchance, put off battle
for awhile; which to me as now were not unhandy.  If thou
wilt but abide at Littledale for somewhile, there shall be
going and coming betwixt us, and thou shalt drink thy Yule
at the Tofts, and go back afterwards, and ever shalt thou
have thy sweet fellows with thee; so be wise, since thou
goest not perforce."

"Yea, yea," said Christopher, laughing; "thou puttest force
on no man, is it not so, foster-father? Wherefore I will go,
and uncompelled."

Therewith came up to them, from out of the wild-wood, David,
and with him Joanna, who was the wife of Gilbert, and one of
those fair maidens from the Wailful Castle, though not the
fairest of them; they had been a-hunting, for ever those
three would willingly go together, Gilbert, David, and
Joanna; and now Gilbert had abided behind, to dight the
quarry for fetching home.  Christopher looked on the two
joyfully, as a man getting whole after sickness smiles on
goodly things; and Joanna was fair to see in her hunter's
attire, with brogues tied to her naked feet, and the
shapeliness of her legs bare to the knee beneath the
trussing up of her green skirts.

They greeted Christopher kindly, and Joanna sat down by him
to talk, but Jack of the Tofts took his son by the arm, and
went toward the house with him in earnest speech.



CHAPTER XI.

HOW CHRISTOPHER CAME TO LITTLEDALE TO ABIDE THERE A WHILE.


In about a week's time from this, those four fellows went
their ways southward from the Tofts, having with them four
good nags and four sumpter beasts laden with such things as
they needed, whereof were weapons enough, though they all,
save Christopher, bare bows; and he and the others were girt
with swords, and a leash of good dogs followed them.  Two
milch kine also they drave with them.

Merry they were all as they went their ways through the
woods, but the gladness of Christopher was even past words;
wherefore, after a little, he spake scarce at all, but sat
in his saddle hearkening the tales and songs and jests of
his fellows, who went close beside him, for more often they
went a-foot than rode.  And, forsooth, as the sweet morning
wore, it seemed to him, so great was his joy, as if all the
fair show of the greenery, and the boles of the ancient
oaks, and the squirrels running from bough to bough, and the
rabbits scuttling from under the bracken, and the hind
leaping in the wood-lawn, and the sun falling through the
rustling leaves, and the wind on his face, and the scent of
the forest, yea, and his fair companions and their
loveliness & valiancy and kindness, and the words and songs
that came from their dear mouths, all these seemed to him,
as it were, one great show done for the behoof and pleasure
of him, the man come from the peril of death and the
sick-bed.

They lay that night in all glee under the green boughs; and
arose on the morrow, and went all day, and again slept in
the greenwood, and the next morning came down into a fair
valley, which was indeed Littledale, through which ran a
pleasant little river; and on a grassy knoll, but a short
way from its bank, was a long framed hall, somewhat narrow,
and nought high, whitherward they turned them straightway,
and were presently before the door; then Gilbert drew a key
from out of his scrip and unlocked the door, and they
entered, and found within a fair little hall, with shut-beds
out from it on the further side, and kitchen, and
store-bowers at the end; all things duly appointed with
plenishing, and meal and wine; for it was but some three
months since one of Jack of the Tofts' allies, Sir Launcelot
a'Green and his wife and two bairns, had left it till their
affair was made straight; whereas he had dwelt there a whole
year, for he had been made an outlaw of Meadham, and was a
dear friend of the said Jack.

"Now," said David smiling, "here is now thy high house and
thy castle, little King Christopher; how doth it like thee?"

"Right well," said Christopher; "and, to say sooth, I would
almost that it were night, or my bones do else, that I might
lie naked in a bed."

"Nay, lad," said Gilbert, "make it night now, and we will do
all that needs must be done, while thou liest lazy, as all
kings use to do."

"Nay," said Christopher, "I will be more a king than so, for
I will do neither this nor that; I will not work and I will
not go to bed, but will look on, till it is time for me to
take to the crooked stick and the grey-goose wing and seek
venison."

"That is better than well," said David; "for I can see by
thine eyes, that are dancing with pleasure, that in three or
four days thou wilt be about the thickets with us."

"Meantime," said Joanna, "thou shalt pay for thy meat and
drink by telling us tales when we come home weary."

"Yea," said Christopher laughing, "that ye may go to sleep
before your time."

So they talked, and were joyous and blithe together, and
between them they made the house trim, and decked it with
boughs and blossoms; and though Christopher told them no
tale that night, Joanna and David sang both; and in a night
or two it was Christopher that was the minstrel.  So when
the morrow came there began their life of the woodland; but,
save for the changing of the year and the chances of the
hunt, the time passed on from day to day with little change,
and it was but seldom that any man came their way. When Yule
was, they locked the house door behind them and went their
ways home to the Tofts; and now of all of these wayfarers
was Christopher by far the hardest and strongest, for his
side had utterly forgotten Simon's knife.  At the Tofts they
were welcomed with all triumph, and they were about there in
the best of cheer, till it was wearing toward Candlemas, and
then they took occasion of a bright and sunny day to go back
to Littledale once more, and there they abode till spring
was come and was wearing into summer, and messages had come
and gone betwixt them and the Tofts, and it was agreed that
with the first of autumn they should go back to the Tofts
and see what should betide.

But now leave we Christopher and these good fellows of the
Tofts and turn to Goldilind, who is yet dwelling amid no
very happy days in the Castle of Greenharbour, on the
northernmost marches of Meadham.



CHAPTER XII.

OF GOLDILIND IN THE MAY MORNING AT GREENHARBOUR.


May was on the land now, and was come into its second week,
and Goldilind awoke on a morn in the Castle of Greenharbour;
but little did her eyes behold of the May, even when they
were fully open; for she was lying, not in her own chamber,
which was proper, and even somewhat stately, and from whence
she could look on the sky and greenwood, but in a chamber
low down amidst the footings of the wall, little lighted,
unadorned, with nought in it for sport or pleasure; nought,
forsooth, save the pallet bed on which she lay, a joint
stool and water ewer.  To be short, though it were called
the Least Guard-chamber, it was a prison, and she was there
dreeing her penance, as Dame Elinor would call the cruelty
of her malice, which the chaplain, Dame Elinor's led
captain, had ordained her for some sin which the twain had
forged between them.

She lay there naked in her smock, with no raiment anigh her,
and this was the third morning whereon she had awakened to
the dusky bare walls, and a long while had their emptiness
made of the hours:  but she lay quiet and musing, not
altogether without cheer now; for indeed she was not wont to
any longer penance than this she had but now tholed, so she
looked for release presently:  and, moreover, there had
grown in her mind during those three days a certain purpose;
to wit, that she would get hold of the governor of the
castle privily, and two or three others of the squires who
most regarded her, and bewail her case to them, so that she
might perchance get some relief.  Forsooth, as she called to
mind this resolve, her heart beat and her cheek flushed, for
well she knew that there was peril in it, and she forecast
what might be the worst that would come thereof, while, on
the other hand, the best that might be seemed to her like a
glimpse of Paradise.

As she lay there and turned the matter over in her mind for
this many an hundred time, there came a key into the lock,
and the door opened; and thereby entered a tall woman,
dark-haired, white-skinned, somewhat young, and not
ill-favoured:  Goldilind still lay there, till the new-comer
said to her in a hard voice, wherein was both threatening
and mockery:  "Rise up, our Lady! the Dame Elinor saith that
it is enough, and that thou art to go forth.  Nay, hold a
while; for I say unto thee that it is yet early in the day,
and that thy chamber is not yet dight for thee, so thou must
needs bestow thyself elsewhere till it be done."

Goldilind rose up, and said smiling:  "Yea, Aloyse, but thou
hast not brought my raiment:  and thou seest!"

The maid stood looking at her a moment somewhat evilly, and
then said:  "Well, since it is but scant six o'clock, I may
do that; but I bid thee ask me not overmuch; for meseemeth
Dame Elinor is not overwell pleased with thee to-day, nor
our chaplain either."

Therewith she turned and went out, locking the door behind
her, and came back presently bearing on her arm a green gown
and other raiment:  she laid them on the stool before the
Lady, and said:  "Hasten, my Lady, and let me go to my
place:  sooth to say, it may well be double trouble to thee
to don thy clothes, for thou mayst have to doff them again
before long."

Goldilind answered nought, but reddened and paled again as
she clad her under the waiting-maid's eyes.  Then they went
out together, and up a short stone stair, till they were
level with the greensward without.  Then the maid turned to
Goldilind and said: "And now thou art clad and out, my Lady,
I wot not where thou art to go to, since to thy chamber thou
must not go.  Nay, hold and hearken! here we be at the door
which opens on to the Foresters' Garth under the Foresters'
Tower, thither shalt thou abide till I come to fetch thee.
How now, my Lady! what else wouldst thou?"

Goldilind looked on her with a smile, yet with eagereyes,
and said:  "O good Aloyse, wouldst thou but give me a piece
of bread? for I hunger; thou wottest my queenly board hath
not been overloaded these last days."

"Ha!" said Aloyse; "if thou ask me overmuch I fear thou
mayst pay for it, my Lady; but this last asking thou shalt
have, and then none other till all thy penance thou hast
dreed. Abide!"

Therewith she went up the stairs, and Goldilind, who now was
but weak with her prison and the sudden light, and the hope
and fear of her purpose of bewailing her story, sat her down
on the stair there, almost, as it were, 'twixt home and
hell, till her heart came back to her and the tears began to
flow from her eyes.  Forthright came back Aloyse, bearing a
white loaf and a little pitcher of milk on a silver
serving-dish; she laid them down, unlocked the door into the
garden, and thrust Goldilind through by the shoulders; then
she turned and took up her serving-dish with the bread and
milk, and handed it to Goldilind through the door, and said:
"Now is my Lady served.  It were indeed well that my Lady
should strengthen herself this hour for the hour next to
come."

Therewith she turned about, and shut and locked the door;
and the King's daughter fell to eagerly on her bread, and
thought of little till she had eaten and drunk, save that
she felt the sweet scent of the gilliflowers and eglantine
as it were a part of her meal.

Then she went slowly down the garden, treading the
greensward beside the flowers; and she looked on the hold,
and the low sun gilded the walls thereof and glittered in a
window here and there, and though there was on her a
foreboding of the hours of that day, she did what she might
to make the best of the fragrant May morning and the song of
birds and rustle of leaves, though, indeed, at whiles the
tears would gush out of her eyes when she thought how young
she was and how feeble, and the pity of herself became sweet
unto her.



CHAPTER XIII.

OF GOLDILIND IN THE GARTH.


Now, as she went in that garden with her face turned toward
the postern which led into the open space of the greenwood,
which was but two bow-shots from the thicket, she heard the
clatter of horse-hoofs on the loose stones of the path, and
how they stopped at the said postern; and presently there
was a key in the lock, the door opened, and a man came in
walking stiffly, like a rider who has ridden far and fast.
He was clad in jack and sallet, and had a sword by his side,
and on his sleeve was done in green and gold a mountain
aflame; so that Goldilind knew him at once for a man of Earl
Geoffrey's; and, indeed, she had seen the man before, coming
and going on errands that she knew nought of, and on which
nothing followed that was of import to her.  Therefore, as
she watched him cross the garden and go straight up to the
door of the Foresters' Tower, and take out another key and
enter, she heeded him but little, nor did his coming
increase her trouble a whit.

She walked on toward the postern, and now she saw that the
errand-bearer had left it open behind him, and when she came
close up to it, she saw his horse tied to a ring in the
wall, a strong and good bay nag.  The sight of him, and the
glimpse of the free and open land, stirred in her the misery
of her days and the yearning for the loveliness of the world
without, converse of friends, hope of the sufficiency of
desire, and the sweetness of love returned.  And so strong a
wave of anguish swept over her, that she bowed her down upon
the grass and wept bitterly.  Yet but a little while it
lasted; she rose up presently and looked warily all round
her, and up to the Castle, and saw none stirring; she drew
up the skirts of her green gown into her girdle, till the
hem but just hid her knees; then she stepped lightly through
the half-open door with flushed cheeks and glittering eyes,
while her heart rose within her; then she lifted her hand,
unhitched the reins from the iron ring, and quietly led the
horse close under the garth-wall, and stole gently up the
slope which, as all roads from the Castle, went straightway
toward the thicket, but this was the straightest.  So she
went, till she came to the corner of the garth-wall, and a
little further; and the Castle on that side was blind, save
for the swale on the battlement, whereon in that deep peace
was little going; and, moreover, it was not even yet six
o'clock.



CHAPTER XIV.

GOLDILIND GOES FREE.


There then she stayed the horse, and, flushed and panting,
got lightly into the saddle and bestrode it, and, leaning
over on the beast's neck, smote his flanks with her heels;
the horse was fresh, though his master had been weary,
whereas the said messenger had gotten him from a forester
some six miles away in the wood that morning, so the nag
answered to her call for speed, and she went a great gallop
into the wood, and was hidden in a twinkling from any eyes
that might be looking out of the Castle.

Without checking the nag she sped along, half mad with joy
at the freedom of this happy morn.  Nigh aimless she was,
but had an inkling that it were well with her if she could
hold northward ever; for the old man aforesaid had told her
of Oakenrealm, and how it lay northward of them; so that way
she drifted as the thicket would suffer her.  When she had
gone as much of a gallop as she might for some half hour,
she drew rein to breathe her nag, and hearkened; she turned
in the saddle, but heard nought to affright her, so she went
on again, but some what more soberly; and thuswise she rode
for some two hours, and the day waxed hot, and she was come
to a clear pool amidst of a little clearing, covered with
fine greensward right down to the water's edge.

There she made stay, and got off her horse, and stood awhile
by him as he cropped the sweet grass; and the birds sang at
the edge of the thicket, and the rabbits crept and gambolled
on the other side of the water; and from the pool's edge the
moorhens cried. She stood half leaning against the side of
the horse till she became somewhat drowsy; yea, and even
dreamed a little, and that little but ill, it seemed, as she
gave a troubled cry and shrank together and turned pale.
Then she rubbed her eyes and smiled, and turned to the pool,
where now a little ripple was running over the face of it,
and a thought came upon her, and she set her hand to the
clasp of her gown and undid it, and drew the gown off her
shoulders, and so did off all her raiment, and stood naked a
little on the warm sunny grass, and then bestirred her and
went lightly into the pool, and bathed and sported there,
and then came on to the grass again, and went to and fro to
dry her in the air and sun.  Then she did on her raiment
again, and laid her down under a thorn-bush by the
pool-side, and there, would she, would she not, went to
sleep soundly and dreamed not.  And when she awoke she
deemed her sleep had been long, but it was not so, but
scarce a score of minutes.  Anyhow, she sprang up now and
went to her horse, and drew the girths tight (which she had
loosed erewhile,) and so bestrode the good horse, and shook
the reins, and rode away much comforted and enheartened.



CHAPTER XV.

OF GOLDILIND IN THE WILD-WOOD.


Goldilind rode on, hastening yet to put as many miles as she
might betwixt her and Greenharbour.  Within a three hours
from her bathing she fell a-hungering sore, and knew not
what to do to eat, till she found a pouch made fast to the
saddle-bow, and therein a little white loaf, that and no
more, which she took and ate the half of with great joy,
sitting down by a brook-side, whence she had her drink.

Then again she mounted, and rode on till dusk overtook her
just as she came to a little river running from the north
from pool to shallow, and shallow to pool.  And whereas she
was now exceeding weary, and the good horse also much spent,
and that the grass was very sweet and soft down to the
water's edge, and that there was a thick thorn-bush to cover
her, she made up her mind that this place should be her
bed-chamber.  So she took saddle and bridle off the horse,
as he must needs bite the grass, and then when she had eaten
the other half of her bread, she laid her down on the green
grass, with her head on the saddle, and when she had lain
listening to the horse cropping the grass close anigh her
for a minute or two, she fell fast asleep, and lay there
long and had no dreams.



CHAPTER XVI.

WHAT GOLDILIND FOUND IN THE WOOD.


When she awoke it was broad day and bright sun, and she rose
up to her feet and looked about, and saw the horse standing
close by, and sharing the shade with her, whisking his tail
about lazily.  Then she turned, and saw the stream rippling
out from the pool over the clean gravel, and here and there
a fish darting through the ripple, or making clean rings on
the pool as he quietly took a fly; the sky was blue and
clear, there was scarce a breath of air, and the morning was
already hot; no worse than yesterday sang the birds in the
bushes; but as she looked across the river, where, forsooth,
the alders grew thick about the pool's edge, a cock
blackbird, and then another, flew out from the close boughs,
where they had been singing to their mates, with the sharp
cry that they use when they are frighted.  Withal she saw
the bush move, though, as aforesaid, the morning was without
wind.  She had just stooped to do off her foot-gear (for she
was minded to bathe again), but now she stopped with one
shoe in her hand, and looked on the bushes keenly with
beating heart, and again she thought she saw the boughs
shaken, and stood, not daring to move a while; but they
moved no more now when she had looked steadily at them a
space, and again a blackbird began singing loud just where
they had been shaken.  So she gathered heart again, and
presently turned her hand once more to stripping her raiment
off her, for she would not be baulked of her bath; but when
the stripping was done, she loitered not naked on the bank
as she had done the day before, but walked swiftly into the
shallow, and thence down into the pool, till nothing but her
head and the whiteness of her shoulders showed over the dark
water.  Even then she turned her head about twice to look
into the over-side bushes, but when she saw nothing stir
there she began to play in the water, but not for long, but
came splashing through the shallow and hurried on her
raiment.

When she was clad again she went up to the horse, and patted
and caressed him, and did bridle and saddle on him, and was
going to climb upon him, when, of a sudden, she thought she
would lead him across, lest there should be a hole near the
other bank and he might stumble into it unwarily; so she
bared her feet once more and trussed up her gown skirts, and
so took the ford, leading the beast; the water was nowhere
up to mid-leg of her, and she stepped ashore on to short
and fine grass, which spread like a meadow before her, with
a big thorn or two scattered about it, and a little grassy
hill beset with tall elms toward the top, coming down into
the flat of the meadow and drawing round it nearly up to the
river on the north side.

But now she stood staring in wonder and some deal of fear;
for there were three milch kine feeding on the meadow, and,
moreover, under a thorn, scarce a hundred yards from where
she stood, was a tall man standing gazing on her.  So
stricken was she that she might neither cry out nor turn
aside; neither did she think to pull her gown out of her
girdle to cover the nakedness of her legs.

When they had thus stood a little while the man began to
move toward her very slowly, nor did she dare to flee any
the more.  But when he was within half a dozen paces her
face flushed red, and she did pull her gown out of its
trusses and let it flow down.  But he spake to her in a
pleasant voice, and said:  "May I speak to thee, maiden?"

Fear was yet in her soul, so that she might not speak for a
little, and then she said:  "O, I beseech thee, bring me not
back to Greenharbour!" And she paled sorely as she spake the
word.

But he said:  "I wot not of Greenharbour, how to find the
way thereto, though we have heard of it.  But comfort
thyself, I pray thee, there is nought to fear in me."

The sound of his voice was full pleasant to her, and when
she hearkened him, how kind and frank it was, then she knew
how much of terror was blent with her joy in her newly-won
freedom and the delight of the kind and happy words.  Yet
still she spoke not, and was both shamefast and still not
altogether unafraid.  Yet, sooth to say, though his attire
was but simple, he was nought wild or fierce to look on.
From time to time she looked on him, and then dropped her
eyes again.  In those glances she saw that he was grey-
eyed, and smooth-cheeked, and round-chinned, and his hair
curly and golden; and she must needs think that she had
never seen any face half so fair.  He was clad but in a
green coat that came not down to his knees, and brogues were
tied to his feet, and no more raiment he had; and for hat he
had made him a garland of white may blossom, and well it sat
there:  and again she looked on him, and thought him no
worse than the running angel that goes before the throne of
God in the picture of the choir of Meadhamstead; and she
looked on him and marvelled.

Now she hung her head before him and wished he would speak,
and even so did he, and said:  "Maiden, when I first saw
thee from amidst of the bush by the river yonder, I deemed
thou wert a wood-wight, or some one of the she-Gods of the
Gentiles come back hither.  For this is a lonely place, and
some might deem that the Devil hath might here more than in
other places; and when I saw thee, that thou wouldst do off
thy raiment to bathe thee, though soothly I longed to lie
hidden there, I feared thee, lest thou shouldst be angry
with me if I were to see thee unclad; so I came away; yet I
went not far, for I was above all things yearning to see
thee; and sooth it is, that hadst thou not crossed the
water, I should presently have crossed it myself to seek
thee, wert thou Goddess, or wood-wife, or whatever might
have come of it.  But now thou art come to us, and I have
heard thy voice beseeching me not to bring thee to
Greenharbour, I see that thou art a woman of the kindred of
Adam.  And yet so it is, that even now I fear thee somewhat.
Yet I will pray thee not to be wroth if I ask thee whether I
may do aught for thy need."

Now she began somewhat to smile, and she looked him full in
the face, and said: "Forsooth, my need is simple, for I am
hungry."

He smote himself on the breast, and said:  "See now, what a
great fool I am, not to have known it without telling,
instead of making long-winded talk about myself.  Come
quickly, dear maiden, and leave thine horse to crop the
grass."

So he hurried on to the thorn-bush aforesaid, and she went
foot to foot with him, but he touched her not; and
straightway she sat her down on the root of the thorn, and
smiled frankly on him, and said:

"Nay, sir, and now thou hast made me go all this way I am
out of breath and weary, so I pray thee of the victual at
once."

But he had been busy with his scrip which he had left cast
down there, and therewithal reached out to her a mighty
hunch of bread and a piece of white cheese, and said:

"Now shall I fetch thee milk."  Wherewith he took up a bowl
of aspen tree that had lain by the scrip, and ran off to one
of the kine and milked the bowl full, and came back with it
heedfully, and set it down beside her and said:  "This was
the nighest thing to hand, but when thou hast eaten and
rested then shall we go to our house, if thou wilt be so
kind to me; for there have we better meat and wine to boot."

She looked up at him smiling, but her pleasure of the meat
and the kindness was so exceeding, that she might not
refrain from tears also, but she spake not.

As for him, he knelt beside her, looking on her wistfully;
and at last he said:  "I shall tell thee, that I am glad
that thou wert hungry and that I have seen thee eating, else
might I have deemed thee somewhat other than a woman of
mankind even yet."

She said:  "Yea, and why wouldst thou not believe my word
thereto?"

He said, reddening:  "I almost fear to tell thee, lest thou
think me overbold and be angry with me."

"Nay," she said, "tell me, for I would know."

Said he:  "The words are not easy in my rude mouth; but this
is what I mean:  that though I be young I have seen fair
women not a few, but beside any of them thou art a
wonder;....and loth I were if thou wert not really of
mankind, if it were but for the glory of the world."

She hung her head and answered nought a while, and he also
seemed ashamed:  but presently she spake:  "Thou hast been
kind to us, wouldst thou tell us thy name? and then, if it
like thee, what thou art?"

"Lady," he said, "my name is easy to tell, I hight
Christopher; and whiles folk in merry mockery call me
Christopher King; meseems because I am of the least account
of all carles.  As for what else I am, a woodman I am, an
outlaw, and the friend of them:  yet I tell thee I have
never by my will done any harm to any child of man; and
those friends of mine, who are outlaws also, are kind and
loving with me, both man and woman, though needs must they
dwell aloof from kings' courts and barons' halls."

She looked at him wondering, and as if she did not
altogether understand him; and she said:  "Where dost thou
dwell?"

He said:  "To-day I dwell hard by; though where I shall
dwell to-morrow, who knows? And with me are dwelling three
of my kind fellows; and the dearest is a young man of mine
own age, who is my fellow in all matters, for us to live and
die each for the other. Couldst thou have seen him, thou
wouldst love him I deem."

"What name hath he?" said Goldilind.

"He hight David," said Christopher.

But therewith he fell silent and knit his brow, as though he
were thinking of some knotty point:  but in a while his face
cleared, and he said:  "If I durst, I would ask thee thy
name, and what thou art?"

"As to my name," said she, "I will not tell it thee as now.
As to what I am, I am a poor prisoner; and much have I been
grieved and tormented, so that my body hath been but a thing
whereby I might suffer anguish.  Something else am I, but I
may not tell thee what as yet."

He looked on her long, and then arose and went his way along
the very track of their footsteps, and he took the horse and
brought him back to the thorn, and stood by the lady and
reddened, and said:  "I must tell thee what I have been
doing these last minutes."

"Yea," said she, looking at him wonderingly, "hast thou not
been fetching my horse to me?"

"So it is," said he; "but something else also.  Ask me, or I
cannot tell thee."

She laughed, and said:  "What else, fair sir?"

Said he:  "Ask me what, or I cannot tell thee."

"Well, what, then?" said she.

He answered, stammering and blushing:  "I have been looking
at thy foot prints, whereby thou camest up from the water,
to see what new and fairer blossoms have come up in the
meadow where thy feet were set e'en now."

She answered him nothing, and he held his peace.  But in a
while she said:  "If thou wouldst have us come to thine
house, thou shalt lead us thither now."  And therewith she
took her foot-gear from out of her girdle, as if she would
do it on, and he turned his face away, but sighed therewith.
Then she reddened and put them back again, and rose up
lightly, and said:  "I will go afoot; and wilt thou lead the
horse for me?"

So did he, and led her by all the softest and most flowery
ways, turning about the end of a spur of the little hill
that came close to the water, and going close to the lip of
the river.  And when they had thus turned about the hill
there was a somewhat wider vale before them, grassy and
fair, and on a knoll, not far from the water, a long
frame-house thatched with reed.

Then said Christopher:  "Lady, this is now Littledale, and
yonder the house thereof."

She said quietly:  "Lovely is the dale, and fair the house
by seeming, and I would that they may be happy that dwell
therein!"

Said Christopher:  "Wilt thou not speak that blessing within
the house as without?"

"Fain were I thereof," she said.  And therewith they came
into the garth, wherein the apple trees were blossoming, and
Goldilind spread abroad her hands and lifted up her head for
joy of the sight and the scent, and they stayed awhile
before they went on to the door, which was half open, for
they feared none in that place, and looked for none whom
they might not deal with if he came as a foe.

Christopher would have taken a hand of her to lead her in,
but both hands were in her gown to lift up the hem as she
passed over the threshold; so he durst not.

Fair and bright now was the hall within, with its long and
low windows goodly glazed, a green halling on the walls of
Adam and Eve and the garden, and the good God walking
therein; the sun shone bright through the southern windows,
and about the porch it was hot, but further toward the dais
cool and pleasant.

So Goldilind sat down in the coolest of the place at the
standing table; but Christopher bestirred himself, and
brought wine and white bread, and venison and honey, and
said: "I pray thee to dine, maiden, for it is now hard on
noon; and as for my fair fellows, I look not for them before
sunset for they were going far into the wood."

She smiled on him, and ate and drank a little deal, and he
with her.  Sooth to say, her heart was full, and though she
had forgotten her fear, she was troubled, because, for as
glad as she was, she could not be as glad as her gladness
would have her, for the sake of some lack, she knew not
what.

Now spake Christopher:  "I would tell thee something
strange, to wit, though it is little more than three hours
since I first saw thee beside the river, yet I seem to know
thee as if thou wert a part of my life."

She looked on him shyly, and he went on:  "This also is
strange, and, withal, it likes me not, that when I speak of
my fair fellows here, David, and Gilbert, and Joanna, they
are half forgotten to my heart, though their names are on my
tongue; and this house, doth it like thee, fair guest?"

"Yea, much," she said; "it seems joyous to me:  and I shall
tell thee that I have mostly dwelt in unmerry houses, though
they were of greater cost than this."

Said Christopher:  "To me it hath been merry and happy
enough; but now it seems to me as if it had all been made
for thee and this meeting."

"Is it therefore no longer merry to thee because of that?"
she said, smiling, yet flushing much red therewith.  Now it
was his turn not to answer her, and she cast down her eyes
before him, and there was silence between them.

Then she looked at him steadily, and said:  "It is indeed
grievous that thou shouldest forget thine old friends for
me, and that it should have come into thy mind that this
fair and merry house was not made for thy fair fellows and
thy delight with them, but for me, the chance-comer.  For,
hearken, whereas thou saidst e'en now, that I was become a
part of thy life, how can that be? For if I become the poor
captive again, how canst thou get to me, thou who art
thyself a castaway, as thou hast told me? Yea, but even so,
I shall be too low for thee to come down to me.  And if I
become what I should be, then I must tell thee that I shall
be too high for thee to climb up to me; so that in one way
or other we shall be sundered, who have but met for an hour
or two."

He hung his head a while as they stood there face to face,
for both of them had arisen from the board; but presently he
looked up to her with glittering eyes, and said:  "Yea, for
an hour or two; why then do we tarry and linger, and say
what we have no will to say, and refrain from what our
hearts bid us?"

Therewith he caught hold of her right wrist, and laid his
hand on her left shoulder, and this first time that he had
touched her, it was as if a fire ran through all his body
and changed it into the essence of her:  neither was there
any naysay in her eyes, nor any defence against him in the
yielding body of her.  But even in that nick of time he drew
back a little, and turned his head, as a man listening,
toward the door, and said:  "Hist! hist! Dost thou hear,
maiden?" She turned deadly pale:  "O what is it? What is it?
Yea, I hear; it is horses drawing nigh, and the sound of
hounds baying.  But may it not be thy fellows coming back?"

"Nay, nay," he said; "they rode not in armour.  Hark to it!
and these hounds are deep-voiced sleuth-dogs! But come now,
there may yet be time."

He turned, and caught up axe and shield from off the wall,
and drew her toward a window that looked to the north, and
peered out of it warily; but turned back straightway, and
said:  "Nay, it is too late that way, they are all round
about the house. Maiden, get thou up into the solar by this
stair, and thou wilt find hiding-place behind the traverse
of the bed; and if they go away, and my fellows come in due
time, then art thou safe.  But if not, surely they shall do
thee no hurt; for I think, indeed, that thou art some great
one."

And he fell to striding down the hall toward the door; but
she ran after him, and caught his arm, and said:  "Nay, nay,
I will not hide, to be dragged out of my refuge like a
thief: thou sayest well that I am of the great; I will stand
by thee and command and forbid as a Queen.  O go not to the
door! Stay by me, stay!"

"Nay, nay," he said, "there is nought for it but the deed of
arms.  Look! seest thou not steel by the porch?"

And therewith he broke from her and ran to the door, and was
met upon the very threshold by all-armed men, upon whom he
fell without more ado, crying out:  "For the Tofts! For the
Tofts! The woodman to the rescue!" And he hewed right and
left on whatsoever was before him, so that what fell not,
gave back, and for a moment of time he cleared the porch;
but in that nick of time his axe brake on the basnet of a
huge man-at-arms, and they all thrust them on him together
and drave him back into the hall, and came bundling after
him in a heap.  But he drave his shield at one, and then
with his right hand smote another on the bare face, so that
he rolled over and stirred no more till the day of doom.
Then was there a weapon before him, might he have stooped to
pick it up; but he might not; so he caught hold of a sturdy
but somewhat short man by the collar and the lap of his
leather surcoat, and drew aback, and with a mighty heave
cast him on the rout of them, who for their parts had drawn
back a little also, as if he had been a huge stone, and down
went two before that artillery; and they set up a great roar
of wonder and fear.  But he followed them, and this time got
an axe in his hand, so mazed they were by his onset, and he
hewed at them again and drave them aback to the threshold of
the door:  but could get them no further, and they began to
handle long spears to thrust at him.

But then came forward a knight, no mickle man, but clad in
very goodly armour, with a lion beaten in gold on his green
surcoat; this man smote up the spears, and made the men go
back a little, while he stood on the threshold; so
Christopher saw that he would parley with him, and forbore
him, and the knight spake:  "Thou youngling, art thou mad?
What doest thou falling on my folk?"

"And what do ye," said Christopher fiercely, "besetting the
houses of folk with weapons? Now wilt thou take my life.
But I shall yet slay one or two before I die.  Get thee
back, lord, or thou shalt be the first."

But the knight, who had no weapon in his hand, said:  "We
come but to seek our own, and that is our Lady of Meadham,
who dwelleth at Greenharbour by her own will.  And if thou
wilt stand aside thou mayst go free to the devil for us."

Now would Christopher have shouted and fallen on, and gone
to his death there and then; but even therewith a voice,
clear and sweet, spake at the back of him, and said: "Thou
kind host, do thou stand aside and let us speak that which
is needful."  And therewith stepped forth Goldilind and
stood beside Christopher, and said:  "Sir Burgreve, we rode
forth to drink the air yesterday, and went astray amidst the
wild-wood, and were belated, so that we must needs lie down
under the bare heaven; but this morning we happened on this
kind forester, who gave us to eat, and took us to his house
and gave us meat and drink; for which it were seemlier to
reward him than threaten him.  Now it is our pleasure that
ye lead us back to Greenharbour; but as for this youth, that
ye do him no hurt, but let him go free, according to thy
word spoken e'en now, Sir Burgreve."

She spake slowly and heavily, as one who hath a lesson to
say, and it was to be seen of her that all grief was in her
heart, though her words were queenly.  Some of them that
heard laughed; but the Burgreve spake, and said:  "Lady, we
will do thy will in part, for we will lead thee to
Greenharbour in all honour; but as to this young man, if he
will not be slain here and now, needs must he with us.  For
he hath slain two of our men outright, and hath hurt many,
and, methinks, the devil of the woods is in his body.  So do
thou bid him be quiet, if thou wouldst not see his blood
flow."

She turned a pale unhappy face on Christopher, and said:
"My friend, we bid thee withstand them no more, but let them
do with thee as they will."

Christopher stood aside therewith, and sat down on a bench
and laughed, and said in a high voice:  "Stout men-at-arms,
forsooth, to take a maid's kirtle to their shield."

But therewith the armed men poured into the hall, and a half
dozen of the stoutest came up unto Christopher where he sat,
and bound his hands with their girdles, and he withstood
them no whit, but sat laughing in their faces, and made as
if it were all a Yule-tide game.  But inwardly his heart
burned with anger, and with love of that sweet Lady.

Then they made him stand up, and led him without the house,
and set him on a horse, and linked his feet together under
the belly thereof.  And when that was done he saw them lead
out the Lady, and they set her in a horse litter, and then
the whole troop rode off together, with two men riding on
either side of the said litter.  In this wise they left
Littledale.



CHAPTER XVII.

GOLDILIND COMES BACK TO GREENHARBOUR.


They rode speedily, and had with them men who knew the
woodland ways, so that the journey was nought so long thence
as Goldilind had made it thither; and they stayed not for
nightfall, since the moon was bright, so that they came
before the Castle-gate before midnight.  Now Goldilind
looked to be cast into prison, whatever might befall her
upon the morrow; but so it went not, for she was led
straight to her own chamber, and one of her women, but not
Aloyse, waited on her, and when she tried to have some
tidings of her, the woman spake to her no more than if she
were dumb.  So all unhappily she laid her down in her bed,
foreboding the worst, which she deemed might well be death
at the hand of her jailers.  As for Christopher, she saw the
last of him as they entered the Castle-gate, and knew not
what they had done with him.  So she lay in dismal thoughts,
but at last fell asleep for mere weariness.

When she awoke it was broad day, and there was someone going
about in the chamber; she turned, and saw that it was
Aloyse.  She felt sick at heart, and durst not move or ask
of tidings; but presently Aloyse turned, and came to the
bed, and made an obeisance, but spake not.  Goldilind raised
her head, and said wearily:  "What is to be done, Aloyse,
wilt thou tell me? For my heart fails me, and meseems,
unless they have some mercy, I shall die to-day."

"Nay," said the chambermaid, "keep thine heart up; for here
is one at hand who would see thee, when it is thy pleasure
to be seen."

"Yea," said Goldilind, "Dame Elinor to wit."  And she
moaned, and fear and heart-sickness lay so heavy on her
that she went nigh to swooning

But Aloyse lifted up her head, and brought her wine and made
her drink, and when Goldilind was come to herself again the
maid said:  "I say, keep up thine heart, for it is not Dame
Elinor and the rods that would see thee, but a mighty man;
nay, the most mighty, to wit, Earl Geoffrey, who is King of
Meadham in all but the name."

Goldilind did in sooth take heart at this tidings, and she
said:  "I wonder what he may have to do here; all this while
he hath not been to Greenharbour, or, mayhappen, it might
have been better for me."

"I wot not," said Aloyse, "but even so it is.  I shall tell
thee, the messenger, whose horse thou didst steal, brought
no other word in his mouth save this, that my Lord Earl was
coming; and come he did; but that was toward sunset, long
after they had laid the blood-hounds on thy slot, and I had
been whipped for letting thee find the way out a-gates. Now,
our Lady, when thou hast seen the Earl, and hast become our
Lady and Mistress indeed, wilt thou bethink thee of the morn
before yesterday on my behalf?"

"Yea," said Goldilind, "if ever it shall befall."

"Befall it shall," said Aloyse; "I dreamed of thee three
nights ago, and thou sitting on thy throne commanding and
forbidding the great men.  But at worst no harm hath
happened save to my shoulders and sides, by thy stealing
thyself, since thou hast come back in the nick of time, and
of thine own will, as men say.  But tell me now of thine
holiday, and if it were pleasant to thee?"

Goldilind fell a-weeping at the word, bethinking her of
yesterday morning, and Aloyse stood looking on her, but
saying nought.  At last spake Goldilind softly:  "Tell me,
Aloyse, didst thou hear any speaking of that young man who
was brought in hither last night? Have they slain him?"

Said Aloyse:  "Soothly, my Lady, I deem they have done him
no hurt, though I wot not for sure.  There hath been none
headed or hanged in the base-court to-day.  I heard talk
amongst the men-at-arms of one whom they took; they said he
was a wonder of sheer strength, and how that he cast their
men about as though he were playing at ball.  Sooth to say,
they seemed to bear him no grudge therefor.  But now I would
counsel thee to arise; and I am bidden to tire and array
thee at the best.  And now I would say a word in thine ear,
to wit, that Dame Elinor feareth thee somewhat this morn."

So Goldilind arose, and was arrayed like a very queen, and
was served of what she would by Aloyse and the other women,
and sat in her chamber awaiting the coming of the mighty
Lord of Meadham.



CHAPTER XVIII.

EARL GEOFFREY SPEAKS WITH GOLDILIND.


But a little while had she sat there, before footsteps a
many came to the door, which was thrown open, and straight
it was as if the sun had shone on a flower-bed, for there
was come Earl Geoffrey and his lords all arrayed most
gloriously.  Then came the Earl up the chamber to Goldilind,
and bent the knee before her, and said:  "Lady and Queen, is
it thy pleasure that thy servant should kiss thine hand?"

She made him little cheer, but reached out to him her lily
hand in its gold sleeve, and said:  "Thou must do thy will."

So he kissed the hand reverently, and said:  "And these my
lords, may they enter and do obeisance and kiss hands, my
Lady?"

Said Goldilind:  "I will not strive to gainsay their will,
or thine, my Lord."

So they entered and knelt before her, and kissed her hand;
and, to say sooth, most of them had been fain to kiss both
hands of her, yea, and her cheeks and her lips; though but
little cheer she made them, but looked sternly on them.

Then the Earl spake to her, and told her of her realm, and
how folk thrived, and of the deep peace that was upon the
land, and of the merry days of Meadham, and the praise of
the people.  And she answered him nothing, but as he spake
her bosom began to heave, and the tears came into her eyes
and rolled down her cheeks.  Then man looked on man, and the
Earl said:  "My masters, I deem that my Lady hath will to
speak to me privily, as to one who is her chiefest friend
and well-willer.  Is it so, my Lady?"

She might not speak for the tears that welled out from her
heart; but she bowed her head and strove to smile on him.

But the Earl waved his hand, and those lords, and the women
also, voided the chamber, and left those two alone, the Earl
standing before her.  But ere he could speak, she arose from
her throne and fell on her knees before him, and joined
hands palm to palm, and cried in a broken voice:  "Mercy!
Mercy! Have pity on my young life, great Lord!"

But he lifted her up, and set her on her throne again, and
said:  "Nay, my Lady, this is unmeet; but if thou wouldst
talk and tell with me I am ready to hearken."

She strove with her passion a while, and then she said:
"Great Lord, I pray thee to hearken, and to have patience
with a woman's weak heart.  Prithee, sit down here beside
me.

"It were unfitting," he said; "I shall take a lowlier seat."
Then he drew a stool to him, and sat down before her, and
said:  "What aileth thee? What wouldest thou?"

Then she said:  "Lord Earl, I am in prison; I would be
free."

Quoth he:  "Yea, and is this a prison, then?"

"Yea," she said, "since I may not so much as go out from it
and come back again unthreatened; yet have I been, and that
unseldom, in a worser prison than this:  do thou go look on
the Least Guard-chamber, and see if it be a meet dwelling
for thy master's daughter."

He spake nought awhile; then he said:  "And, yet if it
grieveth thee, it marreth thee nought; for when I look on
thee mine eyes behold the beauty of the world, and the body
wherein is no lack."

She reddened and said:  "If it be so, it is God's work, and
I praise him therefor.  But how long will it last? For grief
slayeth beauty."

He looked on her long, and said:  "To thy friends I betook
thee, and I looked that they should cherish thee; where then
is the wrong that I have done thee?"

She said:  "Maybe no wrong wittingly; since now, belike,
thou art come to tell me that all this weary sojourn is at
an end, and that thou wilt take me to Meadhamstead, and set
me on the throne there, and show my father's daughter to all
the people."

He held his peace, and his face grew dark before her while
she watched it.  At last he spake in a harsh voice:  "Lady,"
he said, "it may not be; here in Greenharbour must thou
abide, or in some other castle apart from the folk."

"Yea," she said, "now I see it is true, that which I
foreboded when first I came hither: thou wouldst slay me,
that thou mayest sit safely in the seat of thy master's
daughter; thou durst not send me a man with a sword to
thrust me through, therefore thou hast cast me into prison
amongst cruel jailers, who have been bidden by thee to take
my life slowly and with torments.  Hitherto I have withstood
their malice and thine; but now am I overcome, and since I
know that I must die, I have now no fear, and this is why I
am bold to tell thee this that I have spoken, though I wot
now I shall be presently slain. And now I tell thee I repent
it, that I have asked grace of a graceless face."

Although she spake strong words, it was with a mild and
steady voice.  But the Earl was sore troubled, and he rose
up and walked to and fro of the chamber, half drawing his
sword and thrusting it back into the scabbard from time to
time.  At last he came back to her, and sat down before her
and spake:

"Maiden, thou art somewhat in error.  True it is that I
would sit firm in my seat and rule the land of Meadham, as
belike none other could.  True it is also that I would have
thee, the rightful heir, dwell apart from the turmoil for a
while at least; for I would not have thy white hands thrust
me untimely from my place, or thy fair face held up as a
banner by my foemen.  Yet nowise have I willed thy death or
thine anguish; and if all be true as thou sayest it, and
thou art so lovely that I know not how to doubt it, tell me
then what these have done with thee."

She said:  "Sir, those friends to whom thou hast delivered
me are my foes, whether they were thy friends or not.  Wilt
thou compel me to tell thee all my shame? They have treated
me as a thrall who had whiles to play a queen's part in a
show.  To wit, thy chaplain whom thou hast given me has
looked on me with lustful eyes, and has bidden me buy of him
ease and surcease of pain with my very body, and hath
threatened me more evil else, and kept his behest."

Then leapt up the Earl and cried out:  "Hah! did he so? Then
I tell thee his monk's hood shall not be stout enough to
save his neck.  Now, my child, thou speakest; tell me more,
since my hair is whitening."

She said:  "The sleek, smooth-spoken woman to whom thou
gavest me, didst thou bid her to torment me with stripes,
and the dungeon, and the dark, and solitude, and hunger?"

"Nay, by Allhallows!" he said, "nor thought of it; trust me
she shall pay therefor if so she hath done."

She said:  "I crave no vengeance, but mercy I crave, and
thou mayst give it me."

Then were they both silent, till he said:  "Now I, for my
part, will pray thee bear what thou must bear, which shall
be nought save this, that thy queenship lie quiet for a
while; nought else of evil shall betide thee henceforth; but
as much of pleasure and joy as may go with it.  But tell me,
there is a story of thy snatching a holiday these two days,
and of a young man whom thou didst happen on.  Tell me now,
not as a maiden to her father or warder, but as a great lady
might tell a great lord, what betid betwixt you two:  for
thou art not one on whom a young and doughty man may look
unmoved.  By Allhallows! but thou art a firebrand, my Lady!"
And he laughed therewith.

Goldilind flushed red exceeding; but she answered steadily:
"Lord Earl, this is the very sooth, that I might not fail to
see it, how he thought me worth looking on, but he treated
me with all honour, as a brother might a sister."

"Tell me," said the Earl, "what like was this man?"

Said she:  "He was young, but strong beyond measure; and
full doughty:  true it is that I saw him with mine eyes take
and heave up one of our men in his hands and cast him away
as a man would a clod of earth."

The Earl knit his brow:  "Yea," said he, "and that story I
have heard from the men-at-arms also.  But what was the man
like of aspect?"

She reddened:  "He was of a most goodly body," she said,
"fair-eyed, and of a face well carven; his speech kind and
gentle."  And yet more she reddened.

Said the Earl:  "Didst thou hear what he was, this man?"

She said:  "I deem from his own words that he was but a
simple forester."

"Yea," quoth the Earl, "a simple forester? Nay, but a
woodman, an outlaw, a waylayer; so say our men, that he fell
on them with the cry:  A-Tofts! A-Tofts! Hast thou never
heard of Jack of the Tofts?"

"Nay, never," said she.

Said the Earl:  "He is the king of these good fellows; and a
perilous host they be.  Now I fear me, if he be proven to be
one of these, there will be a gallows reared for him to-
morrow, for as fair and as doughty as he may be."

She turned all pale, and her lips quivered:  then she rose
up, and fell on her knees before the Earl, and cried out:
"O sir, a grace, a grace, I pray thee! Pardon this poor man
who was so kind to me!"

The Earl raised her up and smiled, and said:  "Nay, my Lady
Queen, wouldst thou kneel to me? It is unmeet.  And as for
this woodman, it is for thee to pardon him, and not for me;
and since, by good luck, he is not hanged yet, thy word hath
saved his neck."  She sat down in her chair again, but still
looked white and scared.  But the Earl spake again, and
kindly:

"Now to all these matters I shall give heed, my Lady;
wherefore I will ask leave of thee, and be gone; and
to-morrow I will see thee again, and lay some rede before
thee. Meantime, be of good cheer, for thou shalt be made as
much of as may be, and live in mickle joy if thou wilt.  And
if any so much as give thee a hard word, it shall be the
worse for them."

Therewith he arose, and made obeisance to her, and departed.
And she abode quiet, and looking straight before her, till
the door shut, and then she put her hands to her face and
fell a-weeping, and scarce knew what ailed her betwixt hope,
and rest of body, and love, though that she called not by
its right name.



CHAPTER XIX.

EARL GEOFFREY SPEAKETH WITH CHRISTOPHER.


Now it is to be said that the Earl had had much tidings told
him of Christopher, and had no intent to put him to death,
but rather meant to take him into the company of his guard,
to serve him in all honour; and that which he said as to
hanging him was but to try Goldilind; but having heard and
seen of her such as we have told, he now thought it good to
have a privy talk with this young man.  So he bade a squire
lead him to where Christopher was held in ward, and went
much pondering.

So the squire brought him to the self-same Littlest
Guardroom (in sooth a prison) where Goldilind had lain that
other morn; and he gave the squire leave, and entered and
shut the door behind him, so that he and Christopher were
alone together.  The young man was lying on his back on the
pallet, with his hands behind his head, and his knees drawn
up, murmuring some fag-end of an old song; but when he heard
the door shut to he sat up, and, turning to the new-comer,
said:  "Art thou tidings? If so, then tell me quickly which
it is to be, the gallows or freedom?"

"Friend," said the Earl sternly, "dost thou know who I am?"

"Nay," said Christopher; "by thine attire thou shouldst be
some great man; but that is of little matter to me, since
thou wilt neither bid slay me, or let me go, for a heedless
word.

Quoth the Earl:  "I am the master of the land of Meadham, so
there is no need to tell thee that I have thy life or death
in my hand.  Now thou wilt not deny that thou art of the
company of Jack o' the Tofts?"

"It is sooth," said Christopher.

"Well," said the Earl, "thou art bold then to have come
hither, for thou sayest it that thou art a wolf's-head and
forfeit of thy life.  Now, again, thou didst take the Lady
of Meadham home to thy house yesterday, and wert with her
alone a great while.  Now according to thy dealings with her
thou dost merit either the most evil of deaths, or else it
may be a reward:  hah! what sayest thou?"

Christopher leapt up, and said in a loud voice:  "Lord King,
whatsoever I may be, I am not each man's dastard; when I saw
that pearl of all women, I loved her indeed, as who should
not, but it was even as I had loved the Mother of God had
she come down from the altar picture at the Church of
Middleham of the Wood.  And whoso saith otherwise, I give
him the lie back in his teeth, and will meet him face to
face if I may; and then, meseems, it will go hard with him."

Spake the Earl, laughing:  "I will be no champion against
thee, for I hold my skin and my bones of too much price
thereto.  And, moreover, though meseemeth the Blessed Virgin
would have a hot lover in thee were she to come down to
earth anigh thy dwelling, yet trow I thy tale, that thou
hast dealt with my Lady in honour.  Therefore, lad, what
sayest thou, wilt thou be a man of mine, and bear arms for
me, and do my will?"

Spake Christopher:  "Lord, this is better than hanging."

"Why, so it is, lad," said the Earl, laughing again, "and
some would say better by a good deal.  But hearken! if thou
take it, thou must abide here in Greenharbour--a long while,
maybe; yea, even so long as my Lady dwelleth here."

Christopher flushed and said:  "Lord, thou art kind and
gracious, and I will take thy bidding."

The Earl said:  "Well, so it shall be then; and presently
thou shalt go out of this guard-room a free man.  But abide
a while."

Therewith he drew a stool to him and sat down, and spake not
for a long while; and Christopher abode his pleasure; at
last spake the Earl:  "One day, mayhappen, we may make a
wedding for thee, and that no ill one."

Christopher laughed:  "Lord," said he, "what lady will wed
me, a no man's son?"

Said the Earl:  "Not if the Lord of Meadham be thy friend?
Well then, how if the Lady and Queen of Meadham make thee
the wedding?"

Said Christopher:  "I were liefer to make mine own wedding,
whenso I need a woman in my bed:  I will compel no woman,
nor ask others to compel her."

The Earl rose up, and fell to pacing the prison to and fro;
and at last he stood over against Christopher, and said:
"Hearken, forester:  I will foretell thy fortune; it is that
thou shalt become great by wedding."

Christopher held his peace; and the Earl spake again:  "Now
is the shortest word best. We deem thee both goodly and
doughty, and would wed thee to a great lady, even that one
to whom thou hast shown kindness in the wilderness."

Said Christopher:  "It is the wont of great lords to mock
poor folk, therefore I must not show anger against thee."

"I mock thee not," said the Earl; "I mean nought, but as my
words say."

"Nay then," said Christopher, "thou biddest me an evil deed,
great Lord.  What I said was that I would compel no woman;
and shall I compel her who is the wonder of the world and my
very own Lady?"

"Hold thy peace, sir fool," said the Earl; "let me tell thee
that she is as like to compel thee as thou her.  And as to
her being thy Lady, she shall be thy Lady and wife indeed;
but not here, for above all things will she get her away
from Greenharbour, and thou shalt be her champion, to lead
her about the world like a knight errant."

Now was Christopher so troubled that he knew not what
countenance to make, and scarce might he get a word out of
his mouth a long while.  At last he said:  "Lord, I see that
I must needs do thy will if this be no trap which thou hast
set for me.  But overwonderful it is, that a great lady
should be wedded to a gangrel churl."

The Earl laughed:  "Many a ferly fares to the fair-eyed,"
quoth he; "and also I will tell thee in thine ear that this
Lady may not be so great as her name is great.  Did she
praise her life-days to thee?"

"Nay," said Christopher; "I mind me well, she called herself
the poor captive."

"She said but sooth," quoth the Earl; "and her going away
from Greenharbour is instead of her captivity; and I tell
thee it is by that only I may make her joyous.  And now one
word:  thou that criest out For the Tofts in battle art not
altogether unfriended, meseemeth."

Christopher looked up proudly and fiercely:  he said:
"Forsooth, Lord, my friends are good, though thou callest
them wolf-heads and gallows-meat."

"Champion," said the Earl, laughing, "that may well be
sooth; and there are a many ups and downs in the world.
Bethink thee that the time may come when thou and thy
friends may wend to my help, and may win the names of knight
and baron and earl: such hap hath been aforetime.  And now I
crave of thee, when thou comest back to the Tofts, to bid
Jack fall upon other lands than Meadham when he rideth,
because of the gift and wedding that I give thee now.  So,
lad, I deem that thou hast chosen thy part; but let not the
tale thereof go out of thy mouth, or thou wilt gab away thy
wedding.  Lo, thou, I leave this door open behind me; and
presently shall the smith come here to do away thine irons;
and I shall send a squire to thee to lead thee to a fair
chamber, and to bring thee goodly raiment, and do thou play
amongst thy fellows as one of the best of them; and show
them, if thou wilt, some such feats in peace as yesterday
thou showedst them in battle.  And to-morrow there will be
new tidings."  And therewith he departed.

No worse than his word he was, and anon came the smith and
the squire; and he was brought to a chamber, and raiment of
fine linen and silk and embroidery was brought to him:  and
when he was new clad he looked like a king's son, whereas
aforetime he looked like a God of the Gentiles of old.  All
men praised his beauty and his courtesy, and after dinner
was, and they had rested, they bade him play with them and
show them his prowess, and he was nought loth thereto, and
did what he might in running and leaping, and casting of the
bar, and shooting in the bow.  And in all these things he
was so far before everyone, that they marvelled at him, and
said it was well indeed that he had not been slain
yesterday.  As to wrestling, therein he might do but little;
for all forbore him after the first man had stood before
him, a squire, well learned in war, and long and tough, and
deemed a very stark man; him Christopher threw over his
shoulder as though he had been a child of twelve years.  So
wore the day at Greenharbour in merrier wise for all good
folk than for many a day had been the wont there.



CHAPTER XX.

OF THE WEDDING OF CHRISTOPHER AND GOLDILIND.


Early on the morrow came the Earl unto Goldilind, and she
received him gladly, as one who had fashioned life anew for
her.  And when he had sat down by her, he spake and said:
"Lady, thou cravedst of me yesterday two things; the first
was freedom from the captivity of Greenharbour; and the
second, life and liberty for the varlet that cherished thee
in the wild-wood the other day.  Now thy first asking
grieved me, for that thou hast been tyrannously done by; and
thy second I wondered at; but since I have seen the young
man, I wonder the less; for he is both so goodly, and so
mighty of body, and of speech bold and free, yet gentle and
of all courtesy, that he is meet to be knight or earl, yea,
or very king.  Now, therefore, in both these matters I will
well to do thy pleasure, and in one way it may be; and thou
mayst then go forth from Greenharbour as free as a bird, and
thy varlet's life may be given unto him, and mickle honour
therewith.  Art thou, then, willing to do after my rede and
my commandment, so that both these good things may betide
thee?"

"Right willing am I," she said, "to be free and happy and to
save the life of a fair youth and kind."

"Then," said he, "there is one thing for thee to do:  that
this day thou wed this fair and kind youth, and let him lead
thee forth from Greenharbour; and, belike, he will bring
thee to no ill stead; for his friends are mightier than
mayhappen thou deemest."

She turned as red as blood at his word; she knit her brows,
and her eyes flashed as she answered:  "Is it seemly for a
King's daughter to wed a nameless churl? And now I know
thee, Lord Earl, what thou wouldst do; thou wouldst be King
of Meadham and put thy master's daughter to the road."  And
she was exceeding wroth.

But he said, smiling somewhat:  "Was it then seemly for the
King's daughter to kneel for this man's life, and go near to
swooning for joy when it was granted to her?"

"Yea," she said, "for I love him with all my body and soul;
and I would have had him love me par amours, and then should
I have been his mistress and he my servant; but now shall he
be my master and I his servant."  And still was she very
wroth.

Quoth the Earl:  "As to the matter of my being King of
Meadham, that will I be, whatever befall, or die in the
place else.  So if thou wilt not do my rede, then must the
varlet whom thou lovest die, and at Greenharbour must thou
abide with Dame Elinor. There is no help for it."

She shrieked out at that word of his, and well nigh swooned,
lying back in her chair: but presently fell a-weeping
sorely.  But the Earl said:  "Hearken, my Lady, I am not
without warrant to do this.  Tell me, hast thou ever seen
any fairer or doughtier than this youngling?"

"Never," said she.

"So say we all," he said.  "Now I shall tell thee (and I can
bring witness to it) that in his last hour the King, thy
father, when he gave thee into my keeping, spake also this:
that I should wed thee to none save the fairest and
doughtiest man that might be found:  even so would I do now.
What then sayest thou?"

She answered not, but still wept somewhat; then said the
Earl:  "Lady, give me leave, and I shall send thy women to
thee, and sit in the great hall for an hour, and if within
that while thou send a woman of thine to say one word, Yes,
unto me, then is all well. But if not, then do I depart from
Greenharbour straightway, and take the youngling with me to
hang him up on the first tree.  Be wise, I pray thee."

And therewith he went his ways.  But Goldilind, being left
alone a little, rose up and paced the chamber to and fro,
and her tears and sobbing ceased; and a great and strange
joy grew up in her heart, mingled with the pain of longing,
so that she might rest in nowise.  Even therewith the door
opened, and her women entered, Aloyse first, and she called
to her at once, and bade her to find Earl Geoffrey in the
great hall, and say to him:  Yes.  So Aloyse went her ways,
and Goldilind bade her other women to array her in the best
and goodliest wise that they might.  And the day was yet
somewhat young. Now it must besaid of Earl Geoffrey that, in
spite of his hard word, he had it not in his heart either to
slay Christopher or to leave Goldilind at Greenharbour to
the mercy of Dame Elinor.



CHAPTER XXI.

OF THE WEDDING OF THOSE TWAIN.


Now were folk gathered in the hall, and the Earl Geoffrey
was standing on the dais by the high-seat, and beside him a
worthy clerk, the Abbot of Meadhamstead, a monk of St.
Benedict, and next to him the Burgreve of Greenharbour, and
then a score of knights all in brave raiment, and squires
withal, and sergeants; but down in the hall were the men-
at-arms and serving-men, and a half hundred of folk of the
countryside, queans as well as carles, who had been gathered
for the show and bidden in.  No other women were there in
the hall till Goldilind and her serving-women entered.  She
went straight up the hall, and took her place in the
high-seat; and for all that her eyes seemed steady, she had
noted Christopher standing by the shot-window just below the
dais.

Now when she was set down, and there was silence in the
hall, Earl Geoffrey came forth and said:  "Lords and
knights, and ye good people, the Lady Goldilind, daughter of
the Lord King Roland that last was, is now of age to wed;
and be it known unto you, that the King, her father, bade
me, in the last words by him spoken, to wed her to none but
the loveliest and strongest that might be, as witness I can
bring hereto.  Now such a man have I sought hereto in
Meadhamstead and the much-peopled land of Meadham, and none
have I come on, however worthy he were of deeds, or
well-born of lineage, but that I doubted me if he were so
fair or so doughty as might be found; but here in this half-
desert corner of the land have I gotten a man than whom none
is doughtier, as some of you have found to your cost.  And
tell me all you, where have ye seen any as fair as this
man?" And therewith he made a sign with his hand, and forth
strode Christopher up on to the dais; and he was so clad,
that his kirtle was of white samite, girt with a girdle of
goldsmith's work, whereby hung a good sword of like fashion,
and over his shoulders was a mantle of red cloth-of-gold,
furred with ermine, and lined with green sendall; and on his
golden curled locks sat a chaplet of pearls.

Then to the lords and all the people he seemed so fair and
fearless and kind that they gave a great shout of welcome;
and Goldilind came forth from her chair, as fair as a June
lily, and came to Christopher and reached out her hand to
him, but he refrained him a moment, so that all they could
see how sweet and lovely a hand it was, and then he took it,
and drew her to him, and kissed her mouth before them all;
and still he held her hand, till the Abbot of Meadhamstead
aforetold came and stood by them and blessed them.

Then spake the Earl again:  "Lo ye, here hath been due
betrothal of these twain, and ye may see how meet they be
for each other in goodliness and kindness.  Now there
lacketh nought but they should be wedded straightway; and
all is arrayed in the chapel; wherefore if this holy man
will come with us and do on his mass-hackle, our joy shall
be fulfilled; save that thereafter shall feast and merriment
await all you in this hall, and we shall be there to welcome
all comers in this house of Greenharbour, whereas this our
gracious Lady has long abided so happily."

Man looked on man here and there, and smiled a little as he
spake, but none said aught, for there were none save the
Earl's servants there, and a sort of poor wretches.

So therewithal they went their ways to the chapel where was
the wedding done as grandly as might be, considering they
were in no grander place than Greenharbour. And when all was
done, and folk began to flow away from the chapel, and
Goldilind sat shamefaced but strangely happy in a great
stall of the choir, the Earl called Christopher unto him,
and said:  "My lad, I deem that some great fortune shall
betide thee since already thou hast begun so luckily.  But I
beseech thee mar not thy fortune by coming back with thy
fair wife to the land of Meadham; or else it may be thou
shalt cast thy life away, and that will bring her sorrow, as
I can see well."

He spake this grimly, though he smiled as he spake.  But he
went on more gently:  "I will not send you twain away
empty-handed; when ye go out a-gates into the wide world, ye
shall find two fair horses for your riding, well bedight,
and one with a woman's saddle; and, moreover, a sumpter
beast, not very lightly burdened, for on one side of him he
beareth achest wherein is, first of all, the raiment of my
Lady, and beneath it some deal of silver and gold and gems;
but on the other side is victual and drink for the way for
you, and raiment for thee, youngling.  How sayest thou, is
it well?"

"It is well, Lord," said Christopher; "yet would I have with
me the raiment wherewith I came hither, and my bow and my
sax."

"Yea and wherefore, carle?" said Earl Geoffrey.

Said the youngling:  "We be going to ride the wild-wood, and
it might be better for safety's sake that I be so clad as
certain folk look to see men ride there."

But he reddened as he spake; and the Earl said:  "By
Allhallows! but it is not ill thought of; and, belike, the
same-like kind of attire might be better to hide the
queenship of the Lady from the wood-folk than that which now
she weareth?"

"True is that, Lord," quoth Christopher.

"Yet," said the Earl, "l will have you go forth from the
Castle clad in your lordly weed, lest folk of mine say that
I have stripped my Lady and cast her forth:  don ye your
poor raiment when in the wood ye be."

Therewith he called to a squire, and bade him seek out that
poor raiment of the new-wedded youngling, and bow withal
and shafts good store, and do all on the sumpter; and,
furthermore, he bade him tell one of my Lady's women to set
on the sumpter some of Goldilind's old and used raiment.  So
the squire did the Earl's will, and both got Christopher's
gear and also found Aloyse and gave her the Earl's word.

She smiled thereat, and went straightway and fetched the
very same raiment, green gown and all, which she had brought
to Goldilind in prison that other day, and in which
Goldilind had fled from Greenharbour.  And when she had done
them in the chest above all the other gear, she stood yet
beside the horses amidst of the varlets and squires who were
gathered there to see the new-wedded folk depart.

Presently then came forth through the gate those two, hand
in hand, and Earl Geoffrey with them.  And he set Goldilind
on her horse himself, and knelt before her to say farewell,
and therewith was Christopher on his horse, and him the Earl
saluted debonairly.

But just as they were about shaking their reins to depart,
Aloyse fell down on her knees before the Earl, who said:
"What is toward, woman?"

"A grace, my Lord, a grace," said she.

"Stand up on thy feet," said the Earl, "and ye, my masters,
draw out of earshot."

Even so did they; and the Earl bade her speak, and she said:
"Lord, my Lady is going away from Greenharbour, and anon
thou wilt be going, and I shall be left with the sleek
she-devil yonder that thou hast set over us, and here there
will be hell for me without escape, now that my Lady is
gone.  Wherefore I pray thee take me with thee to
Meadhamstead, even if it be to prison; for here I shall die
the worst of deaths."

Earl Geoffrey smiled on her sourly, and said:  "If it be as
I understand, that thou hast lifted thine hand against my
Lady, wert thou wending with me, thou shouldst go just so
far as the first tree.  Thou mayst deem thyself lucky if I
leave thee behind here.  Nor needest thou trouble thee
concerning Dame Elinor; little more shalt thou hear of her
henceforward."

But Goldilind spake and said:  "My Lord Earl, I would ask
grace for this one; for what she did to me she did
compelled, and not of her free will, and I forgive it her.
And moreover, this last time she suffered in her body for
the helping of me; so if thou mightest do her asking I were
the better pleased."

"It shall be as thou wilt, my Lady," said the Earl, "and I
will have her with me and keep her quiet in Meadhamstead;
but, by Allhallows! had it not been for thy word we would
have had her whipped into the wild-wood, and hanged up on to
a tree thereafter."

Then Aloyse knelt before Goldilind and kissed her feet, and
wept, and drew back pale and trembling.  But Goldilind shook
her rein once for all now, and her apple-grey horse went
forth with her; Christopher came after, leading the sumpter
beast, and forth they went, and passed over the open green
about the Castle, and came on to the woodland way whereby
Goldilind had fled that other time.



CHAPTER XXII.

OF THE WOODLAND BRIDE-CHAMBER.


They rode in silence a good way, and it was some three hours
after noon, and the day as fair and bright as might be.
Christopher held his peace for sweet shame that he was alone
with a most fair maid, and she his own, and without defence
against him.  But she amidst of her silence turned, now red,
and now somewhat pale, and now and again she looked somewhat
askance on him, and he deemed her looks were no kinder than
they should be.

At last she spake, yet not looking on him, and said:  "So,
Forester, now is done what I must needs do:  thy life is
saved, and I am quit of Greenharbour, and its prison, and
its torments:  whither away then?"

Quoth he, all dismayed, for her voice was the voice of
anger:  "I wot not whither, save to the house thou hast
blessed already with thy dear body."

At that word she turned quite pale, and trembled, and spake
not for a while, and smote her horse and hastened on the
way, and he after her; but when he was come up with her
again, then she said, still not looking at him:  "A house of
woodmen and wolf-heads.  Is that a meet dwelling-place for
me? Didst thou hear men at Greenharbour say that I am a
Queen?"

"Hear them I did," quoth he; "but meseemeth nought like a
Queen had they done with thee."

She said:  "And dost thou mock me with that? thou?" And she
burst out weeping.  He answered not, for sore grief smote
him, remembering her hand in his but a little while ago.
And again she hurried on, and he followed her.

When he came up with her she said:  "And thou, didst thou
woo me as a Queen?"

"Lady," he said, "I wooed thee not at all; I was given to
thee, would I, would I not:  great joy was that to me."

Then said she:  "Thou sayest sooth, thou hast not wooed me,
but taken me."  She laughed therewith, as one in bitterness.
But presently she turned to him, and he wondered, for in her
face was longing and kindness nought like to her words.  But
he durst not speak to her lest he should anger her, and she
turned her face from him again: and she said:  "Wert thou
given to me? meseems I was given to thee, would I, would I
not; the Queen to the Churl, the Wood-man, the Wolf-head."
And again she rode on, and he followed, sick at heart and
wondering sorely.

When they were riding together again, they spake not to each
other, though she stole glances at him to see how he fared;
but he rode on with knit brows and a stern countenance.  So
in a while she began to speak to him again, but as if there
were nought but courtesy between them, and neither love nor
hatred.  She fell to asking him of woodland matters,
concerning bird and beast and things creeping; and at first
he would scarce answer her at all, and then were his answers
short; but at last, despite of all, he began to forget both
grief and anger, so much the sweetness of her speech wound
about his heart; and, withal, she fell to asking him of his
fellows and their life in the woods, and of Jack of the
Tofts and the like; and now he answered her questions fully,
and whiles she laughed at his words, and he laughed also;
and all pleasure had there been of this converse, if he had
not beheld her from time to time and longed for the fairness
of her body, and feared her wrath at his longing.

So wore the day, and the sun was getting low, and they were
come to another woodland pool which was fed by a
clear-running little brook, and up from it went a low bank
of greensward exceeding sweet, and beyond that oak trees
wide-branched and great, and still fair greensward beneath
them and hazel-thicket beyond them.  There, then, Goldilind
reined up, and looked about her, but Christopher looked on
her and nought else.  But she said:  "Let to-morrow bring
counsel; but now am I weary to-night, and if we are not to
ride night-long, we shall belike find no better place to
rest in.  Wilt thou keep watch while I sleep?"

"Yea," he said, bowing his head to her soberly; and
therewith he got off his horse, and would have helped her
down from hers, but she slipped lightly down and stood
before him face to face, and they were very nigh to each
other, she standing close to her horse. Her face was pale to
his deeming and there was a piteous look in her eyes, so
that he yearned towards her in his bowels, and reached his
hand toward her; but she shrank aback, leaning against her
horse, and said in a trembling voice, looking full at him,
and growing yet paler:  "Forester, dost thou think it seemly
that thou shouldst ride with us, thou such as thou hast told
thyself to be, in this lordly raiment, which they gave thee
yonder as part of the price for thy leading us away into the
wild-wood?"

"Lady," said he, "whether it be seemly or not, I see that it
is thy will that I should go clad as a woodland churl; abide
a little, and thy will shall be done."

Therewith he did off the burden from the sumpter horse, and
set the chests on the earth; then he took her horse gently,
and led him with the other two in under the oak trees, and
there he tethered them so that they could bite the grass;
and came back thereafter, and took his old raiment out of
the chest, and said:  "What thou wilt have me do, I will do
now; and this all the more as to-morrow I should have done
it unbidden, and should have prayed thee to do on garments
less glorious than now thou bearest; so that we may look the
less strange in the woodland if we chance to fall in with
any man.

Nought she answered as he turned toward the hazel copse; she
had been following him with her eyes while he was about that
business, and when his back was turned, she stood a moment
till her bosom fell a-heaving, and she wept; then she turned
her about to the chest wherein was her raiment, and went
hastily and did off her glorious array, and did on the green
gown wherewith she had fled, and left her feet bare withal.
Then she looked up and saw Christopher, how he was coming
from out the hazel-thicket new clad in his old raiment, and
she cried out aloud, and ran toward him.  But he doubted
that some evil had betid, and that she was chased; so he
drew out his sword; but she ran up to him and cried out:
"Put up thy sword, here is none save me."

But he stood still, gazing on her in wonderment, and now she
was drawn near to him she stood still before him, panting.
Then he said:  "Nay, Lady, for this night there was no need
of thy disguising thee, to-morrow it had been soon enough."

She said:  "I were fain if thou wouldst take my hand, and
lead me back to our resting-place."

Even so he did, and as their palms met he felt how her hand
loved him, and a flood of sweetness swept over his heart,
and made an end of all its soreness.  But he led her quietly
back again to their place.  Then she turned to him and said:
"Now art thou the woodland god again, and the courtier no
more; so now will I worship thee."  And she knelt down
before him, and embraced his knees and kissed them; but he
drew her up to him, and cast his arms about her, and kissed
her face many times, and said:  "Now art thou the poor
captive again."

She said:  "Now hast thou forgiven me; but I will tell thee
that my wilfulness and folly was not all utterly feigned;
though when I was about it I longed for thee to break it
down with the fierceness of a man, and bid me look to it how
helpless I was, and thou how strong and my only defence.
Not utterly feigned it was:  for I will say it, that I was
grieved to the heart when I bethought me of Meadhamstead and
the seat of my fathers. What sayest thou then? Shalt thou be
ever a woodman in these thickets, and a follower of Jack of
the Tofts? If so thou wilt, it is well."

He took her by the shoulders and bent her backwards to kiss
her, and held her up above the earth in his arms, waving her
this way and that, till she felt how little and light she
was in his grasp, though she was no puny woman; then he set
her on her feet again, and laughed in her face, and said:
"Sweetling, let to-morrow bring counsel.  But now let it all
be:  thou hast said it, thou art weary; so now will I dight
thee a bed of our mantles, and thou shalt lie thee down, and
I shall watch thee as thou badest me."

Therewith he went about, and plucked armfuls of the young
bracken, and made a bed wide and soft, and spread the
mantles thereover.

But she stood awhile looking on him; then she said:  "Dost
thou think to punish me for my wilful folly, and to shame me
by making me speak to thee?"

"Nay," he said, "it is not so."

She said:  "I am not shamed in that I say to thee:  if thou
watch this night, I will watch by thee; and if I lie down to
rest this night, thou shalt lie by me.  For my foemen have
given me to thee, and now shalt thou give thyself to me."

So he drew near to her shyly, like unto one who hath been
forgiven.  And there was their bridal bed, and nought but
the oak boughs betwixt them and the bare heavens.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THEY FALL IN WITH FRIENDS.


Now awoke Goldilind when the morning was young and fresh,
and she drew the mantle up over her shoulders; and as she
did so, but half awake, she deemed she heard other sounds
than the singing of the black-birds and throstles about the
edge of the thicket, and she turned her eyes toward the oak
trees and the hazel-thicket, and saw at once three of
mankind coming on foot over the greensward toward her.  She
was afraid, so that she durst not put out a hand to awaken
Christopher, but sat gazing on those three as they came
toward her; she saw that two were tall men, clad much as
Christopher; but presently she saw that there was a woman
with them, and she took heart somewhat thereat; and she
noted that one of the men was short-haired and dark-haired,
and the other had long red hair falling about his shoulders;
and as she put out her hand and laid it on Christopher's
shoulder, the red-haired one looked toward her a moment
under the sharp of his hand (for the sun was on their side),
and then set off running, giving out a great whoop
therewithal.  Even therewith leapt up Christopher, still
half awake, and the red-haired man ran right up to him, and
caught him by the shoulders, and kissed him on both cheeks;
so that Goldilind saw that these were the fellows whereof
Christopher had told, and she stood there shame-fast and
smiling.

Presently came up the others, to wit, Gilbert and Joanna,
and they also kissed and embraced Christopher, and all they
were as full of joy as might be.  Then came Joanna to
Goldilind, and said:  "I wot not who this may be, brother,
yet meseems she will be someone who is dear to thee,
wherefore is she my sister."  And therewith she kissed
Goldilind; and she was kind, and sweet of flesh, and goodly
of body, and Goldilind rejoiced in her.

Joanna made much of her, and said to her:  "Here is to do,
whereas two men have broken into a lady's chamber; come,
sister, let us to the thicket, and I will be thy tiring-
maid, and while these others tell their tales we shall tell
ours."  And she took her hand and they went into the hazels;
but the two new-come men seemed to find it hard to keep
their eyes off Goldilind, till the hazels had hidden her.

Then turned David to Christopher, and said:  "Thy pardon,
little King, that we have waked thee so early; but we wotted
not that thou hadst been amongst the wood-women; and, sooth
to say, my lad, we had little ease till we found thee, after
we came home and saw all those hoof-marks yonder."

"Yea," said Gilbert, "if we had lost thee we had been finely
holpen up, for we could neither have gone back to the Tofts
nor into the kingdom:  for I think my father would have
hanged us if we had come back with a 'By the way,
Christopher is slain.' But tell us, lad, what hath befallen
thee with yonder sweetling?"

"Yea, tell us," said David, "and sit down here betwixt us,
with thy back to the hazel-thicket, or we shall get no tale
out of thee--tush, man, Joanna will bring her back, and that
right soon, I hope."

Christopher laughed, and sat down between them, and told all
how it had gone with him, and of Goldilind, who she was.
The others hearkened heedfully, and Gilbert said: "With all
thou hast told us, brother, it is clear we shall find it
hard to dwell in Littledale; so soon as thy loveling hath
rested her at our house, we must go our ways to the Tofts,
and take counsel of our father."

Christopher yea-said this, and therewithal was come Joanna
leading Goldilind duly arrayed (yet still in her green gown,
for she would none other), fresh, blushing, and all lovely;
and David and Christopher did obeisance before her as to a
great lady; but she hailed them as brothers, merrily and
kindly, and bade them kiss her; and they kissed her cheek,
but shyly, and especially David.

Thereafter they broke their fast under the oak trees, and
spent a merry hour, and then departed, the two women riding
the horses, the others afoot; so came they to the house of
Littledale, some while before sunset, and were merry and
glad there.  Young they were, troubles were behind them, and
many a joy before them.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THEY TAKE COUNSEL AT LITTLEDALE.


Ten days they abode in the house of Littledale in all good
cheer, and Joanna led Goldilind here and there about the
woods, and made much of her, so that the heart within her
was full of joy, for the freedom of the wild-woods and all
the life thereof was well-nigh new to her; whereas on the
day of her flight from Greenharbour, and on two other such
times, deadly fear, as is aforesaid, was mingled with her
joyance, and would have drowned it utterly, but for the
wilfulness which hardened her heart against the punishment
to come.  But now she was indeed free, and it seemed to her,
as to Christopher when he was but new healed of his hurt, as
if all this bright beauty of tree and flower, and beast and
bird, was but made for her alone, and she wondered that her
fellow could be so calm and sedate amidst of all this
pleasure.  And now, forsooth, was her queenhood forgotten,
and better and better to her seemed Christopher's valiant
love; and the meeting in the hall of the eventide was so
sweet to her, that she might do little but stand trembling
whiles Christopher came up to her, and Joanna's trim feet
were speeding her over the floor to meet her man, that she
might be a sharer in his deeds of the day.

Many tales withal Joanna told the Queen of the deeds of her
husband and his kindred, and of the freeing of her and the
other three from their captivity at Wailing Knowe, and of
the evil days they wore there before the coming of their
lads, which must have been worser by far, thought Goldilind,
than the days of Greenharbour; so with all these tales, and
the happy days in the house of the wild-woods, Goldilind now
began to deem of this new life as if there had been none
other fated for her, so much a part was she now become of
the days of those woodmen and wolf-heads.

But when the last of those ten days was wearing to an end
and those five were sitting happy in the hall (albeit David
sat somewhat pensive, now staring at Goldilind's beauty, now
rising from his seat to pace the floor restlessly), Gilbert
spake and said:  "Brethren, and thou, Queen Goldilind, it
may be that the time is drawing near for other deeds than
letting fly a few shafts at the dun deer, and eating our
meat, and singing old songs as we lie at our ladies' feet;
for though we be at peace here in the wild-wood, forgetting
all things save those that are worthy to be remembered, yet
in the cities and the courts of kings guile is not
forgotten, and pride is alive, and tyranny, and the sword is
whetted for innocent lives, and the feud is eked by the
destruction of those who be sackless of its upheaving.
Wherefore it behoveth to defend us by the ready hand and the
bold heart and the wise head.  So, I say, let us loiter here
no longer, but go our ways to-morrow to the Tofts, and take
the rede of our elders.  How say ye, brethren?"

Quoth Christopher:  "Time was, brother, when what thou
sayest would have been as a riddle to me, and I would have
said:  Here are we merry, though we be few; and if ye lack
more company, let me ride to the Tofts and come back with a
half score of lads and lasses, and thus let us eke our
mirth; and maybe they will tell us whitherward to ride. But
now there is a change, since I have gained a gift over-great
for me, and I know that they shall be some of the great ones
who would be eager to take it from me; and who knows what
guile may be about the weaving even now, as on the day when
thou first sawest this hall, beloved."

Goldilind spake and sighed withal:  "Whither my lord will
lead me, thither will I go; but here is it fair and sweet
and peaceful; neither do I look for it that men will come
hither to seek the Queen of Meadham."

David said:  "Bethink thee, though, my Lady, that he who
wedded thee to the woodman may yet rue, and come hither to
undo his deed, by slaying the said woodman, and showing the
Queen unto the folk."

Goldilind turned pale; but Joanna spake:  "Nay, brother
David, why wilt thou prick her heart with this fear? For my
part, I think that, chance-hap apart, we might dwell here
for years in all safety, and happily enough, maybe.  Yet
also I say that we of the Tofts may well be eager to show
this jewel to our kindred, and especially to our father and
mother of the Tofts; so to-morrow we will set about the
business of carrying her thither, will she, nill she."  And
therewith she threw her arms about Goldilind, and clipped
her and kissed her; and Goldilind reddened for pleasure and
for joy that she was so sore prized by them all.



CHAPTER XXV.

NOW THEY ALL COME TO THE TOFTS.


Next morning, while the day was yet young, they rode
together, all of them, the nighest way to the Tofts, for
they knew the wood right well.  Again they slept one night
under the bare heavens, and, rising betimes on the morrow,
came out under the Tofts some four hours after high noon, on
as fair and calm a day of early summer as ever was seen.

They rode up straight to the door of the great hall, and
found but few folk about, and those mostly women and
children; Jack was ridden abroad, they said, but they looked
to see him back to supper, him and his sons, for he was no
great way gone.

Meantime, when they got off their horses, the women and
children thronged round about them; and the children
especially about Christopher, whom they loved much.  The
maidens, also, would not have him pass into the hall
unkissed, though presently, after their faces had felt his
lips, they fell a-staring and wondering at Goldilind, and
when Christopher took her by the hand and gave her welcome
to the House of the Tofts, and they saw that she was his,
they grew to be somewhat afraid, or it might be shy, both of
her and of him.

Anyhow, folk came up to them in the hall, and made much of
them, and took them unto chambers and washed their feet, and
crowned them with flowers, and brought them into the hall
again, and up on to the dais, and gave them to eat and
drink.  Thither came to them also the Lady Margaret, Jack's
wedded wife, and made them the most cheer that she might;
and unto her did Christopher tell his story as unto his very
mother; and what there was in the house, both of carle and
of quean, gathered round about to hearken, and Christopher
nothing loth.  And Goldilind's heart warmed toward that
folk, and in sooth they were a goodly people to look on, and
frank and happy, and of good will, and could well of
courtesy, though it were not of the courts.

Wore the bright day, and it drew toward sunset, and now the
carles came straight into the hall by twos and threes, till
there were a many within its walls.  But to each one of
these knots as they entered, someone, carle or quean, spake
a word or two, and straightway the new-comers went up to the
dais and greeted Christopher pleasantly, and made obeisance
to Goldilind.

At last was the hall, so quiet erst, grown busy as a
beehive, and amidst the throng thereof came in the
serving-folk, women and men, and set the endlong boards up
(for the high-table was a standing one of oak, right thick
and strong); and then they fell to bringing in the service,
all but what the fire was dealing with in the kitchen.  And
whiles this was a-doing, the sun was sinking fast, and it
was dusk in the hall by then it was done, though without the
sky was fair and golden, and about the edges of the thicket
were the nightingales singing loud and sweet, but within was
the turmoil of many voices, whereof few heeded if their
words were loud or soft.

Amidst all this, from close to the hall, rang out the sound
of many horns winding a woodland tune.  None was afeard or
astonied, because all knew it for the horns of Jack of the
Tofts; but they stilled their chattering talk somewhat, and
abided his coming; and even therewith came the sound of many
feet and the clash of weapons, and men poured in, and there
was the gleam of steel, as folk fell back to the right and
left, and gave room to the new-comers.  Then a loud, clear,
and cheery voice cried out from amidst of them: "Light in
the hall, men and maids! Candles, candles! Let see who is
here before us!"

Straightway then was there running hither and thither and
light sprang up over all the hall, and there could folk see
Jack of the Tofts, and a score and a half of his best, every
man of them armed with shield and helm and byrny, with green
coats over their armour, and wreaths of young oak about
their basnets; there they stood amidst of the hall, and
every man with his naked sword in his fist.  Jack stood
before his folk clad in like wise with them, save that his
head was bare but for an oak wreath.  Men looked on a while
and said nought, while Jack looked proudly and keenly over
the hall, and at last his eye caught Christopher's, but he
made the youngling no semblance of greeting. Christopher's
heart fell, and he misdoubted if something were not wrong;
but he spake softly to one who stood by him, and said:  "Is
aught amiss, Will Ashcroft? this is not the wont here."

Said the other:  "Not in thy time; but for the last seven
days it hath been the wont, and then off weapons and to
supper peaceably.



CHAPTER XXVI.

OF THE KING OF OAKENREALM.


Even therewith, and while the last word had but come to
Christopher's ears, rang out the voice of Jack of the Tofts
again, louder and clearer than before:  and he said:  "Men
in this hall, I bear you tidings! The King of Oakenrealm is
amongst us to-night."

Then, forsooth, was the noise and the turmoil, and cries and
shouts and clatter, and fists raised in air and weapons
caught down from the wall, and the glitter of spear-points
and gleam of fallow blades.  For the name of Rolf, King of
Oakenrealm, was to those woodmen as the name of the Great
Devil of Hell, so much was he their unfriend and their
dastard.  But Jack raised up his hand, and cried:  "Silence
ye! Blow up, horns, The Hunt's Up!"

Blared out the horns then, strong and fierce, under the
hall-roof, and when they were done, there was more silence
in the hall than in the summer night without; only the voice
of the swords could not be utterly still, but yet tinkled
and rang as hard came against hard here and there in the
hush.

Again spake Jack:  "Let no man speak! Let no man move from
his place! I SEE THE KING! Ye shall see him!"

Therewith he strode up the hall and on to the dais, and came
up to where stood Christopher holding Goldilind's hand, and
she all pale and trembling; but Jack took him by the
shoulder, and turned him about toward a seat which stood
before the board, so that all men in the hall could see it;
then he set him down in it, and took his sword from his
girdle, and knelt down before the young man, and took his
right hand, and said in a loud voice:  "I, Jack of the
Tofts, a free man and a sackless, wrongfully beguilted, am
the man of King Christopher of Oakenrealm, to live and die
for him as need may be.  Lo, Lord, my father's blade! Wilt
thou be good to me and gird me therewith, as thy father girt
him?"

Now when Christopher heard him, at first he deemed that all
this was some sport or play done for his pastime and the
pleasure of the hall-folk in all kindness and honour.  But
when he looked in the eyes of him, and saw him fierce and
eager and true, he knew well it was no jest; and as the
shouts of men went up from the hall and beat against the
roof, himseemed that he remembered, as in a dream, folk
talking a-nigh him when he was too little to understand, of
a king and his son, and a mighty man turned thief and
betrayer. Then his brow cleared, and his eyes shone bright,
and he leaned forward to Jack and girt him with the sword,
and kissed his mouth, and said:  "Thou art indeed my man and
my thane and my earl, and I gird thee with thy sword as my
father girded thy father."

Then stood up Jack o' the Tofts and said:  "Men in this
hall, happy is the hour, and happy are ye! This man is the
King of Oakenrealm, and he yonder is but a thief of kings, a
dastard!"

And again great was the shouting, for carle and quean, young
and old, they loved Christopher well:  and Jack of the Tofts
was not only their war-duke and alderman, but their wise man
also, and none had any thought of gainsaying him.  But he
spake again and said:  "Is there here any old man, or not so
old, who hath of past days seen our King that was, King
Christopher to wit, who fell in battle on our behalf? If so
there be, let him come up hither."

Then arose a greybeard from a bench nigh the high-table, and
came up on to the dais; a very tall man had he been, but was
now somewhat bowed by age.  He now knelt before Christopher,
and took his hand, and said:  "I, William of Whittenham, a
free man, a knight, sackless of the guilt which is laid on
me, would be thy man, O my lord King, to serve thee in all
wise; if so be that I may live to strike one stroke for my
master's son, whom now I see, the very living image of the
King whom I served in my youth."

Then Christopher bent down to him and kissed him, and said:
"Thou art indeed my man and my thane & my baron; and who
knows but that thou mayst have many a stroke to strike for
me in the days that are nigh at hand."

And again the people shouted:  and then there came another
and another, and ten more squires and knights and men of
estate, who were now indeed woodmen and wolf-heads, but who,
the worst of them, were sackless of aught save slaying an
unfriend, or a friend's unfriend, in fair fight; and all
these kneeled before him, and put their hands in his, and
gave themselves unto him.

When this was done, there came thrusting through the throng
of the hall a tall woman, old, yet comely as for her age;
she went right up on to the dais, and came to where sat
Christopher, and without more ado cast her arms about him
and kissed him, and then she held him by the shoulders and
cried out:  "O, have I found thee at last, my loveling, and
my dear, and my nurse-chick? and thou grown so lovely and
yet so big that I may never more hold thee aloft in mine
arms, as once I was wont; though high enough belike thou
shalt be lifted; and I say praise be to God and to his
Hallows that thou art grown so beauteous and mighty a man!"

Therewith she turned about toward the hall-throng and said:
"Thou, duke of these woodmen, and all ye in this hall, I
have been brought hither by one of you; and though I have
well-nigh died of joy because of the suddenness of this
meeting, yet I thank him therefor.  For who is this goodly
and gracious young man save the King's son of Oakenrealm,
Christopher that was; and that to my certain knowledge; for
he is my fosterling and my milk-child, and I took him from
the hands of the midwife in the High House of Oakenham a
twenty-one years ago; and they took him from Oakenham, and
me with him to the house of Lord Richard the Lean, at
Longholms, and there we dwelt; but in a little while they
took him away from Longholms to I wot not whither, but would
not suffer me to go along with him, and ever sithence have I
been wandering about and hoping to see this lovely child
again, and now I see him, what he is, and again I thank God
and Allhallows therefor."

Once more then was there stir and glad tumult in the hall.
But Goldilind stood wondering, and fear entered into her
soul; for she saw before her a time of turmoil and unpeace,
and there seemed too much between her and the sweetness of
her love.  Withal it must be said, that for as little as she
knew of courts and war-hosts, she yet seemed to see lands
without that hall, and hosts marching, and mighty walls
glittering with spears, and the banners of a great King
displayed; and Jack of the Tofts and his champions and good
fellows seemed but a frail defence against all that, when
once the hidden should be shown, and the scantiness of the
woodland should cry on the abundance of the kingdom to bow
down.

Now she came round the board and stood beside Christopher,
and he turned to her, and stood up and took her hand, in
such wise that she felt the caress of it; and joy filled her
soul, as if she had been alone with him in the wild-wood.

But he spake and said:  "All ye my friends:  I see and wot
well that ye would have me sit in my father's seat and be
the King of Oakenrealm, and that ye will give me help and
furtherance therein to the utmost; nor will I cast back the
gift upon you; and I will say this, that when I am King
indeed, it is my meaning and my will now, that then I shall
be no less one of you good fellows and kind friends than ye
have known me hitherto; and even so I deem that ye think of
me.  But, good friends, it is not to be hidden that the road
ye would have me wend with you is like to be rough; and it
may well be that we shall not come to be kings or kings'
friends but men hunted, and often, maybe, men taken and
slain.  Therefore, till one thing or the other come, the
kingship, or the taking, I will try to be no less joyous
than now I am, and so meseemeth shall ye; and if ye be of
this mind, then shall the coming days be no worse than the
days which have been; and God wot they have been happy
enough.  Now again, ye see this most fair lady, whose hand I
hold; she is my beloved and my wife; and therewithal she is
the true Queen of Meadham, and a traitor sits in her place
even as a traitor sits in mine.  But I must tell you that
when she took me for her beloved, she knew not, nor did I,
that I was a King's son, but she took me as a woodman and an
outcast, and as a wood-man and outcast I wooed her, trusting
in the might that was in my body, and the love that was in
my heart; and now before all you, my friends, I thank her
and worship her that my body and my love was enough for her;
as, God wot, the kingship of the whole earth should not be
overmuch for her, if it lay open to her to take.  But, sweet
friends, here am I talking of myself as a King wedded unto a
Queen, whereas meseemeth the chiefest gift our twin kingship
hath brought you to-night is the gift of two most mighty
unfriends for you; to wit, her foeman and mine.  See ye to
it, then, if the wild-wood yonder is not a meeter dwelling
for us than this your goodly hall; and fear not to put us to
the door as a pair of make-bates and a peril to this goodly
company.  Lo you, the sky without has not yet lost all
memory of the sun, and in a little while it will be
yellowing again to the dawn.  Nought evil shall be the
wild-wood for our summer dwelling; and what! ere the winter
come, we may have won us another house where erst my fathers
feasted.  And thereto, my friends, do I bid you all."

But when they heard his friendly words, and saw the beauty
of the fair woman whose hand he held, his face grew so
well-beloved to them, that they cried out with so great a
voice of cheer, wordless for their very joy, that the
timbers of the hall quavered because of it, and it went out
into the wild-wood as though it had been the feastful
roaring of the ancient gods of the forest.

But when the tumult sank a little, then cried out Jack of
the Tofts:  "Bring now the mickle shield, and let us look
upon our King."

So men went and fetched in a huge ancient shield, plated
with berry-brown iron, inlaid with gold, and the four
biggest men in the hall took it on their shoulders and knelt
down anigh the dais, before Christopher, and Jack said
aloud:  "King! King! Stand up here! for this war-board of
old days is the castle and the burg alone due to thee, and
these four fellows here are the due mountains to upbear it."

Then lightly strode Child Christopher on to the shield, and
when he stood firm thereon, they rose heedfully underneath
him till they were standing upright on their feet, and the
King stood on the shield as if he were grown there, and
waved his naked sword to the four orts.

Then cried out an old woman in a shrill voice:  "Lo, how the
hills rise up into tall mountains; even so shall arise Child
Christopher to the kingship."

Thereat all the folk laughed for joy and cried out:  "Child
Christopher! Child Christopher, our King!" And for that
word, when he came to the crown indeed, and ruled wide
lands, was he called Child Christopher; and that name clave
to him after he was dead, and but a name in the tale of his
kindred.

Now the King spake and said:  "Friends, now is it time to
get to the board, and the feast which hath been stayed this
while; and I pray you let it be as merry as if there were no
striving and unpeace betwixt us and the winning of peace.
But to-morrow we will hallow-in the Mote, and my earl and my
barons and good men shall give counsel, and then shall it be
that the hand shall do what the heart biddeth."

Therewith he leapt down from the shield, and went about the
hall talking to this one and that, till the board was full
dight; then he took his place in the high-seat, beside Jack
of the Tofts; and David and Gilbert and his other
foster-brethren sat on either side of him, and their wives
with them; and men fell to feasting in great glee.

But one thing there is yet to tell of this feast.  When men
had drunk a cup or two, and drunk memories to good men dead,
and healths to good men living, amidst this arose a
grey-head carle from the lower end of the hall, and said:
"Child Christopher, thy grace, that I may crave a boon of
thee on this day of leal service.'

"Ask then," said Christopher, with a pleasant face.

"King," quoth the carle, "here are we all gathered together,
and we have before us the most beautifullest woman of the
world, who sitteth by thy side; now to-night we be all dear
friends, and there is no lack between us; yet who can say
how often we may meet and things be so? I do not say that
there shall enmity and dissension arise between us, though
that may betide; but it is not unlike that another time
thou, King, and thy mate, may be prouder than now ye be,
since now ye are new to it.  And if that distance grow
between us, it will avail nought to ask my boon then."

"Well, well, ask it now, friend," said the King, laughing;
"I were fain of ending the day with a gift."

"This it is then, King," said the carle:  "since we are here
set down before the loveliest woman in the world, grant us
this, that all we men-folk may for this once kiss the face
of her, if she will have it so."

Huge laughter and cheers arose at his word; but King
Christopher arose and said: "Friend, thy boon is granted
with a good will; or how sayest thou, Goldilind my beloved?

For all answer she stood up blushing like a rose, and held
out her two hands to the men in the hall.  And straightway
the old carle rose up and went in haste to the high-table,
before another man might stir, and took Goldilind by the
chin, and kissed her well-favouredly, and again men laughed
joyously.  Then came before her Jack of the Tofts and all
his sons, one after other, and kissed her face, save only
David, who knelt humbly before her, and took her right hand
and kissed it, while the tears were in his eyes.  Then came
many of the men in the hall, and some were bold, but many
were shy, and when they came before her durst kiss neither
hand nor face of her, but their hearts were full of her when
they went to their places again; and all the assembly was
praising her.

So wore the time of that first night of the kingship of
Child Christopher.



CHAPTER XXVII.

OF THE HUSTING OF THE TOFTS.


When morning was, there were horns sounding from the tower
on the toft, and all men hastening in their war-gear to the
topmost of the other toft, the bare one, whereon was no
building; for thereon was ever the mote-stead of these
woodmen.  But men came not only from the stead and houses of
the Tofts, but also from the woodland cots and dwellings
anigh, of which were no few.  And they that came there first
found King Christopher sitting on the mound amid the
mote-stead, and Jack of the Tofts and his seven sons sitting
by him, and all they well-weaponed and with green coats over
their hauberks; and they that came last found three hundreds
of good men and true gathered there, albeit this was but the
Husting of the Tofts.

So when there were no more to come, then was the Mote
hallowed, and the talk began; but short and sharp was their
rede, for well did all men wot who had been in the hall the
night before that there was now no time to lose.  For though
nigh all the men that had been in the hall were well known
to each other, yet might there perchance have been some spy
unknown, who had edged him in as a guest to one of the good
men.  Withal, as the saw saith:  The word flieth, the wight
dieth.  And it were well if they might gather a little host
ere their foeman might gather a mickle.

First therefore arose Jack of the Tofts, and began shortly
to put forth the sooth, that there was come the son of King
Christopher the Old, and that now he was seeking to his
kingdom, not for lust of power and gain, but that he might
be the friend of good men and true, and uphold them and be
by them upholden.  And saith he:  "Look ye on the face of
this man, and tell me where ye shall find a friend
friendlier than he, and more single-hearted?" And therewith
he laid his hand on Christopher's head, and the young man
rose up, blushing like a maid, and thereafter a long time
could no lord be heard for the tumult of gladness and the
clashing of weapons.

But when it was a little hushed, then spake Jack again:
"Now need no man say more to man on this matter, for ye call
this curly-headed lad the King of Oakenrealm, even as some
of ye did last night."

Mighty was the shout of yea-say that arose at that word; and
when it was stilled, a grey-head stood up and said:  "King
Christopher, and thou, our leader, whom we shall henceforth
call Earl, it is now meet that we shear up the war-arrow,
and send it forth to whithersoever we deem our friends
dwell, and that this be done at once here in this Mote, and
that the hosting be after three nights' frist in the plain
of Hazeldale, which all ye know is twelve miles nigher to
Oakenrealm than this."

All men yea-said this, no one gainsaid it; and straightway
was fire kindled and the bull slain, for the said elder had
brought him thither; and the arrow was sheared and scorched
and reddened, and the runners were fetched, and the word
given them, and they were sped on their errand.

Up rose then another, a young man, and spake:  "Many stout
fellows be here, and some wise and well-ruled, and many also
hot-head and wilful:  Child Christopher is King now, and we
all know him that when he cometh into the fray he is like to
strike three strokes for two that any other winneth; but as
to his lore of captainship, if he hath any, he was born with
it, as is like enough, seeing who was his father; therefore
we need a captain well-proven, to bid us how to turn hither
and thither, and where to gather thickest, and where to
spread thinnest; and when to fall on fiercely and when to
give way, and let the thicket cover us; for wise in war
shall our foemen be.  Now therefore if anyone needeth a
better captain than our kin-father and war-father Jack of
the Tofts, he must needs go fetch him from otherwhere! How
sayest thou, Christopher lad?"

Great cheer there was at the word, and laughter no little
therewith.  But Christopher stood up, and took Jack by the
hand, and said:  "Now say I, that if none else follow this
man into battle, yet will I; and if none else obey him to go
backward or forward to the right hand or to the left as he
biddeth, yet will I.  Thou, Wilfrid Wellhead, look to it
that thou dost no less.  But ye folk, what will ye herein?"

So they all yea-said Jack of the Tofts for captain; and
forsooth they might do no less, for he was wary and wise,
and had done many deeds, and seen no little of warfare.

Then again arose a man of some forty winters, strong built
and not ungoodly, but not merry of countenance, and he
spake:  "King and war-leader, I have a word to say:  We be
wending to battle, we carles, with spear in fist and sword
by side; and if we die in the fray, of the day's work is it;
but what do we with our kinswomen, as mothers and daughters
and wives and she-friends, and the little ones they have
borne us? For, see ye! this warfare we are faring, maybe it
shall not last long, and yet maybe it shall; and then may
the foeman go about us and fall on this stead if we leave
them behind here with none to guard them; and if, on the
other hand, we leave them men enough for their warding, then
we minish our host overmuch.  What do we then?"

Then spake Jack of the Tofts:  "This is well thought of by
Haward of Whiteacre, and we must look to it.  And, by my
rede, we shall have our women and little ones with us; and
why not? For we shall then but be moving Toftstead as we
move; and ever to some of us hath it been as a camp rather
than an house.  Moreover, ye know it, that our women be no
useless and soft queans, who durst not lie under the oak
boughs for a night or two, or wade a water over their
ankles, but valiant they be, and kind, and helpful; and many
of them are there who can draw a bow with the best, and, it
may be, push a spear if need were.  How say ye, lads?"

Now this also they yea-said gladly; forsooth they had scarce
been fain of leaving the women behind, at least the younger
ones, even had they been safe at the Tofts; for there is no
time when a man would gladlier have a fair woman in his arms
than when battle and life-peril are toward.

Thereafter the Mote sundered, when the Captain had bidden
his men this and that matter that each should look to; and
said that he, for his part, with King Christopher and a
chosen band, would set off for Hazeldale on the morrow morn,
whereas some deal of the gathering would of a certainty be
come thither by then; and that there was enough left of that
day to see to matters at the Tofts.

So all men went about their business, which was, for the
most part, seeing to the victualling of the host.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

OF THE HOSTING IN HAZELDALE.


On the morrow early was Jack of the Tofts dight for
departure, with Christopher and David and Gilbert and five
score of his best men.  But when they went out of the porch
into the sweet morning, lo! there was Goldilind before them,
clad in her green gown, and as fresh and dear as the early
day itself.  And Jack looked on her and said:  "And thou, my
Lady and Queen, thou art dight as thou wouldst wend with
us?"

"Yea," she said, "and why not?"

"What sayest thou, King Christopher?" said the Captain.

"Nay," said King Christopher, reddening, "it is for thee to
yea-say or nay-say; though true it is that I have bidden her
farewell for two days' space."  And the two stood looking on
one another.

But Jack laughed and said:  "Well, then, so be it; but let
us get to the way, or else when the sweethearts of these
lads know that we have a woman with us we shall have them
all at our backs."  Thereat all laughed who were within
earshot, and were merry.

So they wended the woodland ways, some afoot, some
a-horseback, of whom was Jack of the Tofts, but Christopher
and David went afoot.  And Goldilind rode a fair white horse
which the Captain had gotten her.

As they went, and King Christopher ever by Goldilind's right
hand, and were merry and joyous, they two were alone in the
woodland way; so Christopher took her hand and kissed it,
and said:  "Sweetling, why didst thou tell me nought of thy
will to come along with us? Never had I balked thee."

She looked at him, blushing as a rose, and said:  "Dear
friend, I will tell thee; I knew that thou wouldst make our
parting piteous-sweet this morning; and of that I would not
be balked.  See, then, how rich I am, since I have both
parted from thee and have thee." And therewith she louted
down from her saddle, and they kissed together sweetly, and
so thereafter wore the way.

So came they to the plain of Hazeldale, which was a wide
valley with a middling river winding about it, the wild-wood
at its back toward the Tofts, and in front down-land nought
wooded, save here and there a tree nigh a homestead or cot;
for that way the land was builded for a space.  Forsooth it
was not easy for the folk thereabout to live quietly, but if
they were friends in some wise to Jack of the Tofts.

So when the company of the Tofts came out into the dale
about three hours after noon, it was no wonder to them to
see men riding and going to and fro, and folk pitching tents
and raising booths nigh to the cover of the wood; and when
the coming of the Toft-folk was seen, and the winding of
their horns heard, there was many a glad cry raised in
answer, and many an horn blown, and all men there came
running together toward where now was stayed Jack of the
Tofts and Christopher and their men.

Then Goldilind bade Christopher help her light down; so he
took her in his arms, and was not over hasty in setting her
down again.  But when she stood by him, she looked over the
sunny field darkened by the folk hastening over the
greensward, and her eyes glittered and her cheek flushed,
and she said:  "Lord King, be these some others of thy men?"

"Yea, sweetling," said he, "to live and die with me."

She looked on him, and said softly:  "Maybe it were an ill
wish to wish that I were thou; yet if it might be for one
hour!"

Said he:  "Shall it not be for more than one hour? Shall it
not be for evermore, since we twain are become one?"

"Nay," she said, "this is but a word; I am but thine
handmaid:  and now I can scarce refrain my body from falling
before thy feet."

He laughed in her face for joy, and said:  "Abide a while,
until these men have looked on thee, and then shalt thou see
how thou wilt be a flame of war in their hearts that none
shall withstand."

Now were the dale-dwellers all come together in their
weapons, and they were glad of their King and his loveling;
and stout men were they all, albeit some were old, and some
scarce of man's age.  So they were ranked and told over, and
the tale of them was over six score who had obeyed the
war-arrow, and more and more, they said, would come in every
hour.  But now the Captains of them bade the Toft-folk eat
with them; and they yea-said the bidding merrily, and word
was given, and sacks and baskets brought forth, and barrels
to boot, and all men sat down on the greensward, and high
was the feast and much the merriment on the edge of
Hazeldale.



CHAPTER XXIX.

TIDINGS COME TO HAZELDALE.


But they had not done their meat, and had scarce begun upon
their drink, ere they saw three men come riding on the spur
over the crown of the bent before them; these made no stay
for aught, but rode straight through the ford of the river,
as men who knew well where it was, and came on hastily
toward the feasters by the wood-edge.  Then would some have
run to meet them, but Jack of the Tofts bade them abide till
he had heard the tidings; whereas they needed not to run to
their weapons, for, all of them, they were fully dight for
war, save, it might be, the doing on of their sallets or
basnets.  But Jack and Christopher alone went forward to
meet those men; and the foremost of them cried out at once:
"I know thee, Jack of the Tofts! I know thee! Up and arm! up
and arm! for the foemen are upon thee; and so choose thee
whether thou wilt fight or flee."

Quoth Jack, laughing:  "I know thee also, Wat of Whiteend;
and when thou hast told me how many and who be the foemen,
we will look either to fighting or fleeing."

Said Wat:  "Thou knowest the blazon of the banner which we
saw, three red wolves running on a silver field?"

"Yea, forsooth," said Jack; "'tis the Baron of Brimside that
beareth that shield ever; and the now Baron, hight the Lord
Gandolf, how many was he?"

Said Wat:  "Ten hundreds or more.  But what say fellows?"

Quoth the other twain:  "More, more they were."

Said Jack of the Tofts:  "And when shall he be here, deem
ye?"

"In less than an hour," said Wat, "he will be on thee with
great and small; but his riders, some of them, in lesser
space."

Then turned Jack about and cried out for David, and when he
came, he said:  "Put thy long legs over a good horse, and
ride straight back to the Tofts and gather whatever may bear
spear and draw bow, and hither with them, lad, by the
nighest road; tarry not, speak no word, be gone!"

So David turned, and was presently riding swiftly back
through the woodland paths. But Jack spake to the bearers of
tidings:  "Good fellows, go ye yonder and bid them give you
a morsel and a cup; and tell all the tidings, and this,
withal, that we have nought to flee from a good fightstead
for Gandolf of Brimside."  Therewith he turned to
Christopher and said:  "Thy pardon, King, but these matters
must be seen to straightway.  Now do thou help me array our
folk, for there is heart enough in them as in thee and me;
and mayhappen we may make an end to this matter now and
here. Moreover, the Baron of Brimside is a stout carle, so
fight we must, meseemeth."

Then he called to them one of the captains of the Tofts and
they three spake together heedfully a little, and thereafter
they fell to work arraying the folk; and King Christopher
did his part therein deftly and swiftly, for quick of wit he
was, and that the more whenso anything was to be done.

As to the array, the main of the folk that were spearmen and
billmen but moved forward somewhat from where they had dined
to the hanging of the bent, so that their foemen would have
the hill against them or ever they came on point and edge.
But the bowmen, of whom were now some two hundreds, for many
men had come in after the first tally, were spread abroad on
the left hand of the spearmen toward the river, where the
ground was somewhat broken, and bushed with thorn-bushes.
And a bight of the water drew nearer to the Tofters, amidst
of which was a flat eyot, edged with willows and covered
with firm and sound greensward, and was some thirty yards
endlong and twenty overthwart.  So there they abode the
coming of the foe, and it was now hard on five o'clock.

But Christopher went up to Goldilind where she stood amidst
of the spearmen, hand turning over hand, and her feet
wandering to and fro almost without her will; and when he
came to her, she had much ado to refrain her from falling on
his bosom and weeping there.  But he cried to her gaily:
"Now, my Lady and Queen, thou shalt see a fair play toward
even sooner than we looked for; and thine eyes shall follow
me, if the battle be thronged, by this token, that amongst
all these good men and true I only wear a forgilded basnet
with a crown about it."

"O!" she said, "if it were but over, and thou alive and
free! I would pay for that, I deem, if I might, by a sojourn
in Greenharbour again."

"What!" he said, "that I might have to thrust myself into
the peril of snatching thee forth again?" And he laughed
merrily.  "Nay," said he, "this play must needs begin before
it endeth; and by Saint Nicholas, I deem that to-day it
beginneth well."

But she put her hands before her face, and her shoulders
were shaken with sobs.  "Alas! sweetling," said he, "that my
joy should be thy sorrow! But, I pray thee, take not these
stout-hearts for runaways.  And Oh! look, look!"

She looked up, wondering and timorous, but all about her the
men sprang up and shouted, and tossed up bill and sword, and
the echo of their cries came back from the bowmen on the
left, and Christopher's sword came rattling out of the
scabbard and went gleaming up aloft.  Then words came into
the cry of the folk, and Goldilind heard it, that they cried
"Child Christopher! King Christopher!" Then over her head
came a sound of flapping and rending as the evening wind
beat about the face of the wood; and she heard folk cry
about her:  "The banner, the banner! Ho for the Wood-wife of
Oakenrealm!"

Then her eyes cleared for what was aloof before her, and she
saw a dark mass come spreading down over the bent on the
other side of the river, and glittering points and broad
gleams of white light amidst of it, and noise came from it;
and she knew that here were come the foemen.  But she
thought to herself that they looked not so many after all;
and she looked at the great and deft bodies of their folk,
and their big-headed spears and wide-bladed glaves and
bills, and strove with her heart and refrained her fear, and
thrust back the image which had arisen before her of
Greenharbour come back again, and she lonely and naked in
the Least Guard-chamber:  and she stood firm, and waved her
hand to greet the folk.

And lo! there was Christopher kneeling before her and
kissing her hand, and great shouts arising about her of "The
Lady of Oakenrealm! The Lady of Meadham! For the Lady! For
the Lady!"



CHAPTER XXX.

OF THE FIELD THAT WAS SET IN THE HOLM OF HAZELDALE.


Now thither cometh Jack o' the Tofts, and spake to
Christopher:  "See thou, lad--Lord King, I should say; this
looketh not like very present battle, for they be stayed
half way down the bent; and lo thou, some half score are
coming forth from the throng with a white shield raised
aloft.  Do we in likewise, for they would talk with us."

"Shall we trust them, father?" said Christopher.

"Trust them we may, son," said Jack; "Gandolf is a violent
man, and a lifter of other men's goods, but I deem not so
evil of him as that he would bewray troth."

So then they let do a white cloth over a shield and hoist it
on a long spear, and straightway they gat to horse, Jack of
the Tofts, and Christopher, and Haward of Whiteacre, and
Gilbert, and a half score all told; and they rode straight
down to the ford, which was just below the tail of the eyot
aforesaid, and as they went, they saw the going of the
others, who were by now hard on the waterside; and said
Jack:  "See now, King Christopher, he who rides first in a
surcoat of his arms is even the Baron, the black
bullet-headed one; and the next to him, the red-head, is his
squire and man, Oliver Marson, a stout man, but fierce and
grim-hearted.  Lo thou, they are taking the water, but they
are making for the eyot and not our shore:  son mine, this
will mean a hazeled field in the long run; but now they will
look for us to come to them therein.  Yea, now they are
aland and have pitched their white shield.  And hearken,
that is their horn; blow we an answer:  ho, noise! set thy
lips to the brass."

So then, when one horn had done its song, the other took it
up, and all men of both hosts knew well that the horns blew
but for truce and parley.

Now come the Toft-folk to the ford, and take the water,
which was very shallow on their side, and when they come up
on to the eyot, they find the Baron and his folk off their
horses, and lying on the green grass, so they also lighted
down and stood and hailed the new comers.  Then uprose the
Lord Gandolf, and greeted the Toft-folk, and said:  "Jack of
the Tofts, thou ridest many-manned to-day."

"Yea, Lord," said Jack, "and thou also.  What is thine
errand?"

"Nay," said the Baron, "what is thine? As for mine host
here, there came a bird to Brimside and did me to wit that I
should be like to need a throng if I came thy way; and sooth
was that.  Come now, tell us what is toward, thou rank
reiver, though I have an inkling thereof; for if this were a
mere lifting, thou wouldst not sit still here amidst thy
friends of Hazeldale."

"Lord," said Jack o' the Tofts, "thou shalt hear mine
errand, and then give heed to what thou wilt do.  Look to
the bent under the wood, and tell me, dost thou see the
blazon of the banner under which be my men?"

"That can I not," said the Lord Gandolf; "but I have seen
the banner of Oakenrealm, which beareth the wood-woman with
loins garlanded with oak-leaves, look much like to it at
such a distance."

Said Jack:  "It is not ill guessed.  Yonder banner is the
King's banner, and beareth on it the woman of Oakenrealm ."

The Lord bent his brows on him, and said:  "Forsooth, rank
reiver, I wotted not that thou hadst King Rolf for thy
guest."

Quoth Jack of the Tofts:  "Forsooth, Lord, no such guest as
the Earl Marshal Rolf would I have alive in my poor house."

"Well, Jack," said the big Lord, grinning, "arede me the
riddle, and then we shall see what is to be done, as thou
sayest."

"Lord," said Jack, "dost thou see this young man standing by
me?"

"Yea," said the other, "he is big enough that I may see him
better than thy banner:  if he but make old bones, as is
scarce like, since he is of thy flock, he shall one day make
a pretty man; he is a gay rider now.  What else is he?"

Quoth Jack of the Tofts:  "He is my King and thy King, and
the all-folk's King, and the King of Oakenrealm:  and now,
hearken mine errand:  it is to make all folk name him King."

Said the Lord:  "This minstrel's tale goes with the song the
bird sang to me this morning; and therefore am I here
thronging--to win thy head, rank reiver, and this young
man's head, since it may not better be, and let the others
go free for this time. Hah! what sayest thou? and thou,
youngling? 'Tis but the stroke of a sword, since thou hast
fallen into my hands, and not into the hangman's or the
King's."

"Thou must win them first, Lord," said Jack of the Tofts.
"Therefore, what sayest thou? Where shall we cast down the
white shield and uprear the red?"

"Hot art thou, head, heart, and hand, rank reiver," said the
Lord; "bide a while."  So he sat silent a little; then he
said:  "Thou seest, Jack of the Tofts, that now thou hast
thrust the torch into the tow; if I go back to King Rolf
without the heads of you twain, I am like to pay for it with
mine own.  Therefore hearken.  If we buckle together in
fight presently, it is most like that I shall come to my
above, but thou art so wily and stout that it is not unlike
that thou, and perchance this luckless youngling, may slip
through my fingers into the wood; and then it will avail me
little with the King that I have slain a few score nameless
wolf-heads.  So, look you! here is a fair field hazelled by
God; let us two use it to-day, and fight to the death here;
and then if thou win me, smite off my head, and let my men
fight it out afterwards, as best they may without me, and
'tis like they will be beaten then.  But if I win thee, then
I win this youngling withal, and bear back both heads to my
Lord King, after I have scattered thy wolf-heads and slain
as many as I will; which shall surely befall, if thou be
slain first."

Then cried out Jack of the Tofts:  "Hail to thy word,
stout-heart! this is well offered, and I take it for myself
and my Lord King here."  And all that stood by and heard
gave a glad sound with their voices, and their armour
rattled and rang as man turned to man to praise their
captains.

But now spake Christopher:  "Lord of Brimside, it is nought
wondrous though thou set me aside as of no account, whereas
thou deemest me no king or king's kindred; but thou, Lord
Earl, who wert once Jack of the Tofts, I marvel at thee,
that thou hast forgotten thy King so soon.  Ye twain shall
now wot that this is my quarrel, and that none but I shall
take this battle upon him.

"Thou servant of Rolf, the traitor and murderer, hearken! I
say that I am King of Oakenrealm, and the very son of King
Christopher the Old; and that will I maintain with my body
against every gainsayer.  Thou Lord of Brimside, wilt thou
gainsay it? Then I say thou liest, and lo here, my glove!"
And he cast it down before the Lord.

Again was there good rumour, and that from either side of
the bystanders; but Jack of the Tofts stood up silent and
stiff, and the Baron of Brimside laughed, and said:  "Well,
swain, if thou art weary of life, so let it be, as for me;
but how sayest thou, Jack of the Tofts? Art thou content to
give thine head away in this fashion, whereas thou wottest
that I shall presently slay this king of thine?"

Said Jack:  "The King of Oakenrealm must rule me as well as
others of his liege-men: he must fight if he will, and be
slain if he will."  Then suddenly he fell a-laughing, and
beat his hand on his thigh till the armour rattled again,
and then he cried out:  "Lord Gandolf, Lord Gandolf, have a
care, I bid thee! Where wilt thou please to be buried,
Lord?"

Said the other:  "I wot not what thou wilt mean by thy
fooling, rank reiver.  But here I take up this youngling's
glove; and on his head be his fate! Now as to this battle.
My will is, that we two champions be all alone and afoot on
the eyot.  How say ye?"

"Even so be it," said Jack; "but I say that half a score on
each side shall be standing on their own bank to see the
play, and the rest of the host come no nigher than now we
are."

"I yea-say it," said the Baron; "and now do thou, rank
reiver, go back to thy fellowship and tell them what we have
areded, and do thou, Oliver Marson, do so much for our folk;
and bid them wot this, that if any of them break the troth,
he shall lose nought more than his life for that same."

Therewith all went ashore to either bank, save the Baron of
Brimside and Christopher. And the Baron laid him down on the
ground and fell to whistling the tune of a merry Yule dance;
but as for Christopher, he looked on his foeman, and deemed
he had seldom seen so big and stalwarth a man; and withal he
was of ripe age, and had seen some forty winters.  Then he
also cast himself down on the grass, and fell into a kind of
dream, as he watched a pair of wagtails that came chirping
up from the sandy spit below the eyot; till suddenly great
shouting broke out, first from his own bent, and then from
the foemen's, and Christopher knew that the folk on either
side had just heard of the battle that was to be on the
holm.  The Baron arose at the sound and looked to his own
men, whence were now coming that half-score who were to look
on the battle from the bank; but Christopher stirred not,
but lay quietly amongst the flowers of the grass, till he
heard the splash of horse-hoofs in the ford, and there
presently was come Jack of the Tofts bearing basnet and
shield for his lord.  And he got off his horse and spake to
Christopher:  "If I may not fight for thee, my son and King,
yet at least it is the right of thine Earl to play the
squire to thee:  but a word before thy basnet is over thine
ears; the man yonder is well-nigh a giant for stature and
strength; yet I think thou mayest deal with him, and be none
the sorer when thou liest down to-night.  To be short, this
is it: when thou hast got a stroke in upon him, and he
falters, then give him no time, but fly at him in thy
wild-cat manner and show what-like thews thou hast under thy
smooth skin; now thine helm, lad.  So art thou dight; and
something tells me thou shalt do it off in victory."



CHAPTER  XXXI.

THE BATTLE ON THE HOLM.


So when Christopher was armed, Jack turned about speedily,
and so gat him back through the ford and stood there on the
bank with the nine other folk of the Tofts.  And by this
time was Gandolf of Brimside armed also, and Oliver Marson,
who had done his helm on him, was gone to his side of the
river.

Drew the huge man-at-arms then toward Christopher, but his
sword was yet in the sheath:  Christopher set his point to
the earth and abode him; and the Baron spake: "Lad, thou art
fair and bold both, as I can see it, and Jack of the Tofts
is so much an old foe of mine that he is well-nigh a friend:
so what sayest thou? If thou wilt yield thee straightway, I
will have both thine head and the outlaw's with me to King
Rolf, but yet on your shoulders and ye two alive.  Haps will
go as haps will; and it maybe that ye shall both live for
another battle, and grow wiser, and mayhappen abide in the
wood with the reiver's men.  Hah? What sayest thou?"

Christopher laughed and said:  "Wouldst thou pardon one who
is not yet doomed, Baron? And yet thy word is pleasant to
us; for we see that if we win thee, thou shalt be good
liegeman of us.  Now, Baron, sword in fist!"

Gandolf drew his sword, muttering:  "Ah, hah! he is lordly
and kingly enough, yet may this learn him a lesson.  "Indeed
the blade was huge and brown and ancient, and sword and man
had looked a very terror save to one great-hearted.

But Christopher said:  "What sayest thou now, Baron, shall
we cast down our shields to earth? For why should we chop
into wood and leather?"

The Baron cast down his shield, and said:  "Bold are thy
words, lad; if thy deeds go with them, it may be better for
thee than for me.  Now keep thee."

And therewith he leapt forward and swept his huge sword
around; but Christopher swerved speedily and enough, so that
the blade touched him not, and the huge man had over-reached
himself, and ere he had his sword well under sway again,
Christopher had smitten him so sharply on the shoulder that
the mails were sundered & the blood ran; and withal the
Baron staggered with the mere weight of the stroke.  Then
Christopher saw his time, and leapt aloft and dealt such a
stroke on the side of his head, that the Baron tottered yet
more; but now was he taught by those two terrible strokes,
and he gathered all his heart to him, and all the might of
his thews, and leapt aback and mastered his sword, and came
on fierce but wary, shouting out for Brimside and the King.

Christopher cried never a cry, but swung his sword well
within his sway, and the stroke came on Gandolf's fore-arm
and brake the mails and wounded him, and then as the Baron
rushed forward, the wary lad gat his blade under his
foeman's nigh the hilts, and he gave it a wise twist and
forth flew the ancient iron away from its master.

Gandolf seemed to heed not that he was swordless, but gave
out a great roar and rushed at Christopher to close with
him, and the well-knit lad gave back before him and turned
from side to side, and kept the sword-point before Gandolf's
eyes ever, till suddenly, as the Baron was running his
fiercest, he made a mighty sweep at his right leg, since he
had no more to fear his sword, and the edge fell so strong
and true, that but for the byrny-hose he had smitten the
limb asunder, and even as it was it made him agrievous
wound, so that the Lord of Brimside fell clattering to the
earth, and Christopher bestrode him and cried:  "How sayest
thou, champion, is it enough?"

"Yea, enough, and maybe more," said the Baron.  "Wilt thou
smite off mine head? Or what wilt thou?"

Said Christopher:  "Here hath been enough smiting,
meseemeth, save thy lads and ours have a mind to buckle to;
and lo thou! men are running down from the bents towards us
from both sides, yet not in any warlike manner as yet.  Now,
Baron, here cometh thy grim squire that I heard called
Oliver, and if thou wilt keep the troth, thou shalt bid him
order thy men so that they fall not upon us till the battle
be duly pitched.  Then shalt thou be borne home, since thou
canst not go, with no hindrance from us."

Now was Oliver come indeed, and the other nine with him, and
on the other side was come Jack of the Tofts and four
others.

Then spake the Baron of Brimside:  "I may do better than
thou biddest me; for now I verily trow herein, that thou art
the son of Christopher the Old; so valiant as thou art, and
so sad a smiter, and withal that thou fearest not to let thy
foeman live.  So hearken all ye, and thou specially, Oliver
Marson, my captain:  I am now become the man of my lord King
Christopher, and will follow him whereso he will; and I deem
that will presently be to Oakenham, and the King's seat
there.  Now look to it that thou, Oliver, order my men under
King Christopher's banner, till I be healed; and then if all
be not over, I shall come forth myself, shield on neck and
spear in fist, to do battle for my liege lord; so help me
God and St. James of the Water!"

Therewith speech failed him and his wit therewith; so
betwixt them they unarmed him and did him what leechdom they
might do there and then; and he was nowise hurt deadly:  as
for Child Christopher, he had no scratch of steel on him.
And Oliver knelt before him when he had dight his own lord,
and swore fealty to him then and there; and so departed, to
order the folk of Brimside and tell them the tidings, and
swear them liege men of King Christopher.



CHAPTER XXXII.

OF GOLDILIND AND CHRISTOPHER.


Now Jack of the Tofts said a word to one of his men, and he
rode straightway up into the field under the wood, and spake
to three of the captains of the folk, and they ranked a
hundred of the men, of those who were best dight, and
upraised amongst them the banner of Oakenrealm, and led all
them down to the river bank; and with these must needs go
Goldilind; and when they came down thither, Christopher and
Jack were there on the bank to hail them, and they raised a
great shout when they saw their King and their Earl standing
there, and the shout was given back from the wood-side; and
then the men of Brimside took it up, for they had heard the
bidding of their Lord, and he was now in a pavilion which
they had raised for him on the mead, and the leeches were
looking to his hurts; and they feared him, but rather loved
than hated him, and he was more to them than the King in
Oakenrealm and they were all ready to do his will.

But as to Goldilind, her mind it had been, as she was going
down the meadow, that she would throw herself upon
Christopher's bosom and love him with glad tears of love;
but as she came and stood over against him, she was abashed,
and stood still looking on him, and spake no word; and he
also was ashamed before all that folk to say the words
whereof his heart was full, and longed for the night, that
they might be alone together.

But at last he said:  "Lady and Queen, thou seest that we be
well-beloved that they rejoice so much in a little deed of
mine."  And still she spake nought, and held hand in hand.

But Jack of the Tofts spake and said:  "By St. Hubert! the
deed may be little, though there be men who would think no
little of overcoming the biggest man and the fellest fighter
of Oakenrealm, but at least great things shall come thereof.
King, thy strokes of this day have won thee Oakenrealm, or
no man I know in field, and many a mother's son have they
saved from death.  For look thou yonder over the river,
Goldilind, my Lady, and tell me what thou seest."  She
turned to him and said:  "Lord Earl, I see warriors a many."

"Yea," said Jack, "and stout fellows be they for the more
part; and hard had been the hand-play had we met, ere they
had turned their backs; but now, see thou, we shall wend
side by side toward Oakenrealm, for our Lord there hath won
them to his friends; and doubt thou not that when they see
him and thee anigh, they shall be friends indeed. What! dost
thou weep for this? Or is it because he hath done the deed
and not thou? or rather, because thine heart is full for the
love of him?"

She smiled kindly on Jack, but even therewith she felt two
hands laid on her shoulders, and Christopher kissed her
without any word.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

A COUNCIL OF CAPTAINS:  THE HOST COMES TO BROADLEES, AND
MAKES FOR WOODWALL.


That night, though there was some little coming and going
between the Tofters and the Brimsiders, yet either flock
slept on their own side of the river.  Moreover, before the
midst of the night, cometh David to the wood-side, and had
with him all men defensible of the Tofts and the houses
thereabout, and most of the women also many of whom bore
spear or bow, so that now by the wood-side, what with them
of the Tofts and the folk who joined them thereto from the
country-side about Hazeldale, there were well-nigh ten
hundreds of folk under weapons; and yet more came in the
night through; for the tidings of the allegiance of Brimside
was spreading full fast.

Betimes on the morrow was King Christopher afoot, and he and
Jack and David and Gilbert, and they twelve in company, went
down to the banner by the water-side; and to them presently
came Oliver Marson and ten other of the captains of
Brimside, and did them to wit that the Baron were fain if
they would come to his pavilion and hold counsel therein,
for that he was not so sick but he might well speak his mind
from where he lay. So thither they went all, with good will,
and the Baron greeted them friendly, and made what reverence
he might to Christopher, and bade him say what was his mind
and his will.  But Christopher bade them who were his elders
in battle to speak; and the Baron laughed outright and said:
"Meseemeth, Lord King, thou didst grow old yesterday at my
costs; but since thou wilt have me to speak, I will even do
so.  And to make matters the shorter, I will say that I wot
well what ye have to do; and that is, to fall upon the Earl
Marshal's folk ere they fall upon us.  Now some folk deem we
should fare to Brimside and have a hosting there; but I say
nay; whereas it lieth out of the road to Oakenham, and
thereby is our road, meseemeth; and it is but some six days'
riding hence, save, as is most like, two of those days be
days of battle But if we go straight forward with banners
displayed, each day's faring shall be a day of hosting and
gathering; for I tell thee, Lord King, the fame of thee has
by now gone far in this country-side.  Wherefore I say no
more, since I wax weary, than this:  to the road this
morning, and get we so far as Broadlees ere night-fall, for
there we shall get both victual and folk."

There was good cheer made at his word, so Christopher spake:
"Baron of Brimside, thou hast spoken my very mind and will;
and but if these lords and captains gainsay it, let us tarry
no longer, but array all our folk in good order and take
tale of them, and so for Broadlees.  What say ye, lords?"

None nay-said it, so there was no more talk save as to the
ordering of this or the other company.  And it was so areded
that the Brimside men should fare first at the head of the
host with the banner of Brimside, and that then should go
the mingled folk of the country-side, and lastly the folk of
the Tofts with the banner of Oakenrealm; so that if the host
came upon foemen, they might be for a cloud to hide the
intent of their battles awhile till they might take their
advantage.

So went the captains to their companies, and the Tofters and
their mates crossed the river to the men of Brimside, who
gave them good cheer when they came amongst them; and it was
hard to order the host for a while, so did the upland folk
throng about the King and the Queen; and happy were they who
had a full look on Goldilind; and yet were some so lucky and
so bold that they kissed a hand of her; and one there was, a
very tall young man, and a goodly, who stood there and
craved to kiss her cheek, and she did not gainsay him, and
thereafter nought was good to him save an occasion to die
for her.

As for Christopher, he spake to many, and said to them that
wheresoever his banner was, he at least should be at the
forefront whenso they came upon unpeace; and so soon as they
gat to the road, he went from company to company, speaking
to many, and that so sweetly and friendly that all praised
him, and said that here forsooth was a king who was all good
and nothing bad, whereas hitherto men had deemed them lucky
indeed if their king were half good and half bad.

Merry then was the road to Broadlees, and they came there
before night-fall; and it was a little cheaping town and
unwalled, and if the folk had had any will to ward them,
they lacked might.  But when they found they were not to be
robbed, and that it was but the proclaiming of King
Christopher in the market-place, and finding victual and
house-room for the host, and the Mayor taking a paper in
payment thereof, none stirred against them, and a many
joined the host to fight for the fair young King.  Now
nought as yet had they heard at Broadlees of any force
stirring against them.

But in the morning when they went on their ways again, and
were bound for Cheaping Woodwall, which was a fenced town,
they sent out well-horsed riders to espy the road, who came
back on the spur two hours after noon, and did them to wit
that there was a host abiding them beneath the walls of
Woodwall under the banner of Walter the White, an old
warrior and fell fighter; but what comfort he might have
from them of Woodwall they wotted not; but they said that
the tidings of their coming had gone abroad, and many folk
were abiding the issue of this battle ere they joined them
to either host.  Now on these tidings the captains were of
one mind, to wit, to fare on softly till they came to a
defensible place not far from the foemen, since they could
scarce come to Woodwall in good order before nightfall, and
if they were unfoughten before, to push forward to battle in
the morning.

Even so did they, and made a halt at sunset on a pleasant
hill above a river some three miles from Woodwall, and there
they passed the night unmeddled with.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

BATTLE BEFORE WOODWALL.


When morning was, the captains came to King Christopher to
council:  but while they were amidst of their talk came the
word that the foe was anigh and come close to the
river-bank; whereat was none abashed; but to all it seemed
wisdom to abide them on the vantage-ground.  So then there
was girding of swords and doing on of helms; as for ordering
of the folk, it was already done, for all the host was
ranked on the bent-side, with the banner of Oakenrealm in
the midst; on its left hand the banner of the Tofts, and on
the right the banner of Brimside.

Now when Christopher was come to his place, he looked down
and saw how the foemen were pouring over the river, for it
was nowhere deep, and there were four quite shallow fords:
many more were they than his folk, but he deemed that they
fared somewhat tumultuously; and when the bowmen of the
Tofts began shooting, the foemen, a many of them, stayed
amidst of the river to bend bow in their turn, and seemed to
think that were nigh enough already; nay, some went back
again to the other bank, to shoot thence the surer and the
drier, and some went yet a little further back on the field.
So that when their sergeants and riders were come on to the
hither bank, they lacked about a fifth of all their host;
and they themselves, for all they were so many, had some ado
to make up their minds to go forward.

Forsooth, when they looked up to the bent and saw the three
banners of Oakenrealm and the Tofts and Brimside all waving
over the same ranks, they knew not what to make of it.  And
Christopher's host, when they saw them hang back, brake out
into mocking whoops and shouts, and words were heard in
them:  "Come and dine at Brimside, good fellows! Come up to
the Tofts for supper and bed! A Christopher! A Christopher!"
and so forth.  Now all King Christopher's men were afoot,
saving a band of the riders of Brimside, who bestrode strong
and tall horses, and bore jack and sallet and spear, but no
heavy armour.

So Christopher heard and saw, and the heart rose high in
him, and he sent messengers to the right and the left, and
bade the captains watch till he waved his sword aloft, and
then all down the bent together; and he bade the Brimside
riders edge a little outward and downward, and be ready for
the chase, and suffer not any of the foemen to gather
together when once they fell to running; for he knew in his
heart that the folk before him would never abide their
onfall.  And the day was yet young, and it lacked four hours
of noon.

King Christopher abode ill he saw the foemen were come off
the level ground, and were mounting the bent slowly, and not
in very good order or in ranks closely serried.  Then he
strode forth three paces, and waved his sword high above his
head, and cried out:  "A Christopher! A Christopher!
Forward, banner of the Realm!" And forth he went, steady and
strong, and a great shout arose behind him, and none shrank
or lagged, but spears and bills, and axes and swords, all
came on like a wall of steel, so that to the foemen the
earth seemed alive with death, and they made no show of
abiding the onset, but all turned and ran, save Walter the
White and a score of his knights, who forsooth were borne
down in a trice, and were taken to mercy, those of them who
were not slain at the first crash of weapons.

There then ye might have seen great clumps of men making no
defence, but casting down their weapons and crying mercy;
and forsooth so great was the throng, that no great many
were slain; but on the other hand, but few gat away across
the water, and on them presently fell the Brimside riders,
and hewed down and slew and took few to mercy.  And some few
besides the first laggards of the bowmen, it might be three
hundreds in all, escaped, and gat to Woodwall, but when they
of the town saw them, they made up their minds speedily, and
shut their gates, and the poor fleers found but the points
of shafts and the heads of quarrels before them.

But on the field of deed those captives were somewhat
fearful as to what should be done with them, and they spake
one to the other about it, that they would be willing to
serve the new King, since he was so mighty.  And amidst of
their talk came the captains of King Christopher, and they
drew into a ring around them, and the lords bade them look
to it whether they would be the foemen of the King, the son
of that King Christopher the Old.  "If so ye be," said they,
"ye may escape this time; but ye see how valiant a man he
is, and how lucky withal, and happy shall they be whom he
calleth friends.  Now what say ye, will ye take up your
weapons again, and be under the best of kings and a true
one, or will ye depart and take the chance of his wrath in
the coming days? We say, how many of you will serve King
Christopher.

Then arose from them a mighty shout:  "All! All! One and
All!" Albeit some there were who slunk away and said nought;
and none heeded them.

So then all the sergeants and the common folk swore
allegiance to King Christopher; but of the knights who were
left alive, some said Yea, and some Nay; and these last were
suffered to depart, but must needs ride unarmed.

Now by the time all was done, and the new men had dined
along with the rest of the host, and of the new-comers tale
had been taken, the day was wearing; so they set off for
Woodwall, and on the way they met the Mayor and Aldermen
thereof, who came before King Christopher and knelt to him,
and gave him the keys of their town; so he was gracious to
them, and thanked them, and bade see to the victual and
lodging of the host, and that all should be paid thereafter.
And they said that they had seen to all this before they
came forth of the town, and that if the Lord King would ride
forth, he would find fair lodging in the good town.  So King
Christopher was pleased, and bade the burgesses ride beside
him, and he talked merrily with them on the way, so that
their hearts rejoiced over the kindness of their lord.

So they came to the gate, and there the King made stay till
Goldilind was fetched to him, so that they might ride into
the good town side by side.  And in the street was much
people thronging, and the sun was scarce set, so that the
folk could see their King and Queen what they were; and they
who were nighest unto them, they let their shouts die out,
so were their hearts touched with the sight of them and the
love of their beauty.

Thus rode they in triumph through the street till they were
come to their lodging, which was great and goodly as for a
cheaping town; and so the day was gone and the night was
come, and the council and the banquet were over; then were
the King and Goldilind together again, like any up-country
lad and lass.  But she stood before him and said:  "O thou
King and mighty warrior, surely I ought to fear thee now,
but it is not so, so sore as I desire thee; but yet it
maketh both laughter and tears come to me when I think of
the day we rode away from Greenharbour with thee, and I
seemed to myself a great lady, though I were unhappy; and
though I loved thy body, I feared lest the churl's blood in
thee might shame me perchance, and I was proud and unkind to
thee, and I hurt thee sorely; and now I will say it, and
confess, that somewhat I joyed to see thine anguish, for I
knew that it meant thy love for me and thy desire to me.  Lo
now, wilt thou forgive me this, or wilt thou punish me, O
Lord King?"

He laughed.  "Sweetling," he said, "meseemeth now all day
long I have been fighting against raiment rather than men;
no man withstood me in the battle, for that they feared the
crown on my helm and the banner over my head; and when those
good men of the town brought me the keys, how should I have
known them from borrel folk but for their scarlet gowns and
fur hoods? And meseemed that when they knelt to me, it was
the scarlet gowns kneeling to the kingly armour.  Therefore,
sweetheart, if thou fearest that the King should punish thee
for so wounding the poor Christopher of those few days ago,
as belike thou deservest it, bid the King do off his
raiment, and do thou in likewise, and then there shall be no
King to punish, and no King's scather to thole the
punishment, but only Christopher and Goldilind, even as they
met erewhile on the dewy grass of Littledale."

She blushed blood-red; but ere his words were done, her
hands were busy with girdle and clasp, and her raiment fell
from her to the earth, and his kingly raiment was cast from
him, and he took her by the hand and led her to the bed of
honour, that their love might have increase that night also.



CHAPTER XXXV.

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE AND AN EVIL DEED.


When morning was, and it was yet early, the town was all
astir and the gates were thrown open, and weaponed men
thronged into it crying out for Christopher the King. Then
the King came forth, and Jack o' the Tofts and his sons, and
Oliver Marson, and the captains of Brimside; and the host
was blown together to the market-place, and there was a new
tale of them taken, and they were now hard on seventy
hundreds of men.  So then were new captains appointed, and
thereafter they tarried not save to eat a morsel, but went
out a-gates faring after the banners to Oakenrealm, all folk
blessing them as they went.

Nought befell them of evil that day, but ever fresh
companies joined them on the road; and they gat harbour in
another walled town, hight Sevenham, and rested there in
peace that night, and were now grown to eighty hundreds.

Again on the morrow they were on the road betimes, and again
much folk joined them, and they heard no tidings of any
foeman faring against them; whereat Jack o' the Tofts
marvelled, for he and others had deemed that now at last
would Rolf the traitor come out against them.  Forsooth,
when they had gone all day and night was at hand, it seemed
most like to the captains that he would fall upon them that
night, whereas they were now in a somewhat perilous pass;
for they must needs rest at a little thorpe amidst of great
and thick woods, which lay all round about the frank of
Oakenham as a garland about a head.  So there they kept
watch and ward more heedfully than their wont was; and King
Christopher lodged with Goldilind at the house of a good man
of the thorpe.

Now when it lacked but half an hour of midnight, and Jack o'
the Tofts and Oliver Marson and the Captain of Woodwall had
just left him, after they had settled the order of the next
day's journey, and Goldilind lay abed in the inner chamber,
there entered one of the men of the watch and said:  "Lord
King, here is a man hereby who would see thee; he is
weaponed, and he saith that he hath a gift for thee:  what
shall we do with him?"

Said Christopher:  "Bring him in hither, good fellow."  And
the man went back, and came in again leading a tall man,
armed, but with a hood done over his steel hat, so that his
face was hidden, and he had a bag in his hand with something
therein.

Then spake the King and said:  "Thou man, since thy face is
hidden, this trusty man-at-arms shall stand by thee while
we talk together."

"Lord," said the man, "let there be a dozen to hear our talk
I care not; for I tell thee that I come to give thee a gift,
and gift-bearers are oftenest welcome."

Quoth the King:  "Maybe, yet before thou bring it forth I
would see thy face, for meseems I have an inkling of thy
voice."

So the man cast back his hood, and lo, it was Simon the
squire.  "Hah!" said Christopher, "is it thou then! hast
thou another knife to give me?"

"Nay," said Simon, "only the work of the knife."  And
therewith he set his hand to the bag and drew out by the
hair a man's head, newly hacked off and bleeding, and said:
"Hast thou seen him before, Lord? He was a great man
yesterday, though not so great as thou shalt be to-morrow."

"Once only I have seen him, "said Christopher," and then he
gave me this gift" (and he showed his father's ring on his
finger):  "thou hast slain the Earl Marshal, who called
himself the King of Oakenrealm:  my traitor and dastard he
was but thy friend. Wherefore have I two evil deeds to
reward thee, Simon, the wounding of me and the slaying of
him.  Dost thou not deem thee gallows-ripe?"

"King," said Simon, "what wouldst thou have done with him
hadst thou caught him?"

Said Christopher:  "I had slain him had I met him with a
weapon in his fist; and if we had taken him I had let the
folk judge him."

Said Simon:  "That is to say, that either thou hadst slain
him thyself, or bidden others to slay him.  Now then I ask
thee, King, for which deed wilt thou slay me, for not
slaying thee, or for doing thy work and slaying thy foe?"

Said Christopher to the guard:  "Good fellow, fetch here a
good horse ready saddled and bridled, and be speedy."

So the man went:  and Christopher said to Simon:  "For the
knife in my side, I forgive it thee; and as to the slaying
of thy friend, it is not for me to take up the feud.  But
this is no place for thee:  if Jack of the Tofts, or any of
his sons, or one of the captains findeth thee, soon art thou
sped; wherefore I rede thee, when yonder lad hath brought
thee the horse, show me the breadth of thy back, and mount
the beast, and put the most miles thou canst betwixt me and
my folk; for they love me."

Said Simon:  "Sorry payment for making thee a king!"

Said Christopher:  "Well, thou art in the right; I may well
give gold for getting rid of such as thou."  And he put his
hand into a pouch that hung on his chair, and drew out
thence a purse, and gave it unto Simon, who took it and
opened it and looked therein, and then flung it down on the
ground.

Christopher looked on him wrathfully with reddened face, and
cried out:  "Thou dog! wouldst thou be an earl and rule the
folk? What more dost thou want?"

"This!" cried out Simon, and leapt upon him, knife aloft.
Christopher was unarmed utterly; but he caught hold of the
felon's right arm with his right hand, and gripped the wrist
till he shrieked; then he raised up his mighty left hand,
and drave it down on Simon's head by the ear, and all gave
way before it, and the murderer fell crushed and dead to
earth.

Therewith came in the man-at-arms to tell him that the horse
was come; but stared wild when he saw the dead man on the
ground.  But Christopher said:  "My lad, here hath been one
who would have thrust a knife into an unarmed man, wherefore
I must needs give him his wages.  But now thou hast this to
do:  take thou this dead man and bind him so fast on the
horse thou hast brought that he will not come off till the
bindings be undone; and bind withal the head of this other,
who was once a great man and an evil, before the slayer of
him, so that it also may be fast; then get thee to horse and
lead this beast and its burden till ye are well on the
highway to Oakenham, and then let him go and find his way to
the gate of the city if God will.  And hearken, my lad;
seest thou this gold which lieth scattering on the floor
here? this was mine, but is no longer, since I have given it
away to the dead man just before he lifted his hand against
me.  Wherefore now I will keep it for thee against thou
comest back safe to me in the morning betimes, as I deem
thou wilt, if thou wilt behight to St. Julian the helping of
some poor body on the road.  Go therefore, but send hither
the guard; for I am weary now, and would go to sleep without
slaying any man else."

So departed the man full of joy, and Christopher gathered
his money together again, and so fared to his bed
peacefully.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

KING CHRISTOPHER COMES TO OAKENHAM.


But on the morrow the first man who came to the King was the
man-at-arms aforesaid; and he told that he had done the
King's errand, and ridden a five miles on the road to
Oakenham before he had left the horse with his felon load,
and that he had found nought stirring all that way when he
had passed through their own out-guards, where folk knew him
and let him go freely.  "And," quoth he, "it is like enough
that this gift to Oakenham, Lord King, has by now come to
the gate thereof."  Then the King gave that man the gold
which he had promised, and he kissed the King's hand and
went his ways a happy man.

Thereafter sent Christopher for Jack of the Tofts, and told
him in few words what had betid, and that Rolf the traitor
was dead.  Then spake Jack:  "King and fosterling, never
hath so mighty a warrior as thou waged so easy a war for so
goodly a kingdom as thou hast done; for surely thy war was
ended last night, wherefore will we straight to Oakenham, if
so thou wilt.  But if it be thy pleasure I will send a
chosen band of riders to wend on the spur thereto, and bid
them get ready thy kingly house, and give word to the Barons
and the Prelates, and the chiefs of the Knighthood, and the
Mayor and the Aldermen, and the Masters of the Crafts, to
show themselves of what mind they be towards thee.  But I
doubt it not that they will deem of thee as thy father come
back again and grown young once more."

Now was Christopher eager well nigh unto weeping to behold
his people that he should live amongst, and gladly he
yea-said the word of Jack of the Tofts.  So were those
riders sent forward; and the host was ordered, and
Christopher rode amidst it with Goldilind by his side; and
the sun was not yet gone down when they came within sight of
the gate of Oakenham, and there before the gate and in the
fields on either side of it was gathered a very great and
goodly throng, and there went forth from it to meet the King
the Bishop of Oakenham, and the Abbot of St.  Mary's and the
Priors of the other houses of religion, all fairly clad in
broidered copes, with the clerks and the monks dight full
solemnly; and they came singing to meet him, and the Bishop
blessed him and gave him the hallowed bread, and the King
greeted him and craved his prayers.  Then came the Burgreve
of Oakenham, and with him the Barons and the Knights, and
they knelt before him, and named him to king, and the
Burgreve gave him the keys of the city.  Thereafter came the
Mayor and the Aldermen, and the Masters of the Crafts, and
they craved his favour, and warding of his mighty sword; and
all these he greeted kindly and meekly, rather as a friend
than as a great lord.

Thereafter were the gates opened, and King Christopher
entered, and there was no gainsaying, and none spake a word
of the Traitor Rolf.

But the bells of the minster and of all the churches rang
merrily, and songs were sung sweetly by fair women
gloriously clad; and whereas King Christopher and Queen
Goldilind had lighted down from their horses and went afoot
through the street, roses and all kinds of sweet flowers
were cast down before the feet of them all the way from the
city gate to the King's High House of Oakenham.

There then in the great hall of his father's house stood
Christopher the King on the dais, and Goldilind beside him.
And Jack of the Tofts and the chiefest of the Captains, and
the Bishop, and the greatest lords of the Barons, and the
doughtiest of the Knights, and the Mayor and the Aldermen,
and the Masters of the Crafts, sat at the banquet with the
King and his mate; they brake bread together and drank cups
of renown, till the voidee cup was borne in.  Then at last
were the King & the Queen brought to their chamber with
string-play and songs and all kinds of triumph; and that
first night since he lay in his mother's womb did Child
Christopher fall asleep in the house which the fathers had
builded for him.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

OF CHILD CHRISTOPHER'S DEALINGS WITH HIS FRIENDS & HIS FOLK.


It was in the morning when King Christopher arose, and
Goldilind stood before him in the kingly chamber, that he
clipped her and kissed her, and said:  "This is the very
chamber whence my father departed when he went to his last
battle, and left my mother sickening with the coming birth
of me.  And never came he back hither, nor did mine eyes
behold him ever.  Here also lay my mother and gave birth to
me, and died of sorrow, and her also I never saw, save with
eyes that noted nought that I might remember.  And my third
kinsman was the traitor, that cast me forth of mine
heritage, and looked to it that I should wax up as a churl,
and lose all hope of high deeds; and at the last he strove
to slay me.

"Therefore, sweet, have I no kindred, and none that are
bound to cherish me, and it is for thee to take the place of
them, and be unto me both father and mother, and brother and
sister, and all kindred."

She said:  "My mother I never saw, and I was but little when
my father died; and if I had any kindred thereafter they
loved me not well enough to strike one stroke for me, nay,
or to speak a word even, when I was thrust out of my place
and delivered over to the hands of pitiless people, and my
captivity worsened on me as the years grew.  Wherefore to me
also art thou in the stead of all kindred and affinity."

Now Christopher took counsel with Jack of the Tofts and the
great men of the kingdom, and that same day, the first day
of his kingship in Oakenham, was summoned a great mote of
the whole folk; and in half a month was it holden, and
thereat was Christopher taken to king with none gainsaying.

Began now fair life for the people of Oakenrealm; for Jack
of the Tofts abode about the King in Oakenham; and wise was
his counsel, and there was no greed in him, and yet he
wotted of greed and guile in others, and warned the King
thereof when he saw it, and the tyrants were brought low,
and no poor and simple man had need to thieve.  As for
Christopher, he loved better to give than to take; and the
grief and sorrow of folk irked him sorely; it was to him as
if he had gotten a wound when he saw so much as one unhappy
face in a day; and all folk loved him, and the fame of him
went abroad through the lands and the roads of travel, so
that many were the wise and valiant folk that left their own
land and came into Oakenrealm to dwell there, because of the
good peace and the kindliness that there did abound; so that
Oakenrealm became both many-peopled and joyous.

Though Jack of the Tofts abode with the King at Oakenham,
his sons went back to the Tofts, and Gilbert was deemed the
head man of them; folk gathered to them there, and the
wilderness about them became builded in many places, and the
Tofts grew into a goodly cheaping town, for those brethren
looked to it that all roads in the woodland should be safe
and at peace, so that no chapman need to arm him or his
folk; nay, a maiden might go to and fro on the woodland
ways, with a golden girdle about her, without so much as the
crumpling of a lap of her gown unless by her own will.

As to David, at first Christopher bade him strongly to abide
with him ever, for he loved him much.  But David nay-said
it, and would go home to the Tofts; and when the King
pressed him sore, at last he said:  "Friend and fellow, I
must now tell thee the very sooth, and then shalt thou
suffer me to depart, though the sundering be but sorrow to
me.  For this it is, that I love thy Lady and wife more than
meet is, and here I find it hard to thole my desire and my
grief; but down in the thicket yonder amongst my brethren of
the woods, and man and maid, and wife and babe, nay, the
very deer of the forest, I shall become a man again, and be
no more a peevish and grudging fool; and as the years wear,
shall sorrow wear, and then, who knows but we may come
together again."

Then Christopher smiled kindly on him and embraced him, but
they spake no more of that matter, but sat talking a while,
and then bade each other farewell, and David went his ways
to the Tofts.  But a few months thereafter, when a son had
been born to Christopher, David came to Oakenrealm, but
stayed there no longer than to greet the King, and do him to
wit that he was boun for over-sea to seek adventure.  Many
gifts the King gave him, and they sundered in all
loving-kindness, and the King said:  "Farewell, friend, I
shall remember thee and thy kindness for ever."  But David
said:  "By the roof in Littledale and by the hearth thereof,
thou shalt be ever in my mind."

Thus they parted for that time; but five and twenty years
afterwards, when Child Christopher was in his most might and
majesty, and Goldilind was yet alive and lovely, and sons
and daughters sat about their board, it was the Yule feast
in the King's Hall at Oakenham, and there came a man into
the hall that none knew, big of stature, grey-eyed and
hollow-cheeked, with red hair grizzled, and worn with the
helm; a weaponed man, chieftain-like and warrior-like.  And
when the serving-men asked him of his name, and whence and
whither, he said:  "I have come from over-seas to look upon
the King, and when he seeth me he will know my name."  Then
he put them all aside and would not be gainsaid, but strode
up the hall to the high-seat, and stood before the King and
said: "Hail, little King Christopher! Hail, stout babe of
the woodland!"

Then the King looked on him and knew him at once, and stood
up at once with a glad cry, and came round unto him, and
took his arms about him and kissed him, and led him into the
high-seat, and set him betwixt him and Goldilind, and she
also greeted him and took him by the hand and kissed him;
and Jack of the Tofts, now a very old man, but yet hale and
stark, who sat on the left hand of the King, leaned toward
him and kissed him and blessed him; for lo! it was David of
the Tofts.

Spake he now and said:  "Christopher, this is now a happy
day!"

Said the King:  "David, whither away hence, and what is
thine heart set upon?"

"On the renewal of our youth," said David, "and the abiding
with thee.  By my will no further will I go than this thine
house.  How sayest thou?"

"As thou dost," said Christopher, "that this is indeed a
happy day; drink out of my cup now, to our abiding together,
and the end of sundering till the last cometh."

So they drank together, they two, and were happy amidst the
folk of the hall; and at last the King stood up and spake
aloud, and did all to wit that this was his friend and
fellow of the old days; and he told of his doughty deeds,
whereof he had heard many a tale, and treasured them in his
heart while they were apart, and he bade men honour him, all
such as would be his friends.  And all men rejoiced at the
coming of this doughty man and the friend of the King.

So there abode David, holden in all honour, and in great
love of Child Christopher and Goldilind; and when his father
died, his earldom did the King give to David his friend, who
never sundered from him again, but was with him in peace and
in war, in joy and in sorrow.



CHAPTER  XXXVIII.

OF MATTERS OF MEADHAM.


GOES the tale back now to the time when the kingship of
Child Christopher was scarce more than one month old; and
tells that as the King sat with his Queen in the cool of his
garden on a morning of August, there came to him a swain of
service, who did him to wit that an outland lord was come,
and would see him and give him a message.

So the King bade bring him in to the garden to him
straight-way; so the man went, and came back again leading
in a knight somewhat stricken in years, on whose green
surcoat was beaten a golden lion.

He came to those twain and did obeisance to them, but spake,
as it seemed, to Goldilind alone:  "Lady, and Queen of
Meadham," said he, "it is unto thee, first of all, that mine
errand is."

Then she spoke and said:  "Welcome to thee, Sir Castellan of
Greenharbour, we shall hear thy words gladly."

Said the new-comer:  "Lady, I am no longer the Burgreve of
Greenharbour, but Sir Guisebert, lord of the Green March,
and thy true servant and a suitor for thy grace and pardon."

"I pardon thee not, but thank thee for what thou didst of
good to me," said Goldilind, "and I think that now thine
errand shall be friendly."

Then turned the Green Knight to the King, and he said:
"Have I thy leave to speak, Lord King?" and he smiled
covertly.

But Christopher looked on the face and coat-armour of him,
and called him to mind as the man who had stood betwixt him
and present death that morning in the porch of the
Littledale house; so he looked on him friendly, and said:
"My leave thou hast, Sir Knight, to speak fully and freely,
and that the more as meseemeth I saw thee first when thou
hadst weaponed men at thy back, and wert turning their
staves away from my breast."

"Even so it is, Lord King," said the Knight; "and to say
sooth, I fear thee less for thy kingship, than because I wot
well that thou mayst lightly take me up by the small of my
back and cast me over thy shoulder if thou have a mind
therefor."

Christopher laughed at his word, and bade him sit down upon
the green grass and tell his errand straightway; and the
Knight tarried not, but spake out:  "Queen of Meadham, I am
a friend and fellow, and in some sort a servant, to Earl
Geoffrey, Regent of Meadham, whom thou knowest; and he hath
put a word in my mouth which is both short and easy for me
to tell.  All goes awry in Meadham now, and men are arming
against each other, and will presently be warring, but if
thou look to it; because all this is for lack of thee.  But
if thou wilt vouchsafe to come to Meadhamstead, and sit on
thy throne for a little while, commanding and forbidding;
and if thou wilt appoint one of the lords for thine Earl
there, and others for thy captains, and governors and
burgreves and so forth; then if the people see thee and hear
thee, the swords will go into their sheaths, and the spears
will hang on the wall again, and we shall have peace in
Meadham, for all will do thy bidding.  Wherefore, Lady and
Queen, I beseech thee to come to us, and stave off the riot
and ruin.  What sayest thou?"

Goldilind made answer in a while:  "Sir Guisebert, true it
is that I long to see my people, and to look once more on my
father's house, and the place where he was born and died.
But how know I but this is some wile of Earl Geoffrey, for
he hath not been abounding in trustiness toward us?"

But Sir Guisebert swore on his salvation that there was no
guile therein, and they were undone save Goldilind came unto
them.  Then spake Christopher:  "Sir Knight, I am willing to
pleasure my Lady, who, as I can see, longeth to behold her
own land and people; and also by thy voice and thy face I
deem that thou art not lying unto me, and that no harm will
befall the Lady; yet will I ask thee right out what thou and
thy lord would think thereof if she come into Meadham
accompanied; to wit, if I rode with her, and had five
hundreds of good riders at my back, would ye have guesting
for so many and such stark lads?"

The Knight took up the word eagerly, and said:  "Wilt thou
but come, dearlord, and bring a thousand or more, then the
surer and the safer it would be for us."

Said the King, smiling:  "Well, it shall be thought on; and
meantime be thou merry with us; for indeed I deem of thee,
that but for thy helping my life had been cast away that
morning in Littledale."

So they made much of the Meadham man for three days, and
thereafter they rode into Meadham and to Meadhamstead,
Christopher, and Jack of the Tofts, and Goldilind, in all
honour and triumph, they and seven hundreds of spears, and
never were lords received with such joy and kindness as were
they, but it were on the day when Christopher and his
entered Oakenham.

The Earl Geoffrey was not amongst them that met them; but
whenas they sat at the banquet in the hall, and Goldilind
was in the high-seat, gloriously clad and with the kingly
crown on her head, there came a tall man up to the dais,
grey-headed and keen-eyed, and he was unarmed, without so
much as a sword by his side, and clad in simple black; and
he knelt before Goldilind, and laid his head on her lap, and
spake:  "Lady and Queen, here is my head to do with as thou
wilt; for I have been thy dastard, and I crave thy pardon,
if so it may be, for I am Geoffrey."

She looked kindly on him, and raised him up; and then she
turned to the chief of the serving-men, and said:  "Fetch me
a sword with its sheath and its girdle, and see that it be a
good blade, and all well-adorned, both sword and sheath and
girdle."  Even so it was done; and when she had the sword,
she bade Sir Geoffrey kneel again before her, and she girt
him with the said sword and spake:  "Sir Geoffrey, all the
wrong which thou didest to me, I forgive it thee and forget
it; but wherein thou hast done well, I will remember it, for
thou hast given me a mighty King to be my man; nay, the
mightiest and the loveliest on earth; wherefore I bless
thee, and will make thee my Earl to rule all Meadham under
me, if so be the folk gainsay it not.  Wherefore now let
these folk fetch thee seemly garments and array thee, and
then come sit amongst us, and eat and drink on this high
day; for a happy day it is when once again I sit in my
father's house, and see the faces of my folk that loveth
me."

She spake loud and clear, so that most folk in the hall
heard her; and they rejoiced at her words, for Sir Geoffrey
was no ill ruler, but wise and of great understanding, keen
of wit and deft of word, and a mighty warrior withal; only
they might not away with it that their Lady and Queen had
become as alien to them.  So when they heard her speak her
will, they shouted for joy of the peace and goodwill that
was to be.

There then sat Geoffrey at the banquet; and Christopher
smiled on him, and said:  "See now, lord, if I have not done
as thou badest when thou gavest me the treasure of
Greenharbour, for I have brought the wolf-heads to thy
helping and not to thy scathing. Do thou as much for me, and
be thou a good earl to thy Lady and mine, and then shalt
thou yet live and die a happy man, and my friend.  Or
else--"

"There shall be no else, Lord King," quoth Geoffrey; "all
men henceforth shall tell of me as a true man."

So they were blithe and joyous together.  But a seven days
thence was the Allmen's Mote gathered to the wood-side
without Meadhamstead, and thronged it was:  and there
Goldilind stood up before all the folk and named Sir
Geoffrey for Earl to rule the land under her, and none
gainsaid it, for they knew him meet thereto.  Then she named
from the baronage and knighthood such men as she had been
truly told were meet thereto to all the offices of the
kingdom, and there was none whom she named but was well-
pleasing to the folk; for she had taken counsel beforehand
with all the wisest men of all degrees.

As for herself, all loved and worshipped her; and this alone
seemed hard unto them, that she must needs go back to
Oakenrealm in a few days:  but when she heard them murmur
thereat, she behight them, that once in every year she would
come into Meadham and spend one whole month therein; and,
were it possible, ever should that be the month of May.  So
when they heard that, they all praised her, and were the
more content.  This custom she kept ever thereafter, and she
lay in with her second son in the city of Meadhamstead, so
that he was born therein; and she named him to be King after
her, to the great joy of that folk; and he grew up strong
and well-liking, and came to the kingship while his mother
was yet alive, and was a good man and well-beloved of his
folk.

Before she turned back with her man, she let seek out
Aloyse, and when she came before her, gave her gifts and
bade her come back with her to Oakenham and serve her there
if she would:  and the damsel was glad, for there in
Meadhamstead was she poor and not well seen to, whereas it
was rumoured of her that she had been one of the jailers of
Goldilind.

When they came back to Oakenham, there they met Gandolf,
Baron of Brimside, now whole of his hurts, and the King
greeted him kindly, and did well to him all his life; and
found him ever a true man.

Good thenceforward was the life of Child Christopher and
Goldilind:  whiles indeed they happed on unpeace or other
trouble; but never did fair love and good worship depart
from them, either of each unto each, or of the whole folk
unto them twain.

To no man did Christopher mete out worse than his deserts,
nay, to most far better he meted:  no man he feared, nor
hated any save the tormentors of poor folk; and but a little
while abided his hatred of those, for it cut short their
lives, so that they were speedily done with and forgotten.
And when he died a very old man but one year after Goldilind
his dear, no king that ever lived was so bewailed by his
folk as was Child Christopher.




The end of Project Gutenberg etext of Child Christopher by
William Morris.