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Title: Tales of Romance

Editor: Andrew Lang

Illustrator: H. J. Ford
        Lancelot Speed

Release date: July 14, 2010 [eBook #33152]
                Most recently updated: January 6, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF ROMANCE ***




Produced by Al Haines









[Illustration: Cover art]





[Frontispiece: SLAGFID PURSUES THE WRAITH. _See p._ 60.]





TALES OF ROMANCE


  BASED ON TALES IN THE
  BOOK OF ROMANCE EDITED
  BY ANDREW LANG



WITH 4 COLOURED PLATES AND 15 OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
  By H. J. FORD AND LANCELOT SPEED



_NEW IMPRESSION_



LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON

FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK

BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS

1919




CONTENTS.


The Story of Robin Hood

Wayland the Smith

Some Adventures of William Short Nose

The Sword Excalibur

How Grettir the Strong Became an Outlaw

Death of Grettir the Strong




ILLUSTRATIONS.


COLOURED PLATES.

Slagfid pursues the Wraith over the Mountain . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

The Chariot of Freya

Alix kisses Rainouart

Arthur meets the Lady of the Lake and gets the Sword Excalibur


ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT.

Robin Hood's meeting with Little John

The Knight repays the Four Hundred Pounds

When the Sheriff saw his own vessels, his appetite went from him

Friar Tuck upsets Robin Hood

"There is pith in your arm," said Robin Hood

Robin Hood shoots his Last Arrow

The Three Women by the Stream

Wayland mocked by the Queen and Banvilda

The Merman warns Banvilda in vain

Vivian's Last Confession

The Captives--William Short Nose rides to the Rescue

The Lady Alix stays the wrath of William Short Nose

The Lady Gibourc with Rainouart in the Kitchen

Rainouart stops the Cowards

Grettir overthrows Thorir Redbeard




THE STORY OF ROBIN HOOD.


PART I.

Many hundreds of years ago, when the Plantagenets were kings, England
was so covered with woods, that a squirrel was said to be able to hop
from tree to tree from the Severn to the Humber.

It must have been very different to look at from the country we travel
through now; but still there were roads that ran from north to south
and from east to west, for the use of those who wished to leave their
homes, and at certain times of the year these roads were thronged with
people.

Pilgrims going to some holy shrine passed along, merchants taking their
wares to Court, Abbots and Bishops ambling by on palfreys to bear their
part in the King's Council, and, more frequently still, a solitary
Knight, seeking adventures.

Besides the broad roads there were small tracks and little green paths,
and these led to clumps of low huts, where dwelt the peasants,
charcoal-burners, and ploughmen, and here and there some larger
clearing than usual told that the house of a yeoman was near.

Now and then as you passed through the forest you might ride by a
splendid abbey, and catch a glimpse of monks in long black or white
gowns, fishing in the streams and rivers that abound in this part of
England, or casting nets in the fish ponds which were in the midst of
the abbey gardens.  Or you might chance to see a castle with round
turrets and high battlements, circled by strong walls, and protected by
a moat full of water.

This was the sort of England into which the famous Robin Hood was born.
We do not know anything about him, who he was, or where he lived, or
what evil deed he had done to put him beyond the King's grace.  For he
was an outlaw, and any man might kill him and never pay penalty for it.

But, outlaw or not, the poor people loved him and looked on him as
their friend, and many a stout fellow came to join him, and led a merry
life in the greenwood, with moss and fern for bed, and for meat the
King's deer, which it was death to slay.

Peasants of all sorts, tillers of the land, yeomen, and as some say
Knights, went on their ways freely, for of them Robin took no toll; but
lordly churchmen with money-bags well filled, or proud Bishops with
their richly dressed followers, trembled as they drew near to Sherwood
Forest--who was to know whether behind every tree there did not lurk
Robin Hood or some of his men?


PART II.

THE COMING OF LITTLE JOHN.

One day Robin was walking alone in the wood, and reached a river which
was spanned by a very narrow bridge, over which one man only could
pass.  In the midst stood a stranger, and Robin bade him go back and
let him go over.  "I am no man of yours," was all the answer Robin got,
and in anger he drew his bow and fitted an arrow to it.

"Would you shoot a man who has no arms but a staff?" asked the stranger
in scorn; and with shame Robin laid down his bow, and unbuckled an
oaken stick at his side.  "We will fight till one of us falls into the
water," he said; and fight they did, till the stranger planted a blow
so well that Robin rolled over into the river.

[Illustration: Robin Hood's meeting with Little John.]

"You are a brave soul," said he, when he had waded to land, and he blew
a blast with his horn which brought fifty good fellows, clad in green,
to the little bridge.

"Have you fallen into the river that your clothes are wet?" asked one;
and Robin made answer, "No, but this stranger, fighting on the bridge,
got the better of me, and tumbled me into the stream."

At this the foresters seized the stranger, and would have ducked him
had not their leader bade them stop, and begged the stranger to stay
with them and make one of themselves.  "Here is my hand," replied the
stranger, "and my heart with it.  My name, if you would know it, is
John Little."

"That must be altered," cried Will Scarlett; "we will call a feast, and
henceforth, because he is full seven feet tall and round the waist at
least an ell, he shall be called Little John."

And thus it was done; but at the feast Little John, who always liked to
know exactly what work he had to do, put some questions to Robin Hood.
"Before I join hands with you, tell me first what sort of life is this
you lead?  How am I to know whose goods I shall take, and whose I shall
leave?  Whom I shall beat, and whom I shall refrain from beating?"

And Robin answered: "Look that you harm not any tiller of the ground,
nor any yeoman of the greenwood--no, nor no Knight nor Squire, unless
you have heard him ill spoken of.  But if Bishops or Archbishops come
your way, see that you spoil _them_, and mark that you always hold in
your mind the High Sheriff of Nottingham."

This being settled, Robin Hood declared Little John to be second in
command to himself among the brotherhood of the forest, and the new
outlaw never forgot to "hold in his mind" the High Sheriff of
Nottingham, who was the bitterest enemy the foresters had.

Robin Hood, however, had no liking for a company of idle men about him,
and he at once sent off Little John and Will Scarlett to the great road
known as Watling Street, with orders to hide among the trees and wait
till some adventure might come to them; and if they took captive Earl
or Baron, Abbot or Knight, he was to be brought unharmed back to Robin
Hood.

But all along Watling Street the road was bare; white and hard it lay
in the sun, without the tiniest cloud of dust to show that a rich
company might be coming: east and west the land lay still.


PART III.

LITTLE JOHN'S FIRST ADVENTURE.

At length, just where a side path turned into the broad highway, there
rode a Knight, and a sorrier man than he never sat a horse on summer
day.  One foot only was in the stirrup, the other hung carelessly by
his side; his head was bowed, the reins dropped loose, and his horse
went on as he would.  At so sad a sight the hearts of the outlaws were
filled with pity, and Little John fell on his knees and bade the Knight
welcome in the name of his master.

"Who is your master?" asked the Knight.

"Robin Hood," answered Little John.

"I have heard much good of him," replied the Knight, "and will go with
you gladly."

Then they all set off together, tears running down the Knight's cheeks
as he rode, but he said nothing, neither was anything said to him.  And
in this wise they came to Robin Hood.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," cried he, "and thrice welcome, for I waited to
break my fast till you or some other had come to me."

"God save you, good Robin," answered the Knight, and after they had
washed themselves in the stream, they sat down to dine off bread and
wine, with flesh of the King's deer, and swans and pheasants.  "Such a
dinner have I not had for three weeks and more," said the Knight.  "And
if I ever come again this way, good Robin, I will give you as fine a
dinner as you have given me."

"I thank you," replied Robin, "my dinner is always welcome; still, I am
none so greedy but I can wait for it.  But before you go, pay me, I
pray you, for the food which you have had.  It was never the custom for
a yeoman to pay for a Knight."

"My bag is empty," said the Knight, "save for ten shillings only."

"Go, Little John, and look in his wallet," said Robin, "and, Sir
Knight, if in truth you have no more, not one penny will I take; nay, I
will give you all that you shall need."

So Little John spread out the Knight's mantle, and opened the bag, and
therein lay ten shillings and naught besides.

"What tidings, Little John?" cried his master.

"Sir, the Knight speaks truly," said Little John.

"Then fill a cup of the best wine and tell me, Sir Knight, whether it
is your own ill doings which have brought you to this sorry pass."

"For an hundred years my fathers have dwelt in the forest," answered
the Knight, "and four hundred pounds might they spend yearly.  But
within two years misfortune has befallen me, and my wife and children
also."

"How did this evil come to pass?" asked Robin.

"Through my own folly," answered the Knight, "and because of the great
love I bore my son, who would never be guided of my counsel, and slew,
ere he was twenty years old, a Knight of Lancaster and his Squire.  For
their deaths I had to pay a large sum, which I could not raise without
giving my lands in pledge to the rich Abbot of St. Mary's.  If I cannot
bring him the money by a certain day they will be lost to me for ever."

"What is the sum?" asked Robin.  "Tell me truly."

"It is four hundred pounds," said the Knight.

"And what will you do if you lose your lands?" asked Robin again.

"Hide myself over the sea," said the Knight, "and bid farewell to my
friends and country.  There is no better way open to me."

At this tears fell from his eyes, and he turned him to depart.  "Good
day, my friend," he said to Robin, "I cannot pay you what I should----"
But Robin held him fast.  "Where _are_ your friends?" asked he.

"Sir, they have all forsaken me since I became poor, and they turn away
their heads if we meet upon the road, though when I was rich they were
ever in my castle."

When Little John and Will Scarlett and the rest heard this, they wept
for very shame and fury, and Robin bade them fill a cup of the best
wine, and give it to the Knight.

"Have you no one who would stay surety for you?" said he.

"None," answered the Knight, "but only Our Lady, who has never yet
failed to help me."

"You speak well," said Robin, "and you, Little John, go to my treasure
chest, and bring me thence four hundred pounds.  And be sure you count
it truly."

So Little John went, and Will Scarlett, and they brought back the money.

"Sir," said Little John, when Robin had counted it and found it no more
nor no less, "look at his clothes, how thin they are!  You have stores
of garments, green and scarlet, in your coffers--no merchant in England
can boast the like.  I will measure some out with my bow."  And thus he
did.

"Master," spoke Little John again, "there is still something else.  You
must give him a horse, that he may go as beseems his quality to the
Abbey."

"Take the grey horse," said Robin, "and put a new saddle on it, and
take likewise a good palfrey and a pair of boots, with gilt spurs on
them.  And as it would be a shame for a Knight to ride by himself on
this errand, I will lend you Little John as Squire--perchance he may
stand you in yeoman's stead."

"When shall we meet again?" asked the Knight.

"This day twelve months," said Robin, "under the greenwood tree."

Then the Knight rode on his way, with Little John behind him, and as he
went he thought of Robin Hood and his men, and blessed them for the
goodness they had shown towards him.

"To-morrow," he said to Little John, "I must be at the Abbey of St.
Mary, which is in the city of York, for if I am but so much as a day
late my lands are lost forever, and though I were to bring the money I
should not be suffered to redeem them."


PART IV.

Now the Abbot had been counting the days as well as the Knight, and the
next morning he said to his monks: "This day year there came a Knight
and borrowed of me four hundred pounds, giving his lands in surety.
And if he come not to pay his debt ere midnight tolls they will be ours
for ever."

"It is full early yet," answered the Prior, "he may still be coming."

"He is far beyond the sea," said the Abbot, "and suffers from hunger
and cold.  How is he to get here?"

"It were a shame," said the Prior, "for you to take his lands.  And you
do him much wrong if you drive such a hard bargain."

"He is dead or hanged," spake a fat-headed monk who was the cellarer,
"and we shall have his four hundred pounds to spend on our gardens and
our wines," and he went with the Abbot to attend the court of justice,
wherein the Knight's lands would be declared forfeited by the High
Justiciar.

"If he come not this day," cried the Abbot, rubbing his hands, "if he
come not this day, they will be ours."

"He will not come yet," said the Justiciar, but he knew not that the
Knight was already at the outer gate, and Little John with him.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," said the porter.  "The horse that you ride is
the noblest that ever I saw.  Let me lead them both to the stable, that
they may have food and rest."

"They shall not pass these gates," answered the Knight sternly, and he
entered the hall alone, where the monks were sitting at meat, and knelt
down and bowed to them.

"I have come back, my lord," he said to the Abbot, who had just
returned from the court.  "I have come back this day as I promised."

"Have you brought my money?" was all the Abbot said.

"Not a penny," answered the Knight, who wished to see how the Abbot
would treat him.

"Then what do you here without it?" cried the Abbot in angry tones.

"I have come to pray you for a longer day," answered the Knight meekly.

"The day was fixed and cannot be gainsaid," replied the Justiciar; but
the Knight only begged that he would stand his friend and help him in
his strait.  "I am with the Abbot," was all the Justiciar would answer.

"Good Sir Abbot, be my friend," prayed the Knight again, "and give me
one chance more to get the money and free my lands.  I will serve you
day and night till I have four hundred pounds to redeem them."

But the Abbot only vowed that the money must be paid that day or the
lands be forfeited.

The Knight stood up straight and tall: "It is well," said he, "to prove
one's friends against the hour of need," and he looked the Abbot full
in the face, and the Abbot felt uneasy, he did not know why, and hated
the Knight more than ever.  "Out of my hall, false Knight!" cried he,
pretending to a courage which he did not feel.  But the Knight stayed
where he was, and answered him, "You lie, Abbot.  Never was I false,
and that I have shown in jousts and in tourneys."

"Give him two hundred pounds more," said the Justiciar to the Abbot,
"and keep the lands yourself."

"No, by Heaven!" answered the Knight, "not if you offered me a thousand
pounds would I do it!  Neither Justiciar, Abbot, nor Monk shall be heir
of mine."  Then he strode up to a table and emptied out four hundred
pounds.  "Take your gold, Sir Abbot, which you lent to me a year agone.
Had you but received me civilly, I would have paid you something more.

[Illustration: The Knight repays the four hundred pounds]

  "Sir Abbot, and ye men of law,
    Now have I kept my day!
  Now shall I have my land again,
    For aught that you may say."

So he passed out of the hall singing merrily, leaving the Abbot staring
silently after him, and rode back to his house, where his wife met him
at the gate.

  "Welcome, my lord," said his lady,
    "Sir, lost is all your good."
  "Be merry, dame," said the Knight,
    "And pray for Robin Hood.

"But for his kindness, we had been beggars."


PART V.

After this the Knight dwelt at home, looking after his lands and saving
his money carefully, till the four hundred pounds lay ready for Robin
Hood.  Then he bought a hundred bows and a hundred arrows, and every
arrow was an ell long, and had a head of silver and peacock's feathers.
And clothing himself in white and red, and with a hundred men in his
train, he set off to Sherwood Forest.

On the way he passed an open space near a bridge where there was a
wrestling, and the Knight stopped and looked, for he himself had taken
many a prize in that sport.  Here the prizes were such as to fill any
man with envy; a fine horse, saddled and bridled, a great white bull, a
pair of gloves, a ring of bright red gold, and a pipe of wine.

There was not a yeoman present who did not hope to win one of them.
But when the wrestling was over, the yeoman who had beaten them all was
a man who kept apart from his fellows, and was said to think much of
himself.

Therefore the men grudged him his skill, and set upon him with blows,
and would have killed him, had not the Knight, for love of Robin Hood,
taken pity on him, while his followers fought with the crowd, and would
not suffer them to touch the prizes a better man had won.

When the wrestling was finished the Knight rode on, and there under the
greenwood tree, in the place appointed, he found Robin Hood and his
merry men waiting for him, according to the tryst that they had fixed
last year:--

  "God save thee, Robin Hood,
    And all this company."
  "Welcome be thou, gentle Knight,
    And right welcome to me.

  "Hast thou thy land again?" said Robin,
    "Truth then tell thou me."
  "Yea, for God," said the Knight,
    "And that thank I God and thee.

  "Have here four hundred pounds," said the Knight,
    "The which you lent to me;
  And here are also twenty marks
    For your courtesie."

But Robin would not take the money.  A miracle had happened, he said,
and Our Lady had paid it to him, and shame would it be for him to take
it twice over.

Then he noticed for the first time the bows and arrows which the Knight
had brought, and asked what they were.  "A poor present to you,"
answered the Knight, and Robin, who would not be outdone, sent Little
John once more to his treasury, and bade him bring forth four hundred
pounds, which was given to the Knight.

After that they parted, in much love, and Robin prayed the Knight if he
were in any strait "to let him know at the greenwood tree, and while
there was any gold there he should have it".


PART VI.

HOW LITTLE JOHN BECAME THE SHERIFF'S SERVANT.

Meanwhile the High Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a great
shooting-match in a broad open space, and Little John was minded to try
his skill with the rest.  He rode through the forest, whistling gaily
to himself, for well he knew that not one of Robin Hood's men could
send an arrow as straight as he, and he felt little fear of anyone else.

When he reached the trysting place he found a large company assembled,
the Sheriff with them, and the rules of the match were read out: where
they were to stand, how far the mark was to be, and how that three
tries should be given to every man.

Some of the shooters shot near the mark, some of them even touched it,
but none but Little John split the slender wand of willow with every
arrow that flew from his bow.

At this sight the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that Little John was the
best archer that ever he had seen, and asked him who he was and where
he was born, and vowed that if he would enter his service he would give
twenty marks a year to so good a bowman.

Little John, who did not wish to confess that he was one of Robin
Hood's men and an outlaw, said his name was Reynold Greenleaf, and that
he was in the service of a Knight, whose leave he must get before he
became the servant of any man.

This was given heartily by the Knight, and Little John bound himself to
the Sheriff for the space of twelve months, and was given a good white
horse to ride on whenever he went abroad.  But for all that he did not
like his bargain, and made up his mind to do the Sheriff, who was hated
of the outlaws, all the mischief he could.

His chance came on a Wednesday when the Sheriff always went hunting,
and Little John lay in bed till noon, when he grew hungry.  Then he got
up, and told the steward that he wanted some dinner.  The steward
answered he should have nothing till the Sheriff came home, so Little
John grumbled and left him, and sought out the butler.

Here he was no more successful than before; the butler just went to the
buttery door and locked it, and told Little John that he would have to
make himself happy till his lord returned.

Rude words mattered nothing to Little John, who was not accustomed to
be baulked by trifles, so he gave a mighty kick which burst open the
door, and then ate and drank as much as he would, and when he had
finished all there was in the buttery, he went down into the kitchen.

Now the Sheriff's cook was a strong man and a bold one, and had no mind
to let another man play the king in his kitchen; so he gave Little John
three smart blows, which were returned heartily.  "Thou art a brave man
and hardy," said Little John, "and a good fighter withal.  I have a
sword, take you another, and let us see which is the better man of us
twain."

The cook did as he was bid, and for two hours they fought, neither of
them harming the other.  "Fellow," said Little John at last, "you are
one of the best swordsmen that I ever saw--and if you could shoot as
well with the bow, I would take you back to the merry greenwood, and
Robin Hood would give you twenty marks a year and two changes of
clothing."

"Put up your sword," said the cook, "and I will go with you.  But first
we will have some food in my kitchen, and carry off a little of the
gold that is in the Sheriff's treasure house."

They ate and drank till they wanted no more, then they broke the locks
of the treasure house, and took of the silver as much as they could
carry, three hundred pounds and more, and departed unseen by anyone to
Robin in the forest.


PART VII.

"Welcome! welcome!" cried Robin when he saw them, "welcome, too, to the
fair yeoman you bring with you.  What tidings from Nottingham, Little
John?"

"The proud Sheriff greets you, and sends you by my hand his cook and
his silver vessels, and three hundred pounds and three also."

Robin shook his head, for he knew better than to believe Little John's
tale.  "It was never by his good will that you brought such treasure to
me," he answered, and Little John, fearing that he might be ordered to
take it back again, slipped away into the forest to carry out a plan
that had just come into his head.

He ran straight on for five miles, till he came up with the Sheriff,
who was still hunting, and flung himself on his knees before him.

"Reynold Greenleaf," cried the Sheriff, "what are you doing here, and
where have you been?"

"I have been in the forest, where I saw a fair hart of a green colour,
and sevenscore deer feeding hard by."

"That sight would I see too," said the Sheriff.

"Then follow me," answered Little John, and he ran back the way he
came, the Sheriff following on horseback, till they turned a corner of
the forest, and found themselves in Robin Hood's presence.  "Sir, here
is the master-hart," said Little John.

  Still stood the proud Sheriff,
    A sorry man was he,
  "Woe be to you, Reynold Greenleaf,
    Thou hast betrayed me!"


"It was not my fault," answered Little John, "but the fault of your
servants, master.  For they would not give me my dinner," and he went
away to see to the supper.

It was spread under the greenwood tree, and they sat down to it, hungry
men all.  But when the Sheriff saw himself served from his own vessels,
his appetite went from him.

[Illustration: When the Sheriff saw his own vessels his appetite went
from him]

"Take heart, man," said Robin Hood, "and think not we will poison you.
For charity's sake, and for the love of Little John, your life shall be
granted you.  Only for twelve months you shall dwell with me, and learn
what it is to be an outlaw."

To the Sheriff this punishment was worse to bear than the loss of gold
or silver dishes, and earnestly he begged Robin Hood to set him free,
vowing he would prove himself the best friend that ever the foresters
had.

Neither Robin nor any of his men believed him, but he swore that he
would never seek to do them harm, and that if he found any of them in
evil plight he would deliver them out of it.  With that Robin let him
go.


PART VIII.

HOW ROBIN MET FRIAR TUCK.

In many ways life in the forest was dull in the winter, and often the
days passed slowly; but in summer, when the leaves were green, and
flowers and ferns covered all the woodland, Robin Hood and his men
would come out of their warm resting places, like the rabbits and the
squirrels, and would play too.  Races they ran to stretch their legs,
or leaping matches were arranged, or they would shoot at a mark.
Anything was pleasant when the grass was soft once more under their
feet.

"Who can kill a hart of grace five hundred paces off?"  So said Robin
to his men in the bright May time; and they went into the wood and
tried their skill, and in the end it was Little John who brought down
the "hart of grace," to the great joy of Robin Hood.

"I would ride my horse a hundred miles to find one who could match with
thee," he said to Little John, and Will Scarlett, who was perhaps
rather jealous of this mighty deed, answered with a laugh, "There lives
a friar in Fountains Abbey who would beat both him and you."

Now Robin Hood did not like to be told that any man could shoot better
than himself or his foresters, so he swore lustily that he would
neither eat nor drink till he had seen that friar.  Leaving his men
where they were, he put on a coat of mail and a steel cap, took his
shield and sword, slung his bow over his shoulder, and filled his
quiver with arrows.  Thus armed, he set forth to Fountains Dale.

By the side of the river a friar was walking, armed like Robin, but
without a bow.  At this sight Robin jumped from his horse, which he
tied to a thorn, and called to the friar to carry him over the water or
it would cost him his life.

The friar said nothing, but hoisted Robin on his broad back and marched
into the river.  Not a word was spoken till they reached the other
side, when Robin leaped lightly down, and was going on his way when the
friar stopped him.  "Not so fast, my fine fellow," said he.  "It is my
turn now, and you shall take me across the river, or woe will betide
you."

So Robin carried him, and when they had reached the side from which
they had started, he set down the friar and jumped for the second time
on his back, and bade him take him whence he had come.  The friar
strode into the stream with his burden, but as  soon as they got to the
middle he bent his head and Robin fell into the water.  "Now you can
sink or swim as you like," said the friar, as he stood and laughed.

[Illustration: Friar Tuck upsets Robin Hood]

Robin Hood swam to a bush of golden broom, and pulled himself out of
the water, and while the friar was scrambling out Robin fitted an arrow
to his bow and let fly at him.  But the friar quickly held up his
shield, and the arrow fell harmless.

"Shoot on, my fine fellow, shoot on all day if you like," shouted the
friar, and Robin shot till his arrows were gone, but always missed his
mark.  Then they took their swords, and at four of the afternoon they
were still fighting.

By this time Robin's strength was wearing, and he felt he could not
fight much more.  "A boon, a boon!" cried he.  "Let me but blow three
blasts on my horn, and I will thank you on my bended knees for it."

The friar told him to blow as many blasts as he liked, and in an
instant the forest echoed with his horn; it was but a few minutes
before "half a hundred yeomen were racing over the lea".  The friar
stared when he saw them; then, turning to Robin, he begged of him a
boon also, and leave being granted he gave three whistles, which were
followed by the noise of a great crashing through the trees, as fifty
great dogs bounded towards him.

"Here's a dog for each of your men," said the friar, "and I myself for
you"; but the dogs did not listen to his words, for two of them rushed
at Robin, and tore his mantle of Lincoln green from off his back.  His
men were too busy defending themselves to take heed of their master's
plight, for every arrow shot at a dog was caught and held in the
creature's mouth.

Robin's men were not used to fight with dogs, and felt they were
getting beaten.  At last Little John bade the friar call off his dogs,
and as he did not do so at once he let fly some arrows, which this time
left half a dozen dead on the ground.

"Hold, hold, my good fellow," said the friar, "till your master and I
can come to a bargain," and when the bargain was made this was how it
ran.  That the friar was to forswear Fountains Abbey and join Robin
Hood, and that he should be paid a golden noble every Sunday throughout
the year, besides a change of clothes on each holy day.

  This Friar had kept Fountains Dale
    Seven long years or more,
  There was neither Knight, nor Lord, nor Earl
    Could make him yield before.

But now he became one of the most famous members of Robin Hood's men
under the name of Friar Tuck.


PART IX.

HOW ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN FELL OUT.

One Whitsunday morning, when the sun was shining and the birds singing,
Robin Hood called to Little John to come with him into Nottingham to
hear Mass.  As was their custom, they took their bows, and on the way
Little John proposed that they should shoot a match with a penny for a
wager.

Robin, who held that he himself shot better than any man living,
laughed in scorn, and told Little John that he should have three tries
to his master's one, which John without more ado accepted.

But Robin soon repented both of his offer and his scorn, for Little
John speedily won five shillings, whereat Robin became angry and smote
Little John with his hand.

Little John was not the man to bear being treated so, and he told Robin
roundly that he would never more own him for master, and straightway
turned back into the wood.

At this Robin was ashamed of what he had done, but his pride would not
suffer him to say so, and he continued his way to Nottingham, and
entered the Church of St. Mary, not without secret fears, for the
Sheriff of the town was ever his enemy.  However, there he was and
there he meant to stay.

He knelt down before the great cross in the sight of all the people,
but none knew him save one monk only, and he stole out of church and
ran to the Sheriff, and bade him come quickly and take his foe.

The Sheriff was not slow to do the monk's bidding, and, calling his men
to follow him, he marched to the church.  The noise they made in
entering caused Robin to look round.  "Alas, alas," he said to himself,
"now miss I Little John."

But he drew his two-handed sword and laid about him in such wise that
twelve of the Sheriff's men lay dead before him.  Then Robin found
himself face to face with the Sheriff, and gave him a fierce blow; but
his sword broke on the Sheriff's head, and he had shot away all his
arrows.  So the men closed round him, and bound his arms.

Ill news travels fast, and not many hours had passed before the
foresters heard that their master was in prison.  They wept and moaned
and wrung their hands, and seemed to have gone suddenly mad, till
Little John bade them pluck up their hearts and help him to deal with
the monk.


PART X.

The next morning Little John hid himself, and waited with a comrade,
Much by name, till he saw the monk riding along the road, with a page
behind him, carrying letters from the Sheriff to the King telling of
Robin's capture.

"Whence come you?" asked Little John, going up to the monk, "and can
you give us tidings of a false outlaw named Robin Hood, who was taken
prisoner yesterday?  He robbed both me and my fellow of twenty marks,
and glad should we be to hear of his undoing."

"He robbed me, too," said the monk, "of a hundred pounds and more, but
I have laid hands on him, and for that you may thank me."

"I thank you so much that, with your leave, I and my friend will bear
you company," answered Little John; "for in this forest are many wild
men who own Robin Hood for leader, and you ride along this road at the
peril of your life."

They went on together, talking the while, when suddenly Little John
seized the horse by the head and pulled down the monk by his hood.

  "He was my master," said Little John,
    "That you have brought to bale,
  Never shall you come at the King
    For to tell him that tale."

At these words the monk uttered loud cries, but Little John took no
heed of him, and smote off his head, as Much had already smitten off
that of the page, lest he should carry the news of what had happened
back to the Sheriff.  After this they buried the bodies, and, taking
the letters, carried them themselves to the King.

When they arrived at the Palace, in the presence of the King, Little
John fell on his knees and held the letter out.  "God save you, my
liege lord," he said; and the King unfolded the letters and read them.

"There never was yeoman in Merry England I longed so sore to see," he
said.  "But where is the monk that should have brought these letters?"

"He died by the way," answered Little John; and the King asked no more
questions.

Twenty pounds each he ordered his treasurer to give to Much and to
Little John, and made them yeomen of the crown.  After which he handed
his own seal to Little John and ordered him to bear it to the Sheriff,
and bid him without delay bring Robin Hood unhurt into his presence.

Little John did as the King bade him, and the Sheriff, at sight of the
seal, gave him and Much welcome, and set a feast before them, at which
John led him to drink heavily.  Soon he fell asleep, and then the two
outlaws stole softly to the prison.  Here John ran the porter through
the body for trying to stop his entrance, and, taking the keys, hunted
through the cells until he had found Robin.  Thrusting a sword into his
hand Little John whispered to his master to follow him, and they crept
along till they reached the lowest part of the city wall, from which
they jumped and were safe and free.

"Now, farewell," said Little John, "I have done you a good turn for an
ill."  "Not so," answered Robin Hood, "I make you master of my men and
me," but Little John would hear nothing of it.  "I only wish to be your
comrade, and thus it shall be," he replied.

"Little John has beguiled us both," said the King, when he heard of the
adventure.


PART XI.

HOW THE KING VISITED ROBIN HOOD.

Now the King had no mind that Robin Hood should do as he willed, and
called his Knights to follow him to Nottingham, where they would lay
plans how best to take captive the felon.  Here they heard sad tales of
Robin's misdoings, and how of the many herds of wild deer that had been
wont to roam the forest in some places scarce one remained.  This was
the work of Robin Hood and his merry men, on whom the King swore
vengeance with a great oath.

"I would I had this Robin Hood in my hands," cried he, "and an end
should soon be put to his doings."  So spake the King; but an old
Knight, full of days and wisdom, answered him and warned him that the
task of taking Robin Hood would be a sore one, and best let alone.

The King, who had seen the vanity of his hot words the moment that he
had uttered them, listened to the old man, and resolved to bide his
time, if perchance some day Robin should fall into his power.

All this time, and for six weeks later that he dwelt in Nottingham, the
King could hear nothing of Robin, who seemed to have vanished into the
earth with his merry men, though one by one the deer were vanishing too!

At last one day a forester came to the King, and told him that if he
would see Robin he must come with him and take five of his best
Knights.  The King eagerly sprang up to do his bidding, and the six men
clad in monks' clothes mounted their palfreys and rode down to the
Abbey, the King wearing an Abbot's broad hat over his crown, and
singing as he passed through the green wood.

Suddenly at the turn of a path Robin and his archers appeared before
them.

"By your leave, Sir Abbot," said Robin, seizing the King's bridle, "you
will stay a while with us.  Know that we are yeomen, who live upon the
King's deer, and other food have we none.  Now you have abbeys and
churches, and gold in plenty; therefore give us some of it, in the name
of holy charity."

"I have no more than forty pounds with me," answered the King, "but
sorry I am it is not a hundred, for you should have had it all."

So Robin took the forty pounds, and gave half to his men, and then told
the King he might go on his way.  "I thank you," said the King, "but I
would have you know that our liege lord has bid me bear you his seal,
and pray you to come to Nottingham."

At this message Robin bent his knee.

  "I love no man in all the world
  So well as I do my King";

he cried, "and Sir Abbot, for thy tidings, which fill my heart with
joy, to-day thou shalt dine with me, for love of my King".  Then he led
the King into an open place, and Robin took a horn and blew it loud,
and at its blast seven score of young men came speedily to do his will.

"They are quicker to do his bidding than my men are to do mine," said
the King to himself.

Speedily the foresters set out the dinner, venison, and white bread,
and the good red wine, and Robin and Little John served the King.
"Make good cheer," said Robin, "Abbot, for charity, and then you shall
see what sort of life we lead, that so you may tell our King."

When he had finished eating, the archers took their bows, and hung
rose-garlands up with a string, and every man was to shoot through the
garland.  If he failed, he should have a buffet on the head from Robin.

Good bowmen as they were, few managed to stand the test.  Little John
and Will Scarlett, and Much, all shot wide of the mark, and at length
no one was left in but Robin himself and Gilbert of the Wide Hand.
Then Robin fired his last bolt, and it fell three fingers from the
garland.  "Master," said Gilbert, "you have lost, stand forth and take
your punishment."

"I will take it," answered Robin, "but, Sir Abbot, I pray you that I
may suffer it at your hands."

The King hesitated.  "It did not become him," he said, "to smite such a
stout yeoman," but Robin bade him smite on; so he turned up his sleeve,
and gave Robin such a buffet on the head that he rolled upon the ground.

"There is pith in your arm," said Robin.  "Come, shoot a main with me."
And the King took up a bow, and in so doing his hat fell back and Robin
saw his face.

[Illustration: There is pith in your arm said Robin Hood]

"My lord the King of England, now I know you well," cried he, and he
fell on his knees and all the outlaws with him.  "Mercy I ask, my lord
the King, for my men and me."

"Mercy I grant," then said the King, "and therefore I came hither, to
bid you and your men leave the greenwood and dwell in my Court with me."

"So shall it be," answered Robin, "I and my men will come to your
Court, and see how your service liketh us."


PART XII.

ROBIN AT COURT.

"Have you any green cloth," asked the King, "that you could sell to
me?" and Robin brought out thirty yards and more, and clad the King and
his men in coats of Lincoln green.  "Now we will all ride to
Nottingham," said he, and they went merrily, shooting by the way.

The people of Nottingham saw them coming, and trembled as they watched
the dark mass of Lincoln green drawing near over the fields.  "I fear
lest our King be slain," whispered one to another, "and if Robin Hood
gets into the town there is not one of us whose life is safe"; and
every man, woman, and child made ready to fly.

The King laughed out when he saw their fright, and called them back.
Right glad were they to hear his voice, and they feasted and made
merry.  A few days later the King returned to London, and Robin dwelt
in his Court for twelve months.  By that time he had spent a hundred
pounds, for he gave largely to the Knights and Squires he met, and
great renown he had for his open-handedness.

But his men, who had been born under the shadow of the forest, could
not live amid streets and houses.  One by one they slipped away, till
only Little John and Will Scarlett were left.  Then Robin himself grew
home-sick, and at the sight of some young men shooting, he thought upon
the time when he was accounted the best archer in all England, and went
straightway to the King and begged for leave to go on a pilgrimage to
Bernisdale.

"I may not say you nay," answered the King, "seven nights you may be
gone and no more."  And Robin thanked him, and that evening set out for
the greenwood.

It was early morning when he reached it at last, and listened thirstily
to the notes of singing birds, great and small.

"It seems long since I was here," he said to himself; "it would give me
great joy if I could bring down a deer once more;" and he shot a great
hart, and blew his horn, and all the outlaws of the forest came
flocking round him.  "Welcome," they said, "our dear master, back to
the greenwood tree," and they threw off their caps and fell on their
knees before him in delight at his return.


PART XIII.

THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD.

For two and twenty years Robin Hood dwelt in Sherwood Forest after he
had run away from Court, and naught that the King could say would tempt
him back again.  At the end of that time he fell ill; he neither ate
nor drank, and had no care for the things he loved, "I must go to merry
Kirkley," said he, "and have my blood let."

But Will Scarlett, who heard his words, spoke roundly to him.  "Not by
my leave, nor without a hundred bowmen at your back.  For there abides
an evil man, who is sure to quarrel with you, and you will need us
badly."

"If you are afraid, Will Scarlett, you may stay at home, for me," said
Robin, "and in truth no man will I take with me, save Little John only,
to carry my bow."

"Bear your bow yourself, master, and I will bear mine, and we will
shoot for a penny as we ride."

"Very well, let it be so," said Robin, and they went on merrily enough
till they came to some women weeping sorely near a stream.

"What is the matter, good wives?" said Robin Hood.

"We weep for Robin Hood and his dear body, which to-day must let
blood," was their answer.

"Pray why do you weep for me?" asked Robin; "the Prioress is the
daughter of my aunt, and my cousin, and well I know she would not do me
harm for all the world."

And he passed on, with Little John at his side.

Soon they reached the Priory, where they were let in by the Prioress
herself, who bade them welcome heartily, and not the less because Robin
handed her twenty pounds in gold as payment for his stay, and told her
if he cost her more she was to let him know of it.

Then she began to bleed him, and for long Robin said nothing, giving
her credit for kindness and for knowing her art, but at length so much
blood came from him that he suspected treason.

He tried to open the door, for she had left him alone in the room, but
it was locked fast, and while the blood was still flowing he could not
escape from the casement.  So he lay down for many hours, and none came
near him, and at length the blood stopped.

Slowly Robin uprose and staggered to the lattice-window, and blew
thrice on his horn; but the blast was so low, and so little like what
Robin was wont to give, that Little John, who was watching for some
sound, felt that his master must be nigh to death.

At this thought he started to his feet, and ran swiftly to the Priory.
He broke the locks of all the doors that stood between him and Robin
Hood, and soon entered the chamber where his master lay, white, with
nigh all his blood gone from him.

"I crave a boon of you, dear master," cried Little John.

"And what is that boon," said Robin Hood, "which Little John begs of
me?"  And Little John answered, "It is to burn fair Kirkley Hall, and
all the nunnery."

[Illustration: Robin Hood shoots his last arrow]

But Robin Hood, in spite of the wrong that had been done him, would not
listen to Little John's cry for revenge.  "I never hurt a woman in all
my life," he said, "nor a man that was in her company.  But now my time
is done, that know I well; so give me my bow and a broad arrow, and
wheresoever it falls there shall my grave be digged.  Lay a green sod
under my head and another at my feet, and put beside me my bow, which
ever made sweetest music to my ears, and see that green and gravel make
my grave.  And, Little John, take care that I have length enough and
breadth enough to lie in."  So he loosened his last arrow from the
string and then died, and where the arrow fell Robin was buried.




WAYLAND THE SMITH.

PART I.

Right up to the north of Norway and Sweden, looking straight at the
Pole, lies the country of Finmark.  It is very cold and very bare, and
for half the year very dark; but inside its stony mountains are rich
stores of metals, and the strong, ugly men of the country spent their
lives in digging out the ore and in working it.

Like many people who dwell in mountains, they saw and heard strange
things, which were unknown to the inhabitants of the lands to the south.

Now in Finmark there were three brothers whose names were Slagfid,
Eigil, and Wayland, all much handsomer and cleverer than their
neighbours.  They had some money of their own, but this did not prevent
them working as hard as anyone else; and as they were either very
clever or very lucky, they were soon in a fair way to grow rich.

One day they went to a new part of the mountains which was yet
untouched, and began to throw up the earth with their pick-axes; but
instead of the iron they expected to see, they found they had lighted
upon a mine of gold.

This discovery pleased them greatly and their blows became stronger and
harder, for the gold was deep in the rock and it was not easy to get it
out.

At last a huge lump rolled out at their feet, and when they picked it
up they saw three stones shining in it, one red and one blue and one
green.  They took it home to their mother, who began to weep bitterly
at the sight of it.  "What is the matter?" asked her sons anxiously,
for they knew things lay open to her which were hidden from others.

"Ah, my sons," she said as soon as she could speak, "you will have much
happiness, but I shall be forced to part with you.  Therefore I shed
tears, for I hoped that only death would divide us!  Green is the
grass, blue is the sky, red are the roses, golden is the maiden.  The
Noras" (for so in that country they called the Fates) "beckon you to a
land where green fields lie under a blue sky, fields where
golden-haired maidens lie among the flowers."

Great was the joy of the three brothers when they heard the words of
their mother; for they hated the looks of the women who dwelt about
them, and longed to see the maidens of the south.  Next morning they
rose early and buckled on their swords and coats of mail, and fastened
on their heads helmets that they had made the day before from the lump
of gold.  In the centre of Slagfid's helmet was the green stone, and in
the centre of Eigil's was the blue stone, and in the centre of
Wayland's was the red stone; and when they were ready they put their
reindeers into their sledges, and set out over the snow.


PART II.

When they reached the mountains where only yesterday they had been
digging, they saw by the light of the moon a host of little men running
to meet them.  They were dressed all in grey, except for their caps,
which were red; they had red eyes, too, and black tongues, which never
ceased chattering.

These were the mountain elves, and when they came near they formed
themselves into a fairy ring, and sang while they danced round it;--

  Will you leave us?  Will you leave us?
  Slagfid, Eigil, and Wayland, sons of a King.
  Is not the emerald better than grass?
  Is not the ruby better than roses?
  Is not the sapphire better than the sky?
  Why do you leave the mountains of Finmark?


But Eigil was impatient and struck his reindeer, that willing beast
which flies like the wind and needs not the touch of a whip.  It
bounded forward in surprise, and knocked down one of the elves that
stood in its path.  But the hands of his brothers laid hold of the
reins, and stopped the reindeer, and sang again:--

  The Finlander's world, the Finlander's joy
      Lies under the earth;
  Seek not without what we offer within,
  Despise not the elves small and dark though they be.
      The best is within, do not seek it without.
      The Finlander's world, the Finlander's joy,
      Lies under the earth.


Slagfid struck his reindeer.  It bounded forward and struck down an elf
who stood in its road.  Then his brothers stood in its path, and
stopped the reindeer, and sang:--

  Because Slagfid struck his reindeer,
  Because Eigil struck his reindeer,
    Our hatred shall follow you.
  A time of weal, a time of woe, a time of grief, a time of joy.
    Because Wayland also forsook us,
    Though he struck not the reindeer,
  A time of weal, a time of woe, a time of grief, a time of joy.
    Farewell, O Finlanders, sons of a King.

Their voices died away as they crossed a bright strip of moonlight,
which lay between them and the mountains and so they were seen no more.

The brothers thought no more about them or their words, but went
swiftly on their way south, sleeping at night in their reindeer skins.

After many days they came to a lake full of fish, in a place which was
called the Valley of Wolves, because of the number of wolves which hid
there.  But the Finlanders did not mind the wolves, and built a house
close to the lake, and hunted bears, and caught fish through holes in
the ice, till winter had passed away and spring had come.  Then one day
they noticed that the sky was blue and the earth covered with flowers.

By-and-by they noticed something more, and that was that three maidens
were sitting on the grass, spinning flax on the bank of a stream.
Their eyes were blue, and their skins were white as the snow on the
mountains, while instead of the mantles of swansdown they generally
wore, golden hair covered their shoulders.

The hearts of the brothers beat as they looked on the maidens, who were
such as they had often dreamed of, but had never seen; and as they drew
near they found to their surprise that the maidens were dressed each in
red, green, and blue garments, and the meadow was so thickly dotted
with yellow flowers that it seemed as if it were a mass of solid gold.

[Illustration: The three women by the stream]

"Hail, noble princes!  Hail, Slagfid, Eigil, and Wayland," sang the
maidens.

  "Swanvite, Alvilda, and Alruna are sent by the Norns,
  To bring joy to the princes of Finmark"

Then the tongues of the young men were unloosed, and Slagfid married
Swanvite, Eigil Alruna, and Wayland Alvilda.


PART III.

For nine years they all lived on the shores of the lake, and no people
in the world were as happy as these six; till one morning the three
wives stood before their husbands and said with weeping eyes:--

"Dear lords, the time has now come when we must bid you farewell, for
we are not allowed to stay with you any longer..  We are Norns--or, as
some call us, Valkyrie.  Nine years of joy are granted to us, but these
are paid for by nine years during which we hover round the combatants
on every field of battle.  But bear your souls in patience, for on
earth all things have an end, and in nine years we will return to be
your wives as before."

"But we shall begetting old then," answered the brothers, "and you will
have forgotten us.  Stay now, we pray you, for we love you well."

"_We_ are not mortals to grow old," said the Norns, "and true love does
not grow old either.  Still, we do not wish you to fall sick with
grieving, so we leave you these three keys, with which you may open the
mountain, and busy yourselves by digging out the treasures it contains.
By the time the nine years are over you will have become rich and men
of renown."  So they laid down the keys and vanished.

For a long while the young men only left their houses to seek for food,
so dreary had the Valley of Wolves become.  At last Slagfid and Eigil
could bear it no longer, and declared they would travel through the
whole world till they found their wives; but Wayland, the youngest,
determined to stay at home.

"You would do much better to remain where you are," said he.  "You do
not know in which direction to look for them, and it is useless to seek
on earth for those who fly through the air.  You will only lose
yourselves, and starve, and when the nine years are ended who can tell
where you may be?"

But his words fell on deaf ears; for Slagfid and Eigil merely filled
their wallets with food and their horns with drink, and prepared to
take leave of their brother.  Wayland embraced them weeping, for he
feared that he should never more see them, and once again he implored
them to give up their quest.  Slagfid and Eigil only shook their heads.
"We have no rest, night or day, without them," they said, and they
begged him to look after their property till they came back again.

Wayland saw that more words would be wasted, so he walked with them to
the edge of the forest, where their ways would part.  Then Slagfid
said: "Our fathers, when they went a journey, left behind them a token
by which it might be known whether they were dead or alive, and I will
do so also."  So he stamped heavily on the soft ground, and added, "As
long as this footmark remains sharp and clear, I shall be safe.  If it
is filled with water I shall be drowned; if with blood, I shall have
fallen in battle.  But if it is filled with earth an illness will have
killed me, and I shall lie under the ground."  Thus he did, and Eigil
did likewise.  Then they cut stout sticks to aid their journeys, and
went their ways.  Wayland stood gazing after them as long as they were
in sight, and then he went sadly home.


PART IV.

Slagfid and Eigil walked steadily on through the day, and when evening
came they reached a stream bordered with trees, where they took off
their golden helmets and sat down to rest and eat.  They had gone far
that day and were tired, and drank somewhat heavily, so that they knew
not what they did.  "If I lose my Swanvite," said Slagfid, "I am
undone.  She is the fairest woman that sun ever looked on, or that man
ever loved."

"It is a lie," answered Eigil.  "I know one lovelier still, and her
name is Alruna.  Odin does not love Freya so fondly as Eigil adores
her."

"It is no lie," cried Slagfid, "and may shame fall on him who slanders
me."

"And I," answered Eigil, "stand to what I have said, and declare that
you are the liar."  At this they both drew their swords and fell
fighting, till Slagfid struck Eigil's helmet so hard that the jewel
flew into a thousand pieces, while Eigil himself fell backwards into
the river.

Slagfid stood still, leaning on his sword and looking at the river into
which his brother had fallen.  Suddenly the trees behind him rustled,
and a voice came out of them, saying, "A time of weal, a time of woe, a
time of tears, a time of death"; and though he could see nothing he
remembered the mountain elves, and thought how true their prophecy had
been.  "I have slain my brother," he said to himself, "my wife has
forsaken me; I am miserable and alone.  What shall I do?  Go back to
Wayland, or follow Eigil into the river?  No.  After all I may find my
wife.  The Norns do not always bring misfortune."

As he spoke a light gleamed in the darkness of the night, and, looking
up, Slagfid saw it was shed by a bright star which seemed to be drawing
nearer, and the nearer it drew its shape seemed to change into a human
figure.  Then Slagfid knew that it was his wife, Swanvite, floating
just over his head and encircled by a rim of clear green light.

He could not speak for joy, but held out his arms to her.  She beckoned
to him to follow her, and Slagfid, flinging away his sword and coat of
mail, began to climb the mountain.

Half way up it seemed to him as if a hand from behind was pulling him
back, and turning he fancied he beheld his mother and heard her say:
"My son, seek not after vain shadows, which yet may be your ruin."

The words caused Slagfid to pause for a moment.  Then the figure of
Swanvite danced before him and beckoned to him again, and his mother
was forgotten.  There were rivers to swim, precipices to climb, chasms
to leap, but he passed them all gladly, till at last he noticed that
the higher he got the less the figure seemed like Swanvite.

He felt frightened and tried to turn back, but he could not.  On he had
to go, till just as he reached the top of the mountain the first rays
of the sun appeared above the horizon, and he saw that, instead of
Swanvite, he had followed a black elf.

He paused and looked over the green plain that lay thousands of feet
below him, cool and inviting after the stony mountain up which he had
come.  "A time of death," whispered the black elf in his ear, and
Slagfid flung himself over the precipice.


PART V.

After his brothers had forsaken him Wayland went to bed lonely and sad;
but the next morning he got up and looked at the three keys that the
Noras had left behind them.  One was of copper, one was of iron, and
one was of gold.

Taking up the copper one, he walked to the mountain till he reached a
flat wall of rock.  He laid his key against it, and immediately the
mountain flew open and showed a cave where everything was green.  Green
emeralds studded the rocks, green crystals hung from the ceiling or
formed rows of pillars, even the copper which made the walls of the
cave had a coating of green.  Wayland broke off a huge projecting lump
and left the cave, which instantly closed up so that not a crack
remained to tell where the opening had been.

He carried the lump home, and put it into the fire till all the earth
and stones which clung to it were burned away; and then he fashioned
the pure copper into a helmet, and in the front of the helmet he set
three of his largest emeralds.

This occupied some days, and when it was done he took the iron key, and
went to another mountain, and laid the key against the rock, which flew
open like the other one.  But now the walls were of iron, which shone
like blue steel, while sapphires glittered in the midst.

Wayland gazed with wonder at all these things; then he broke off a
piece of the iron, and carried it home with him.

For many days after he busied himself in forging a sword that was so
supple he could wind it round his body, and so sharp it could cut
through a rock as if it had been a stick.  In the handle and in the
sheath he set some of the finest sapphires that he had brought away
with him.

When all was finished he laid the sword aside, and returned to the
mountain, with the golden key.  This time the mountain parted, and he
saw before him an archway, with a glimpse of the sea in the distance.

Before the entrance roses were lying, and inside the golden walls
sparkled with rubies, while branches of red coral filled every crevice.
Vines climbed around the pillars, and bore large bunches of red grapes.

Wayland stood long, looking at these marvels; then he plucked some of
the grapes, broke off a lump of gold, and set out home again.

Next day he began to make himself a golden breastplate, and in it he
placed the jewels, and it was so bright that you could have seen the
glitter a mile off.

After he had tried all the three keys, and found out the secrets of the
mountain, Wayland felt dull.  So his mind went back to his brothers,
and he wondered how they had fared all this time.

The first thing he did was to go to the edge of the forest, and see if
he could find the two footprints they had left.

He soon arrived at the spot where they had taken farewell of each
other, but a blue pool of water covered the trace of Eigil's foot.  He
turned to look at the impression made by Slagfid, but on that fresh
green grass had sprung up over it, and on a birch-tree near it a bird
had perched, which sang a mournful song.

Then Wayland knew that his brothers were dead, and he returned to his
hut, grieving sore.


PART VI.

It was a long time before Wayland could bring himself to go out, so
great was his sorrow; but at last he roused himself from his misery,
and went to the mountain for more gold, meaning to work hard till the
nine years should be over and he should get his wife back again.

All day long he stood in his forge, smelting and hammering, till he had
made hundreds of suits of armour and thousands of swords, and his fame
travelled far, so that all men spoke of his industry.

At last he grew tired of making armour, and hammered a number of gold
rings, which he strung on strips of bark, and as he hammered he thought
of Alvilda his wife, and how the rings would gleam on her arms when
once she came back again.

Now at this time Nidud the Little reigned over Sweden, and was hated by
his people, for he was vain and cowardly and had many other bad
qualities.  It came to his ears that away in the forests lived a man
who was very rich, and worked all day long in pure gold.

The King was one of those people who could not bear to see anyone with
things which he did not himself possess, and he began to make plans how
to get hold of Wayland's wealth.

At length he called together his chief counsellors, and said to them:
"I hear a man has come to my kingdom who is called Wayland, famous in
many lands for his skill in sword-making.  I have set men to inquire
after him, and I have found that when first he came here he was poor
and of no account, so he must have grown rich either by magic or else
by violence.  I command, therefore, that my stoutest men-at-arms should
buckle on their iron breastplates and ride in the dead of night to
Wayland's house, and seize his goods and his person."

"King Nidud," answered one of the courtiers, "that you should take
himself and his goods is well, but why send a troop of soldiers against
one man?  If he is no sorcerer, then a single one of your soldiers
could take him captive; but if, on the other hand, he is a magician,
then a whole army could do nothing with him against his will."

At this reply the King flew in a rage, and, snatching up a sword, ran
it through his counsellor's body; then, turning to the rest, told them
that they would suffer the same fate if they refused to submit to his
will.

So the men-at-arms put on all their armour, and, mounting their horses,
set forth at sunset to Wayland's house, King Nidud riding at their
head.  The door stood wide open, and they entered quietly, in deadly
fear lest Wayland should attack them.

But no one was inside, and they looked about, their eyes dazzled by the
gold on the walls.  The King gazed with wonder and delight at the long
string of golden rings, and, slipping the finest off a strip of bark,
placed it on his finger.

At that moment steps were heard in the outer court, and the King
hastily desired his followers to hide themselves, and not to stir till
he signed to them to do so.

In another moment Wayland stood in the doorway, carrying on his
shoulders a bear which he had killed with his spear and was bringing
home for supper.

He was both tired and hungry, for he had been hunting all day; but he
had first to skin the animal, and make a bright fire, before he could
cut off some steaks and cook them at the end of the spear.  Then he
poured some mead into a cup and drank, as he always did, to the memory
of his brothers.  After that he spread out his bear's skin to dry in
the wind, and this done he stretched himself out on his bed and went to
sleep.


PART VII.

King Nidud waited till he thought all was safe, then crept forth with
his men, who held heavy chains in their hands wherewith to chain the
sleeping Wayland.  But the task was harder than they expected, for he
started up in wrath, asking why he should be treated so.  "If you want
my gold, take it and release me.  It is useless fighting against such
odds."

"I am no robber," said Nidud, "but I am your King."

"You do me much honour," replied Wayland, "but what have I done to be
loaded with chains like this?"

"Wayland, I know you well," said Nidud.  "Poor enough you were when you
came from Finmark, and now your jewels are finer and your drinking cups
heavier than mine."

"If I am indeed a thief," answered Wayland, "then you do well to load
me with chains and lead me bound into your dungeons; but if not, I ask
again, Why do you misuse me?"

"Riches do not come of themselves," said Nidud, "and if you are not a
thief, then you must be a magician and must be watched."

"If I were a magician," answered Wayland, "it would be easy for me to
burst these bonds.  I know not that I have ever wronged any man, but if
he can prove it, I will restore it to him tenfold.  As to the gifts
that may come from the gods, no man should grudge them to his fellow.
Therefore release me, O King, and I will pay whatever ransom you may
fix."

But Nidud only bade his guards take him away, and Wayland, seeing that
resistance availed nothing, went with them quietly.

By the King's orders he was thrown into a dark hole fifteen fathoms
under ground, and the soldiers then came and robbed the house of all
its treasures, which they took to the Palace.  The ring which Wayland
had made for Alvilda, Nidud gave to his daughter, Banvilda.

One day the Queen was in her own room, when the King came in to ask her
advice as to how best to deal with Wayland, as he did not think it wise
to put him to death, for he hoped to make some profit out of his skill.
"His heart will beat high," said the Queen, "when he sees his good
sword, and beholds his ring on Banvilda's finger.  But cut asunder the
sinews of his strength, so that he can never more escape from us, and
keep him a prisoner."

The King was pleased with the Queen's words, and sent soldiers to carry
Wayland to a tower on an island.  The sinews of his legs were cut so
that he could not swim away; but they gave him his boots, and the
chests of gold they had found in his house.  Here he was left, with
nothing to do from morning till night, but to make helmets and drinking
cups and splendid armour for the King.


PART VIII.

On this island Wayland remained for a whole year, chained to a stone
and visited by no one but the King, who came from time to time to see
how his prisoner was getting on with a suit of golden armour he had
been ordered to make.

The shield was also of gold, and on it Wayland had beaten out a history
of the gods and their great deeds.  He was very miserable, for the hope
of revenge which had kept him alive seemed as far off as ever in its
fulfilment, and finding a sword he had lately forged lying close to his
hand, he seized it, with the intent of putting an end to his wretched
life.

He had hardly stretched out his hand, when a bird began to sing at the
iron bars of his window, while the evening sun shone into his prison.
"I should like to see the world once more," thought he, and, raising
himself on the stone to which his chain was fastened, he was able to
look at what lay beneath him.

The sea washed the base of the rock on which the tower was built, and
on a neck of land a little way off some children were playing before
the door of a hut.  Everything was bathed in red light from the glow of
the setting sun.

Wayland stood quite still on top of the stone, gazing at the scene with
all his eyes, yet thinking of the land of his birth, which was so
different.  Then he looked again at the sea, which was already turning
to steel, and in the distance he saw something moving on the waves.

As it came nearer he discovered it was a water sprite, singing a song
which blended with the murmur of the waves and the notes of the bird.
And the song put new life and courage into his heart, for it told him
that if he would endure and await the pleasure of the gods, joy would
be his one day.

The sprite finished her song, and smiled up at Wayland at the window
before turning and swimming over the waves till she dived beneath them.
That same instant the bird flew away, and the moon was covered by a
cloud.  But Wayland's heart was cheered, and when he lay down to rest
he slept quietly.

Some days later the King paid another visit, and suddenly espied the
three keys which had been hidden in a corner with some of Wayland's
tools.

He at once asked Wayland what they were, and when he would not tell him
the King grew so angry that, seizing an axe, he declared that he would
put his prisoner to death unless he confessed all he knew.  There was
no help for it, and Wayland had to say how he came by them and what
wonders they wrought.  The King heard him with delight and went away,
taking the keys with him.


PART IX.

No time was lost in preparing for a journey to the mountains, and when
the King reached the spot described by Wayland he divided his followers
into three parties, sending two to await him some distance off, and
keeping the third to enter the mountain with himself, if the copper key
did the wonders it had done before.

So he gave it to one of the bravest of his men, and told him to lay it
against the side of the mountain.  The man obeyed, and instantly the
mountain split from top to bottom.

The King bade them enter, never doubting that rich spoils awaited him;
but instead, the men sank into a green marsh, which swallowed up many
of them, while the rest were stung to death by the green serpents
hanging from the roof.  Those who, like the King, were near the
entrance alone escaped.

As soon as he had recovered from the terror into which this adventure
had thrown him, he commanded that it should be kept very secret from
the other two parties, and desired Storbiorn his Chamberlain, to take
the key of iron and the key of gold and deliver them to the leaders of
the divisions he had left behind, with orders to try their fortune in
different parts of the mountain.

"Give the keys to me, my lord King," answered Storbiorn, "and I shall
know what to do with them.  These magicians may do their worst, my
heart will not beat one whit the faster; and I shall see all that
happens."

So he went and gave his message to the two divisions, and one stayed
behind while Storbiorn went to the mountain with the other.

When they arrived, the man who held the key laid it against the rock,
which burst asunder, and half the men entered at Storbiorn's command.

Suddenly an icy blue stream poured upon them from the depths of the
cavern, and drowned most of them before they had time to fly.  Only
those behind escaped, and Storbiorn bade them go instantly to the King
and tell him what had happened.

Then he went to the third troop and marched with them to the rock,
where he gave the golden key to one of the men, and ordered him to try
it.

The rock flew open at once, and Storbiorn told the men to enter, taking
care, however, to keep behind himself.  They obeyed and found
themselves in a lovely golden cave, whose walls were lit up by
thousands of precious stones of every hue.

There was neither sight nor sound to frighten them, and even Storbiorn,
when he saw the gold, forgot his prudence and his fears, and followed
them in.

In a moment a red fire burst out with a terrific noise, and clouds of
smoke poured over them, so that they fell down choked into the flames.
Only one man escaped, and he ran back as fast as he could to the King
to tell him of the fate of his army.


PART X.

All this time Wayland was working quietly in his island prison, waiting
for the day of his revenge.  The suit of golden armour which the King
had commanded kept him busy day and night, and, besides the wonderful
shield with figures of the gods, he had wrought a coat of mail, a
helmet, and armour for the thighs, such as never had been seen before.

The King had invited all his great nobles to meet him at the Palace,
when he returned from the mountain, so that they might see his
wonderful armour and all the precious things he should bring with him
from the caverns.

When Nidud reached his Palace the Queen and Banvilda, their daughter,
came forth to meet him, and told him that the great hall was already
full of guests, expecting to see the wonders he had brought.

The King said little about his adventures, but went into the armoury to
put on his armour in order to appear before his nobles.  Piece by piece
he fastened it, but he found the helmet so heavy that he could hardly
bear it on his head.  However, he did not look properly dressed without
it, so he had to wear it, though it felt as if a whole mountain was
pressing on his forehead.  Then, buckling on the sword which Wayland
had forged, he entered the hall, and seated himself on the throne.

The Earls were struck dumb by his splendour, and thought at first that
it was a god, till they looked under the helmet and saw the ugly little
man with the pale cowardly face.  So they turned their eyes gladly on
the Queen and Princess, both tall and beautiful and glittering with
jewels, though inwardly they were not much better than the King.

A magnificent dinner made the nobles feel more at ease, and they begged
the King to tell them what man was so skilled in smith's work.  Now
Nidud had drunk deeply, and longed to revenge himself on Wayland, whom
he held to have caused the loss of his army; so he gave the key of the
tower to one of his Earls, and bade him take two men and bring forth
Wayland, adding that if the next time he visited the tower he should
find a grain of gold missing, they should pay for it with their lives.

The three men got a boat, and rowed towards the tower, but on the way
one who, like the King, had drunk too much fell into the sea and was
drowned.  The other two reached the tower in safety, and finding
Wayland, blackened with dust, busy at his forge, bade him come just as
he was to the boat.

With his hands bound they led him before the King, and said, "We have
done your desire, Sir King, and must now hasten back to look for
Grullorm, who fell into the sea".

"Leave him where he is," replied Nidud; "and in token of your obedience
to my orders I will give you each these golden chains."

The guests had not thought to see the man who had made such wonderful
armour helpless and a cripple, and said so to the King.  "He was once
handsome and stately enough," answered Nidud, "but I have bowed his
stubborn head."  And the Queen and her daughter laughed and said, "The
maidens of Finmark will hardly fancy a lover who cannot stand upright".

[Illustration: Wayland mocked by the Queen and Banvilda]

But Wayland stood as if he heard nothing, till the King's son snatched
a bone from the table and threw it at his head.  Then his patience gave
way, and, seizing the bone, he beat Nidud about the head with it till
the helmet itself fell off.

The guests all took his side, and said that, though a cripple, he was
braver than many men whose legs were straight, and begged the King to
allow him to go back to his prison without being teased further.

But the King cried that Wayland had done mischief enough, and must now
be punished, and told them the story of his visit to the mountain and
the loss of his followers.  "It would be a small punishment to put him
to death," he said, "for to so wretched a cripple death would be
welcome.  He may use the gold that is left, but henceforth he shall
only have one eye to work with," and the Princess came forward and
carried out the cruel sentence herself.  Wayland bore it all, saying
nothing, but praying the gods to grant him vengeance.


PART XI.

One night Wayland sat filled with grief and despair, looking out over
the sea, when he caught sight of two red lights, bobbing in his
direction.  He watched them curiously till they vanished beneath the
tower.

Soon the key of the door turned, and two men, whom he knew to be the
King's sons, talked softly together.  He kept very still, and heard one
say: "Let us first get as much from the chest as we can carry, then we
will put him to death, lest he should betray us to our father."

Then Wayland took a large sword which lay by his side and hid it behind
him, and he had scarcely done so when the princes entered the prison.
"Greeting to you," said they.  "Nidud our father has gone into the
country, and as he is so greedy of wealth that he will give us none, we
have come here to get it for ourselves.  Hand us the key and swear not
to tell our father, or you shall die."

"My good lords," answered Wayland, "your request is reasonable, and I
am not so foolish as to refuse it.  Here is the key, and I will swear
not to betray you."

The brothers took the key, and opened the chest, which was still half
full of gold.  It dazzled their eyes, and they both stooped down so as
to see it better.  This was what Wayland had waited for, and, seizing
his sword, he cut off their heads, which fell into the chest.  He then
dug a grave for the bodies in the floor of his dungeon.  Afterwards he
dried the skulls, and made them into two drinking cups wrought with
gold.  The eyes he set with precious stones, while the teeth he filed
till they were shaped like pearls, and strung like a necklace.

As soon as the King came back from his journey he paid a visit to
Wayland, who produced the drinking cups which he said were made of some
curious shells washed up in a gale.

After some days had passed, some sailors found the princes' boat, which
had drifted into the open sea.  Their bodies, of course, were not to be
found, and the King ordered a splendid funeral feast to be prepared.

On this occasion the new drinking cups were filled with mead, and,
besides her necklace, Banvilda wore the ring which her father had taken
long ago from Wayland's house.

As was the custom, the feast lasted long, and the guests drank deeply
and grew merry.  But at midnight their gaiety suddenly came to an end.
The King was drinking from the cup of mead, when he felt a violent pain
in his head and let the vessel fall.  The hues of the armlets that the
Queen wore became so strange and dreadful that her eyes suffered agony
from looking at em, and she tore them from her arms; while Banvilda was
seized with such severe toothache that she could sit at table no
longer.  The guests at once took leave, but it was not till the sun
rose that the pains of their hosts went away.


PART XII.

In the torture of toothache which she had endured during the night,
Banvilda had dashed her arm against the wall, and had broken some of
the ornaments off the ring.

She feared to tell her father, who would be sure to punish her, and was
in despair how to get the ring mended, when she caught sight of the
island on which Wayland's tower stood.  "If I had not mocked at him he
might have helped me now," thought she.

No other way seemed to offer itself, and in the evening she loosened a
boat and began to row to the tower.  On the way she met an old merman
with a long beard, floating on the waves who warned her not to go on;
but she paid no heed, and only rowed the faster.

[Illustration: The merman warns Banvilda in vain]

She entered the tower by a false key, and, holding the ring out to
Wayland, begged him to mend it as fast as possible, so that she might
return before she was missed.  Wayland answered her with courtesy, and
promised to do his best, but said that she would have to blow the
bellows to keep the forge fire alight.  "How comes it that these
bellows are sprinkled with blood?" asked Banvilda.

"It is the blood of two young sea dogs," answered Wayland; "they
troubled me for long, but I caught them when they least expected it.
But blow the bellows harder, I pray you, or I shall never be finished."

Banvilda did as she was told, but soon grew tired and thirsty, and
begged Wayland to give her something to drink.  He mixed something
sweet in a cup, which she swallowed hastily, and soon fell fast asleep
on a bench.  Then Wayland bound her hands, and placed her in the boat,
after which he cut the rope that held it and let it drift out to sea.

This done, he shut the door of the tower, and, taking a piece of gold,
he engraved on it the history of all that had happened, and put it
where it must meet the King's eye when next he came.  "Now is my hour
come," he cried with joy, snatching his spear from the wall, but before
he could throw himself on it he heard a distant song and the notes of a
lute.

By this time the sun was high in the heavens, yet its brightness did
not hinder Wayland from seeing a large star, which was floating towards
him, and a brilliant rainbow spanned the sky.  The flowers on the
island unfolded themselves as the star drew near, and he could smell
the smell of the roses on the shore.

And now Wayland saw it was no star, but the golden chariot of Freya the
goddess, whose blue mantle floated behind her till it was lost in the
blue of the sky.  On her left was a maiden dressed in garlands of fresh
green leaves, and on her right was one clad in a garment of red.

[Illustration: The Chariot of Freya]

At the sight Wayland's heart beat high, for he thought of the lump of
gold set with jewels, which he and his brothers had found in the
mountain so long ago.  Fairies fluttered round them, mermaids rose from
the depths of the sea to welcome them, and as Freya and her maidens
entered the prison Wayland saw that she who wore the red garment was
indeed Alvilda.  "Wayland," said the goddess, "your time of woe is
past.  You have suffered much and have avenged your wrongs, and now
Odin has granted my prayer that Alvilda shall stay by you for the rest
of your life, and when you die she shall carry you in her arms to the
country of Walhalla, where you shall forge golden armour and fashion
drinking horns for the gods."

When Freya had spoken, she beckoned to the green maiden, who held in
her hand a root and a knife.  She cut pieces off the root and laid them
on Wayland's feet, and on his eye, then, placing some leaves from her
garland over the whole, she breathed gently on it.  "Eyr the physician
has healed me," cried Wayland, and the fairies took him in their arms
and bore him across the waves to a bower in the forest, where he
dreamed that Alvilda and Slagfid and Eigil were all bending over him.

When he woke Alvilda was indeed there, and he seemed to catch glimpses
of his brothers amid the leaves of the trees.  "Arise, my husband,"
said Alvilda, "and go straight to the Court of Nidud.  He still sleeps,
and knows nothing.  Throw this mantle on your shoulders, and they will
take you for his servant."

So Wayland went, and reached the royal chamber, and in his sleep the
King trembled, though he knew not that Wayland was near.  "Awake,"
cried Wayland, and the King awoke, and asked who had dared to disturb
him thus.

"Be not angry," answered Wayland; "had you slain Wayland long ago, this
misfortune that I have to tell you of would never have happened."

"Do not name his name," said the King, "since he sent me those drinking
cups a burning fever has laid hold upon me."

"They were not shells, as he told you," answered Wayland, "but the
skulls of your two sons, Sir King.  Their bodies you will find in
Wayland's tower.  As for your daughter, she is tossing, bound, on the
wild waves of the sea.  But now I, Wayland, have come to give you your
deathblow----"  But before he could draw his sword fear had slain the
King yet more quickly.

So Wayland went back to Alvilda, and they went into another country,
where he became a famous smith, and he lived to a good old age; and
when he died he was carried to Walhalla, as Freya had promised.




SOME ADVENTURES OF WILLIAM SHORT NOSE.


PART I.

William Short Nose was also styled William of Orange, quite a different
man from the one who came to be King of England, although they both
took their title from the same small town in the South of France.  This
William of Orange spent his life battling with the Saracens in the
south of France, and a very hard task he had, for their numbers seemed
endless, and as fast as one army was beaten another was gathered
together.

Now by a great effort the Saracens had been driven back to the south in
the year 732, but before a hundred years had passed they had again
crossed the Pyrenees and were streaming over France, south of the
Loire, and, what was worse, the men of Gascony were rising too.

Some one had to meet the enemy and crush the rebels, and of all the
subjects of King Louis no one was so fit to lead the army of the Franks
as William Short Nose, husband of the Lady Gibourc.

It was at the Aliscans that he met them, and a great host they were,
spreading over the country till whichever way you looked you saw men
flocking round the Golden Dragon, which was the banner of the Saracens.

But it was not Count William's way to think about numbers, and he
ordered his trumpeters to sound the charge.  Spurring his horse, he
dashed from one part of the fight to the other, striking and killing as
he went, and heeding as little the wounds that he got as those that he
gave, and _they_ were many.

The Franks whom he led followed after him, and slew the Saracens as
they came on; but the Christians were in comparison but a handful, and
their enemies as the sands of the sea.

The young warriors whom William had brought with him were prisoners or
dying men, and from far he saw Vivian, whom he loved the best, charging
a multitude with his naked sword.  "Montjoie!  Montjoie!" cried he, "O
Bertrand, my cousin, come to my aid!"

Bertrand heard and pressed to his side.  "Ride to the river," he said,
"and I will protect you with my life"; but Vivian was too weak even to
sit on his horse, and fell half fainting at Bertrand's feet.

At this moment there rode at them a large troop of Saracens, headed by
their King, Haucebier, and the Christian Knights knew that all was
lost.  "It is too late now for me to think of life," said Vivian, "but
I will die fighting," and again they faced their enemies till
Bertrand's horse was killed under him.  Then Vivian seized the horse of
a dead Saracen, and thrust the bridle into Bertrand's hand, "Fly, for
God's sake, it is your only chance.  Where is my uncle?  If he is dead
we have lost the battle."

But Bertrand did not fly, though every instant made the danger more
deadly.  "If I forsake you, if I take flight," he said, "I shall bring
eternal shame upon myself."

"No, no," cried Vivian, "seek my uncle down there in the Aliscans, and
bring him to my aid."

"Never till my sword breaks," answered Bertrand, and laid about him
harder than ever.  And to their joy they heard a war cry sounding in
their ears, and five Frankish Counts, cousins of Vivian and of
Bertrand, galloped up.  Fight they did with all their might, but none
fought like Vivian.  "Heavens! what a warrior!" cried the Counts as
they saw his blows, while the Saracens asked themselves if the man whom
they had killed at mid-day had been brought back to life by the help of
fiends.  "If we let them escape now we shall be covered with shame,"
said they, "but ere night falls William shall acknowledge that he is
conquered."

"Indeed!" said Bertrand, and with his cousins he fell upon them till
they fled.

The Counts were victors on this field, but, wounded and weary as they
were, another combat lay before them, for a force of twenty thousand
Saracens was advancing from the valley.

Their hearts never failed them, but they had no strength left; the
young Counts were all taken prisoners, except Vivian, who was left for
dead by the side of a fountain where he had been struck down.  "O
Father in Heaven," he said, feeling his life going from him, "forgive
me my sins, and help my uncle, if it is Thy holy will."

William Short Nose was still fighting, though he knew that the victory
lay with the Saracens and their hosts.  "We are beaten," he said to the
fourteen faithful comrades who stood by him.  "Listen as you will, no
sound of our war cry can be heard.  But by the Holy Rood, the Saracens
shall know no rest while I am alive.  I will give my forefathers no
cause for shame, and the minstrels shall not tell in their songs how I
fell back before the enemy."

They then gave battle once more, and fought valiantly, till all lay
dead upon the ground, save only William himself.


PART II.

Now the Count knew that if the Saracens were ever to be vanquished and
beaten out of fair France he must take heed of his own life, for the
task was his and no other man's; so he turned his horse's head towards
Orange, and then stopped, for he saw a troop of freshly landed Saracens
approaching him along the same road.

"The whole world is full of these Saracens!" he cried in anger, "God
alone can save me.  My good horse," added he, "you are very tired.  If
you had had only five days' rest, I would have led you to the charge;
but I see plainly that I can get no help from you, and I cannot blame
you for it, as you have served me well all day, and for this I thank
you greatly.  If ever we reach Orange you shall wear no saddle for
twenty days, your food shall be the finest corn, and you shall drink
out of a golden trough."

And the horse understood; he threw up his head, and pawed the ground,
and his strength came back to him as of old.  At this sight William
Short Nose felt more glad than if he had been given fourteen cities.

No sooner had he entered a valley that led along the road to Orange,
than he saw a fresh body of Saracens blocking one end.  He turned to
escape into another path, but in front of him rode a handful of his
enemies.  "By the faith that I swore to my dear Lady Gibourc," he said,
"I had better die than never strike a blow," and so rode straight at
their leader.  "William!" cried the Saracen, "this time you will not
escape me."  But the sun was in his eyes, and his sword missed his aim.
Before he could strike another blow William had borne him from his
horse and galloped away.

The mountain that he was climbing now was beset with enemies, like all
the rest, and William looked in vain for a way of escape.  He jumped
from his horse and rubbed his flanks saying to him, "What will you do?
Your sides are bleeding, and you can scarcely stand; but remember, if
once you fall it means my death."

At these words the good horse neighed, pricked up his ears and shook
himself, and as he did so the blood seemed to flow strongly in his
veins, as of old.  Then the count rode down into the field of the
Aliscans, and found his nephew, Vivian, lying under a tree.

"Ah!" cried William, "what sorrow for me!  To the end of my life I
shall mourn this day.  Lady Gibourc, await me no longer, for never more
shall I return to Orange!"

So he lamented, grieving sore, till Vivian spoke to him.  The Count was
full of joy to hear his words, and, kneeling beside the youth, took him
in his arms, and bade him confess his sins to him, as to his own
father.  One by one Vivian remembered them all, then a mist floated
before his eyes, and, murmuring a farewell to the Lady Gibourc, his
soul left the world.

[Illustration: Vivian's last confession]

William laid him gently down on his shield, took another shield for
covering, and turned to mount his horse, but at this his heart failed
him.

"Is it you, William, that men look to as their leader, who will do this
cowardly deed?" he said to himself, and he went back to his nephew's
side, and lifted the body on to his horse, to bury it in his city of
Orange.

He had done what he could to give honour to Vivian, but he might as
well, after all, have left him where he fell, for in a fierce combat
with some Saracens on the road the Count was forced to abandon his
nephew's body and fight for his own life.  He knew the two Saracens
well as brave men, but he soon slew one, and the other he unhorsed
after a struggle.

"Come back, come back," cried the Saracen; "sell me your horse, for
never did I behold his like!  I will give you for him twice his weight
in gold, and set free besides all your nephews that have been taken
prisoners."  But William loved his horse, and would not have parted
with him to Charles himself.

At length, after fighting nearly every step of the way, he saw the
towers of Orange before him, and his palace, Gloriette, where dwelt his
wife, the Lady Gibourc.  "Ah, with what joy did I leave these walls,"
he said to himself, "and how many noble Knights have I lost since then!
Oh, Gibourc, my wife, will you not go mad when you hear the tidings I
have brought!"  And, overcome with grief, the Count bowed his head on
the neck of his horse.


PART III.

When he recovered himself he rode straight to the City Gate, and
commanded the porter to let him in.  "Let down the drawbridge," called
he, "and be quick, for time presses."  But he forgot that he had
changed his own arms, and had taken instead those of a Saracen;
therefore the porter, seeing a man with a shield and pennon and helmet
that were strange to him, thought he was an enemy, and stood still
where he was.  "Begone!" he said to William, "if you approach one step
nearer I will deal you a blow that will unhorse you!  Begone, I tell
you, and as quick as you can, or when William Short Nose returns from
the Aliscans it will be the worse for you."

"Fear nothing, friend," replied the Count, "for I am William himself.
I went to the Aliscans to fight the Saracens, and to help Vivian; but
all my men are dead, and I only am left to bring these evil tidings.
So open the gates, for the Saracens are close behind."

"You must wait a moment," answered the porter, and he quitted the
turret and hastened to the Lady Gibourc.  "Noble Countess," cried he,
"there knocks at the drawbridge a Knight in Pagan armour, who seems
fresh from battle, for his arms are bloody.  He is tall of stature and
bears himself proudly, and he says he is William Short Nose.  I pray
you, my lady, come with me and see him for yourself."

The face of Gibourc grew red when she heard the porter's words, and she
left the Palace and mounted the battlements, where she called,
"Warrior, what is your will?"

"Oh, lady," answered he, "open the gate, and that quickly.  Twenty
thousand Saracens are close upon my track; if they reach me, I am a
dead man."

"You cannot enter," replied Gibourc.  "I am alone here except for this
porter, a priest, a few children, and some ladies whose husbands are
all at the war.  Neither gate nor wicket will be opened until the
return of my beloved lord, William the Count."  Then William bowed his
head for a moment, and tears ran down his cheeks.

"My lady, I am William himself," said he.  "Do you not know me?"

"Saracen, you lie," replied Gibourc.  "Take off your helmet and let me
see who you are!"

"Noble Countess," cried he, "this is no time to parley.  Look round
you!  Is not every hill covered with enemies?"

"Ah, now I know you are not William," answered she, "for all the
Saracens in the world would never have stirred him with fear.  By St.
Peter! neither gate nor wicket shall be opened till I have seen your
face.  I am alone and must defend myself.  The voices of many men are
alike."

Then the Count lifted his helmet: "Lady look and be content.  I am
William himself.  Now let me in."

Gibourc knew that it was indeed the Count who had returned, and was
about to order the gates to be opened when there appeared in sight a
troop of Saracens escorting two hundred prisoners, all of them young
Knights, and thirty ladies with fair, white faces.  Each one was loaded
with chains, and cowered under the blows of their captors.  Their cries
and prayers for mercy reached the ears of Gibourc, and, changing her
mind, she said quickly: "There is the proof that you are not William,
my husband, whose fame has spread far!  For he would never have
suffered his brethren to be so shamefully entreated while he was by!"

"Heavens!" cried the Count, "to what hard tests does she put me!  But
if I lose my head I will do her bidding, for what is there that I would
_not_ do for the love of God and of her!"


PART IV.

Without a word more he turned, and spurred his horse at the Saracens.
So sudden and fierce was his attack that the foremost riders fell back
on those behind, who were thrown into confusion, while William's sword
swept him a path to the centre, where the prisoners stood bound.  The
Saracens expected the city gates to open and a body of Franks to come
forth to destroy them, and without waiting another moment they turned
and fled.

[Illustration: The Captives--William Short-nose rides to the rescue]

"Oh, fair lord," called Gibourc, who from the battlements had watched
the fight, "come back, come back, for now indeed you may enter."  And
William heard her voice, and left the Saracens to go where they would
while he struck the chains off the prisoners, and led them to the gates
of Orange, when he himself rode back to the Saracens.

Not again would the Lady Gibourc have reason to call him coward.

And Gibourc saw, and her heart swelled within her, and she repented her
of her words.  "It is my fault if he is slain,", she wept.  "Oh, come
back, come back!"

And William came.

Now the drawbridge was let down, and he entered the city followed by
the Christians whom he had delivered, and the Countess unlaced his
helmet, and bathed his wounds, and then stopped, doubting.

"You cannot be William after all," said she, "for William would have
brought back the young kinsmen who went with him; and would have been
encircled by minstrels singing the great deeds he had done."

"Ah, noble Countess, you speak truth," answered he.  "Henceforth my
life will be spent in mourning, for my friends and comrades who went to
war with me are lying dead at the Aliscan."

Great was the sorrow in the city of Orange and in the palace of her
lord, where the ladies of the Countess mourned for their husbands.  But
it was Gibourc who first roused herself from her grief for Vivian and
others whom she had loved well.  "Noble Count," she said, "do not lose
your courage.  Remember it is not near Orleans, in safety, that your
lands lie, but in the very midst of the Saracens.  Orange never will
have peace till they are subdued.  So send messengers to King Louis,
and to your father, Aimeri, asking for aid."

"Heavens!" cried William, "has the world ever seen so wise a lady?"

"Let no one turn you from your road," she went on.  "At the news of
your distress all the Barons that are your kin will fly to your help.
Their numbers are as the sands of the sea."

"But how shall I make them believe in what has befallen us?" answered
William.  "If I do not go myself I will send nobody, and go myself I
will not, for I will not leave you alone again for all the gold in
Pavia."

"Sir, you must go," said Gibourc, weeping.  "I will stay here with my
ladies, and each will place a helmet on her head, and hang a shield
round her neck, and buckle a sword to her side, and with the help of
the Knights whom you have delivered, we shall know how to defend
ourselves."

William's heart bounded at her words; he took her in his arms, and
promised that he himself would go, and that he would never lie soft
till he returned again to Orange.


PART V.

Thus William Short Nose set forth and the next day passed through
Orleans.  There he met with his brother Ernaut, who had ridden home
from escorting King Louis back to Paris.  Ernaut promised his help and
that of his father and brothers, but counselled William to go to Laon,
where a great feast would be held and many persons would be assembled.
The Count followed Ernaut's counsel, but refused the troop of Knights
which Ernaut offered him, liking rather to ride alone.

He made his entrance into Laon, and the people laughed at him and made
jests on his tall, thin horse; but William let them laugh, and rode on
until he reached the Palace.  There he alighted under an olive tree,
and, fastening his horse to one of the branches, took off his helmet
and unbuckled his breastplate.  The people stared as they passed by,
but nobody spoke to him.

Someone told the King that a strange man without even a squire was
sitting before the Palace under an olive tree.  The King's face grew
dark as he heard their tale, for he loved to keep his gardens for his
own pleasure.  "Sanson," he called to one of his guards, "go and find
out who this stranger is and whence he comes, but beware of bringing
him hither."

Sanson hastened to do his errand, and William answered, "My name is one
that is known to France.  I am William Short Nose, and I come from
Orange.  My body is worn out with much riding; I pray you hold my horse
until I have spoken to King Louis."

"Noble Count," replied Sanson, "let me first return to the King and
tell him who you are.  And be not angry, I beseech you, for such are my
orders."

"Be quick, then, my friend," said William, "and do not neglect to tell
the King that I am in great distress.  This is the time to show his
love for me; and if he truly does love me, let him come to meet me with
the great lords of his Court.  If he does not come, I have no other
hope."

"I will tell him what you say," said Sanson, "and if it rests with me
you shall be content."

Then Sanson went back to the King.  "It is William, the famous
William!" he said, "and he wishes you to go out to meet him."

"Never!" answered Louis; "will he always be a thorn in my side!  Woe be
to him who rejoices at his coming."

So the King sat still, and on the steps of the Palace there gathered
Knights and Nobles in goodly numbers, and hardly one but wore a helmet
set with precious stones, a sword or a shield which had been given him
by William himself.  But now they were rich and he was poor, so they
mocked at him.

"My lords," said William, "you do ill to treat me so.  I have loved you
all, and you bear the tokens of my love about you at this moment.  If I
can give you no more gifts, it is because I have lost all I have in the
world at the Aliscans.  My men are dead, and my nephews are prisoners
in the hands of the Saracens.  It is the Lady Gibourc who bade me come
here, and it is she who asks for help through me.  Have pity on us, and
help us."  But without a word, they rose up and went into the Palace,
and William knew what their love was worth.

The young men told Louis of the words that the Count had spoken, and
the King rose and leaned out of the window.  "Sir William," said he,
"go to the inn, and let them bathe your horse.  You seem in a sorry
plight, without a groom to help you."

William heard and vowed vengeance.  But if the King and the courtiers
had no hearts, in his need a friend came to him, Guimard, a citizen of
Laon, who took the Count home and offered him rich food.  But because
of his vow to the Lady Gibourc, he would only eat coarse bread, and
drink water from the spring; and as soon as it was light he rose up
from his bed of fresh hay, and dressed himself.  "Where are you going,"
asked his host.

"To the Palace, to entreat the aid of the King, and woe be to him who
tries to stop me."

"May God protect you, Sir," answered Guimard.  "To-day the King crowns
Blanchefleur, your sister, who no doubt loves you well.  And he gives
her for her dower the richest land in all fair France, but a land that
is never at peace."

"Well," said William, "I will be present at the ceremony.  Indeed they
cannot do without me, for all France is under my care, and it is my
right to bear her standard in battle.  And let them beware how they
move me to wrath, lest I depose the King of France and tear the crown
from his head."

The Count placed a breastplate under his jerkin, and hid his sword
under his cloak.  The gates of the Palace opened before him and he
entered the vaulted hall.  It was filled with the greatest nobles in
the land, and ladies with rich garments of silk and gold.  Lords and
ladies both knew him, but not one gave him welcome--not even his
sister, the Queen.  His fingers played with his sword, and he had much
ado not to use it.  But while his wrath was yet kindling the heralds
announced that his father, Aimeri, had come.


PART VI.

The Lord of Narbonne stepped on to the grass with his noble Countess,
his four sons, and many servants.  King Louis and the Queen hastened to
meet them, and amid cries of joy they mounted the steps into the hall.
Aimeri sat beside the King, and the Countess was seated next the Queen,
while the Knights placed themselves on the floor of the hall.  And
William sat also, but alone and apart, nursing his anger.

At last he rose, and, advancing to the middle of the floor, he said
with a loud voice: "Heaven protect my mother, my father, my brothers
and my friends; but may His curse alight on my sister and on the King,
who have left me to be the butt of all the mockers of the Court.  By
all the Saints! were not my father sitting next to him, this sword
should ere now have cloven his skull."  The King listened pale with
fright, and the rest whispered to each other, "William is angry,
something will happen!"

When Ermengarde and Aimeri saw their son standing before them great joy
filled their souls.  They left their seats and flung themselves on his
neck, and William's brother also ran to greet him.  The Count told them
how he had been vanquished at the Aliscans, and he himself had fled to
Orange, and of the distress in which he had left Gibourc.  "It was at
her bidding I came here to ask aid from Louis, but from the way he has
treated me I see plainly that he has no heart.  By St. Peter! he shall
repent before I go, and my sister also."

The King heard and again waxed cold with fear; the nobles heard and
whispered: "Who is strong enough to compass this matter?  No man, be he
the bravest in France, ever went to his help and came back to tell the
tale."

It was the Lady Ermengarde who broke the silence.  "O God," she cried,
"to think that the Franks should be such cowards!  Have no fear, fair
son William, I have still left gold that would fill thirty chariots,
and I will give it to those who enrol themselves under your banner."

Aimeri smiled and sighed as he listened to her words, and his sons shed
tears.

William answered nothing, but remained standing in the middle of the
hall, his eyes fixed on his sister sitting on her throne, with a small
golden crown upon her head, and on her husband, King Louis.

"This, then, O King, is the reward of all I have done!  When
Charlemagne, your father, died, you would have lost your crown if I had
not forced the Barons to place it upon your head."

"That is true," answered the King, "and in remembrance of your services
I will to-day bestow on you a fief."

"Yes," cried Blanchefleur, "and no doubt will deprive me of one.  A
nice agreement, truly!  Woe to him who dares carry it out."

"Be silent, woman without shame!" said William.  "Every word you speak
proclaims your baseness!  You pass your days eating and drinking, and
little you care that we endure heat and cold, hunger and thirst, and
suffer wounds and death so that your life may be easy."

Then he bounded forwards, and, drawing his sword, would have cut off
her head had not Ermengarde wrenched the weapon from his hands.  Before
he could seize it again the Queen darted away and took refuge in her
chamber, where she fell fainting on the floor.


PART VII.

It was her daughter Alix, the fair and the wise, who raised her up and
then heard with shame the tale she had to tell.  "How could you speak
so to my uncle, the best man that ever wore a sword?" asked Alix.  "It
was he who made you Queen of France."

"Yes, my daughter, you say truth," answered the Queen, "I have done
ill, I will make peace with my brother;" and she wept over her wicked
speech, while Alix, red and white as the roses in May, went down into
the hall, where the Franks were still whispering together, and calling
curses on the head of William.

They all rose as the maiden entered; Aimeri, her grandfather, took her
in his arms, and her four uncles kissed her cheek.  Her presence seemed
to calm the anger and trouble which before had reigned throughout the
hall, and Ermengarde flung herself at William's feet and besought his
pardon for the Queen.

William raised his mother from her knees, but his anger was not
soothed.  "I have no love for the King," he said, "and before night I
will break his pride," and he stood, his face red with wrath, leaning
on his naked sword.

Not a sound was heard, and the eyes of all were fixed breathlessly upon
William.  Then in her turn Alix stepped forward and knelt at his feet.
"Punish me in my mother's place," said she, "and cut off my head if you
will, but let there be peace, I pray you, between you and my father and
mother."

At the voice of Alix William's wrath melted, but at first he would
promise nothing.  "Fair son William," said Ermengarde again, "be
content.  The King will do what you desire, and will aid you to the
uttermost."

[Illustration: The Lady Alix stays the wrath of William Shortnose]

"Yes, I will aid you," answered the King.

So peace was made, the Queen was fetched, and they all sat down to a
great feast.  In this manner the pride of the King was broken.

But when one man is shifty and another is hasty, wrath is not apt to
slumber long, and treaties of peace are easier made than kept.  When
the feast was over William pressed King Louis to prepare an army at
once; but the King would bind himself to nothing.  "We will speak of it
again," said he; "I will tell you to-morrow whether I will go or not."

At this William grew red with rage, and holding out a wand he said to
the King, "I give you back your fief.  I will take nothing from you,
and henceforth will neither be your friend nor your vassal."

"Keep your fief," said Ernaut to his brother, "and leave the King to do
as he will.  I will help you and my brothers also, and between us we
shall have twenty thousand men to fight with any Saracens we shall
find."

"You speak weak words," cried Aimeri; "he is Seneschal of France, and
also her Standard Bearer; he has a right to our help."  And Alix
approved of his saying, and the Queen likewise.  The King saw that none
were on his side and dared refuse no longer.  "Count William, for love
of you I will call together my army, and a hundred thousand men shall
obey your commands.  But I myself will not go with you, for my kingdom
needs me badly."

"Remain, Sire," answered William, "I myself will lead the host."  And
the King sent out his messengers, and soon a vast army was gathered
under the walls of Laon.


PART VIII.

It was on one of these days, when the Count stood in the great hall,
that there entered from the kitchen a young man whom he had never seen
before.  The youth, whose name was Rainouart, was tall, strong as a
wild boar, and swift as a deer.  The scullions and grooms had played
off jests upon him during the night, but had since repented them
sorely, for he had caught the leaders up in his arms and broken their
heads against the walls.

The rest, eager to avenge their comrades' death, prepared to overcome
him with numbers, and in spite of his strength it might have gone ill
with Rainouart had not Aimeri de Narbonne, hearing the noise, forbade
more brawling.

Count William was told of the unseemly scuffle, and asked the King who
and what the young man was who could keep at bay so many of his
fellows.  "I bought him once at sea," said Louis, "and paid a hundred
marks for him.  They pretend that he is the son of a Saracen, but he
will never reveal the name of his father.  Not knowing what to do with
him, I sent him to the kitchen."

"Give him to me, King Louis," said William, smiling, "I promise you he
shall have plenty to eat."

"Willingly," answered the King.

Far off in the kitchen Rainouart was chafing at the sound of the
horses' hoofs, and at the scraps of talk let fall by the Knights, who
were seeing to the burnishing of their armour before they started to
fight the Saracens.  "To think," he said to himself, "that I, who am of
right King of Spain, should be loitering here, heaping logs on the fire
and skimming the pot.  But let King Louis look to himself!  Before a
year is past I will snatch the crown from his head."

When the army was ready to march he made up his mind what to do, and it
was thus that he sought out William in the great hall.  "Noble Count,
let me come with you, I implore you.  I can help to look after the
horses and cook the food, and if at any time blows are needed I can
strike as well as any man."

"Good fellow," answered William, who wished to try what stuff he was
made of, "how could you, who have passed your days in the kitchen,
sleeping on the hearth when you were not busy turning the spit--how
could you bear all the fatigue of war, the long fasts, and the longer
watches?  Before a month had passed you would be dead by the roadside!"

"Try me," said he, "and if you will not have me I will go alone, and
fight barefoot.  My only weapon will be an iron-bound staff, and it
shall kill as many Saracens as the best sword among you all."

"Come then," answered the Count.


PART IX.

The next morning the army set forth, and Alix and the Queen watched
them go from the steps of the Palace.  When Alix saw Rainouart stepping
proudly along with his heavy staff on his shoulder her heart stirred,
and she said to her mother, "See, what a goodly young man!  In the
whole army there is not one like him!  Let me bid him farewell, for
nevermore shall I see his match."

"Peace! my daughter," answered the Queen, "I hope indeed that he may
never more return to Laon."  Alix took no heed of her mother's words,
but signed to Rainouart to draw near.  Then she put her arms round his
neck, and said, "Brother, you have been a long time at Court, and now
you are going to fight under my uncle's banner.  If ever I have given
you pain, I ask your pardon."  After that she kissed him, and bade him
go.

[Illustration: Alix kisses Rainouart]

At Orleans William took leave of his father and his mother, who
returned to their home at Narbonne; and also of his brothers, who
promised to return to meet William under the walls of Orange, which
they did faithfully.

He pressed on with his army quickly till he came in sight of his native
city.  But little of it could he see, for a great smoke covered all the
land, rising up from the burning towers which the Saracens had that
morning set on fire.  Enter the city they could not, for Gibourc and
her ladies held it firm, and, armed with helmets and breastplates,
flung stones upon the enemy.

When William beheld the smoke, and whence it came, he cried: "Orange is
burning!  Gibourc is carried captive!  To arms!  To arms!"  And he
spurred his horse, Rainouart running by his side.

From her tower Gibourc saw through the smoke a thousand banners waving
and the sparkle of armour, and heard the sound of the horses' hoofs,
and it seemed to her that the Saracens were drawing near anew.  "O
William!" cried she, "have you really forgotten me?  Noble Count, you
linger overlong!  Never more shall I look upon your face."  And so
saying she fell fainting on the floor.

But something stirred the pulses of Gibourc, and she soon sat up again,
and there at the gate was William, with Rainouart behind him.  "Fear
nothing, noble lady," said he, "it is the army of France that I have
brought with me.  Open, and welcome to us!"

The news seemed so good to Gibourc that she could not believe it, and
she bade the Count unlace his helmet, so that she might indeed be sure
that it was he.  William did her bidding, then she ran swiftly to the
gate and let down the drawbridge, and William stepped across it and
embraced her tenderly.  Then he ordered his army to take up its
quarters in the city.


PART X.

Gibourc's eyes had fallen upon Rainouart, who had passed her on his way
to the kitchen, where he meant to leave his stout wooden staff.  "Tell
me," said she to the Count, "who is the young man who bears lightly on
his shoulder that huge piece of wood which would weigh down a horse?
He is handsome and well made.  Where did you find him?"

"Lady," answered William, "he was given me by the King."

"My Lord," said Gibourc, "be sure you see that he is honourably
treated.  He looks to me to be of high birth.  Has he been baptised?"

"No, Madam, he is not a Christian.  He was brought from Spain as a
child, and kept for seven years in the kitchen.  But take him, I pray
you, under your protection, and do with him as you will."

The Count was hungry, and while waiting for dinner to be served he
stood with Gibourc at the windows which looked out beyond the city.  An
army was drawing near; thousands of men, well mounted and freshly
equipped.  "Gibourc!" cried the Count joyfully, "here is my brother
Ernaut with his vassals.  Now all the Saracens in the world shall not
prevent Bertrand from being delivered to-morrow."

On all sides warriors began to arrive, led by the fathers of those who
had been taken prisoners with Bertrand, and with them came Aimeri and
the brothers of William.  Glad was the heart of the Count as he bade
them welcome to his Palace, and ordered a feast to be made ready, and
showed each Knight where he should sit.

It was late before the supper was served, but when every man had his
trencher filled Rainouart entered the hall, armed with his staff, and
stood leaning against a pillar, watching the noble company.  "Sir,"
said Aimeri, the man whom the Saracens most dreaded, "who is it that I
see standing there holding a piece of wood that five peasants could
hardly lift?  Does he mean to murder us?"

"That youth," replied William, "is a gift to me from King Louis.  None
living is as strong as he."  Then Aimeri called Rainouart, and bade him
sit at his side, and eat and drink as he would.  "Noble Count," said
Aimeri, "such men grow not on every bush.  Keep him and cherish him,
and bring him with you to the Aliscans.  For with his staff he will
slay many Pagans."

"Yes," answered Rainouart, "wherever I appear the Pagans will fall dead
at the sight of me."  Aimeri and William laughed to hear him, but ere
four days were past they had learned what he was worth.


PART XI.

Rainouart went back to the kitchen and slept soundly, but as he had
drunk much wine the cooks and scullions thought to play jokes upon him,
and lighted some wooden shavings with which to burn his moustache.  At
the first touch of the flame Rainouart leapt to his feet, seized the
head cook by his legs, flung him on to the blazing fire, and turned for
another victim, but they had all fled.

At daybreak they went to William to pray for vengeance on the murderer
of the cook.  If the Count would not forbid him the kitchen, not a
morsel of food would they cook.  But William only laughed at their
threats, and said, "Beware henceforth how you meddle with Rainouart.
Did I not forbid anyone to mock at him, and do you dare to disobey my
orders?  Lady Gibourc, take Rainouart to your chamber, and keep him
beside you."

So the Countess went to the kitchen and found Rainouart sitting on a
bench, his head leaning against his staff.  She sat down by him and
said graciously, "Brother, come with me and we will have some talk
together."

[Illustration: The Lady Gibourc with Rainouart in the kitchen]

"Willingly," answered Rainouart, "the more so that I can hardly keep my
hands off these scoundrels."

He followed Gibourc to her room, and then she questioned him about his
childhood.

"Have you brothers or sisters?" asked she.

"Yes," he answered, "beyond the sea I have a brother who is a King, and
a sister who is more beautiful than a fairy," and as he spoke he bent
his head.  Something in her heart told Gibourc that this might be her
brother, but she only asked again, "Where do you come from?"

"Lady," he replied, "I will answer that question the day I come back
from the battle which William shall have won, thanks to my aid."

Gibourc kept silence, but she opened a chest and drew from it a white
breastplate that had belonged to her uncle, which was so finely wrought
that no sword could pierce it; likewise a helmet of steel and a sword
that could cut through iron more easily than a scythe cuts grass.  "My
friend," she said, "buckle this sword to your side.  It may be useful
to you."

Rainouart took the sword and drew it from its scabbard, but it seemed
so light that he threw it down again.  "Lady," he cried, "what good can
such a plaything do me?  But with my staff between my hands there is
not a Pagan that can stand up against me, and if one escapes then let
Count William drive me from his door."

At this Gibourc felt sure this was indeed her brother, but she did not
yet like to ask him more questions, and in her joy she began to weep.
"Lady," said Rainouart, "do not weep.  As long as my staff is whole
William shall be safe."

"My friend, may Heaven protect you," she answered, "but a man without
armour is soon cut down; so take these things and wear them in battle,"
and she laced on the helmet, and buckled the breastplate, and fastened
the sword on his thigh.  "If your staff breaks, it may serve you," said
she.

Rainouart was proud indeed when the armour was girded on him, and he
sat himself down well pleased at William's table.  The Knights vied
with each other in pouring him out bumpers of wine, and after dinner
every man tried to lift his iron-bound staff, but none could raise it
from the ground, except William himself, who by putting forth all his
strength lifted it the height of a foot.

"Let me aid you," said Rainouart, and he whirled it round his head,
throwing it lightly from hand to hand.  "We are wasting time," he said.
"I fear lest the Saracens should fly before we come up with them.  If I
only have the chance to make them feel the weight of my staff, I will
soon sweep the battlefield."  And William embraced him for these words,
and ordered the trumpets to be sounded and the army to march.

From her window Gibourc watched them go.  She saw the Knights stream
out into the plain, their banners floating on the wind, their helmets
shining in the sun, their shields glittering with gold.  She heard
their horses neigh, and she prayed God to bless all this noble host.


PART XII.

After two days' march they came within sight of the Aliscans, but for
five miles round the country was covered by the Saracen army.  William
saw that some of his men quailed at the number of the foe, so he turned
and spoke to his soldiers.  "My good lords," he said, "a fearful battle
awaits us, and we must not give way an inch.  If any man feels afraid
let him go back to his own land.  This is no place for cowards."

The cowards heard joyfully, and without shame took the road by which
they had come.  They spurred their horses and thought themselves safe,
but they rejoiced too soon.

At the mouth of a bridge Rainouart met them, and when he saw that they
were part of the Christian host he raised his staff and barred their
passage.  "Where are you going?" asked he.  "To France, for rest,"
answered the cowards; "the Count has dismissed us, and when we reach
our homes we shall see to the rebuilding of our castles, which have
fallen into ill-repair during the wars.  Come with us, if you are a
wise man."

"Ask some one else," said Rainouart; "Count William has given me the
command of the army, and it is to him that I have to render account.
Do you think I shall let you run away like hares?"  And, swinging his
staff round his head, he laid about him.

Struck dumb with terror at the sight of their comrades falling rapidly
round them, they cried with one voice, "Sir Rainouart, we will return
and fight with you."

[Illustration: Rainouart stops the cowards]

So they turned their horses' heads and rode the way they had come, and
Rainouart followed, keeping guard over them with his staff.  When they
reached the army he went straight to William, and begged that he might
have the command of them.  "I will change them into a troop of lions,"
said he.

Harsh words and gibes greeted the cowards, but Rainouart soon forced
the mockers to silence.  "Leave my men alone!" he cried, "or by the
faith I owe to Gibourc I will make you.  I am a King's son, and the
time has come to show you what manner of man I am.  I have idled long,
but I will idle no longer.  I am of the blood royal, and the saying is
true that good blood cannot lie."

"How well he speaks!" whispered the Franks to each other, for they
dared not let their voices be heard.


PART XIII.

Now the battle was to begin, for the two armies were drawn up in
fighting array, and Rainouart took his place at the head of his cowards
opposite the Saracens, from which race he sprang.

The charge was sounded, and the two armies met with a shock, and many a
man fell from his horse and was trampled under foot.  "Narbonne!
Narbonne!" shouted Aimeri, advancing within reach of a crossbow shot,
and he would have been slain had not his sons dashed to his rescue.
Count William did miracles, and the Saracens were driven so far back
that Rainouart feared the battle would be ended before he had struck a
blow.

Followed by his troop of cowards Rainouart made straight for the enemy,
and before him they fell as corn before a sickle.  "Strike, soldiers,"
shouted he; "strike and avenge the noble Vivian."

Rainouart and his cowards pressed on and on, and the Saracens fell
back, step by step, till they reached the sea, where their ships were
anchored.

Then Rainouart drove his staff in the sand, and by its help swung
himself on board a small vessel, which happened to be the very one in
which the nephews of William were imprisoned.  He laid about him right
and left with his staff, till he had slain all the gaolers, and at last
he came to a young man whose eyes were bandaged and his feet tied
together.  "Who are you?" asked Rainouart.

"I am Bertrand, nephew of William Short Nose.  Four months ago I was
taken captive by the Saracens, and if, as I think, they carry me into
Arabia, then may God have pity on my soul, for it is all over with my
body."

"Sir Count," answered Rainouart, "for love of William I will deliver
you."

Seizing the weapons of the dead Saracens, they scrambled on shore, and,
while fighting for their lives, looked about for their uncle, whom they
knew at last by the sweep of his sword, which kept a clear space around
him.  More than once Rainouart swept back fresh foes that were pressing
forwards, till the tide of battle carried him away and brought him
opposite Desramé the King.  "Who are you?" asked Desramé, struck by his
face, for there was nothing royal in his dress or his arms.

"I am Rainouart, vassal of William whom I love, and if you do hurt to
him I will do hurt to you also."

"Rainouart, I am your father," cried Desramé, and he besought him to
forswear Christianity and to become a follower of Mahomet; but
Rainouart turned a deaf ear, and challenged him to continue the combat.
Desramé was no match for his son, and was soon struck from his horse.
"Oh, wretch that I am," said Rainouart to himself, "I have slain my
brothers and wounded my father--it is my staff which has done all this
evil," and he flung it far from him.  He would have been wiser to have
kept it, for in a moment three giants surrounded him, and he had only
his fists with which to beat them back.  Suddenly his hand touched the
sword buckled on him by Gibourc, which he had forgotten, and he drew it
from its scabbard, and with three blows clove the heads of the giants
in twain.  Meanwhile King Desramé took refuge in the only ship that had
not been sunk by the Christians, and spread its sails.  "Come back
whenever you like, fair father," called Rainouart after him.


PART XIV.

The fight was over; the Saracens acknowledged that they were beaten,
and the booty they had left behind them was immense.  The army, wearied
with the day's toil, lay down to sleep, but before midnight Rainouart
was awake and trumpets called to arms.  "Vivian must be buried," said
he, "and then the march to Orange will begin."

Rainouart rode at the head, his sword drawn, prouder than a lion; and
as he went along a poor peasant threw himself before him, asking for
vengeance on some wretches who had torn up a field of beans, which was
all he had with which to feed his family.  Rainouart ordered the
robbers to be brought before him and had them executed.  Then he gave
to the peasant their horses and their armour in payment of the ruined
beans.  "Ah, it has turned out a good bargain for me," said the
peasant.  "Blessed be the hour when I sowed such a crop."

William entered into his Palace, where a great feast was spread for the
visitors, but one man only remained outside the walls and that was
Rainouart, of whom no one thought in the hour of triumph.  His heart
swelled with bitterness as he thought of the blows he had given, and
the captives he had set free, and, weeping with anger, he turned his
face towards the Aliscans.

On the road some Knights met him, and asked him whither he was going
and why he looked so sad.  Then his wrath and grief burst out, and he
told how he mourned that ever he had slain a man in William's cause,
and that he was now hastening to serve under the banner of Mahomet, and
would shortly return with a hundred thousand men behind him, and would
avenge himself on France and her King.  Only towards Alix would he show
any pity!

In vain the Knights tried to soften his heart, it was too sore to
listen.  So they rode on fast to Orange and told the Count what
Rainouart had said.

"I have done him grievous wrong," answered William, and ordered twenty
Knights to ride after him.  But the Knights were received with threats
and curses, and came back to Orange faster than they had left it,
thinking that Rainouart was at their heels.

William smiled when he heard the tale of his messengers, and bade them
bring his horse, and commanded that a hundred Knights should follow
him, and prayed Gibourc to ride at his side.  They found Rainouart
entering a vessel whose sails were already spread, and all William's
entreaties would have availed nothing had not Gibourc herself implored
his forgiveness.

"I am your brother," cried Rainouart, throwing himself on her neck; "I
may confess it now, and for your sake I will pardon the Count's
ingratitude, and never more will I remind you of it."

There was great joy in Orange when William rode through the gates with
Rainouart beside him, and the next day the Count made him his
Seneschal, and he was baptised.  Then William sent his brothers on an
embassy to the King in Paris, to beg that he would bestow the hand of
Princess Alix on Rainouart, son of King Desramé and brother of Lady
Gibourc.  And when the embassy returned Alix returned with it, and the
marriage took place with great splendour; but to the end of his life,
whenever Rainouart felt cold, he warmed himself in the kitchen.




THE SWORD EXCALIBUR

King Arthur had fought a hard battle with the tallest Knight in all the
land, and though he struck hard and well, he would have been slain had
not Merlin enchanted the Knight and cast him into a deep sleep, and
brought the King to a hermit who had studied the art of healing, and
cured all his wounds in three days.  Then Arthur and Merlin waited no
longer, but gave the hermit thanks and departed.

As they rode together Arthur said, "I have no sword," but Merlin bade
him be patient and he would soon give him one.  In a little while they
came to a large lake, and in the midst of the lake Arthur beheld an arm
rising out of the water, holding up a sword.  "Look!" said Merlin,
"that is the sword I spoke of."  And the King looked again, and a
maiden stood upon the water.  "That is the Lady of the Lake," said
Merlin, "and she is coming to you, and if you ask her courteously she
will give you the sword."  So when the maiden drew near Arthur saluted
her and said, "Maiden, I pray you tell me whose sword is that which an
arm is holding out of the water.  I wish it were mine, for I have lost
my sword."

[Illustration: Arthur meets the Lady of the Lake and gets the sword
Excalibur]

"That sword is mine, King Arthur," answered she, "and I will give it to
you, if you in return will give me a gift when I ask you."

"By my faith," said the King, "I will give you whatever gift you ask."
"Well," said the maiden, "get into the barge yonder, and row yourself
to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with you."  For this was the
sword Excalibur.  "As for _my_ gift, I will ask it in my own time."

Then King Arthur and Merlin dismounted from their horses and tied them
up safely, and went into the barge, and when they came to the place
where the arm was holding the sword Arthur took it by the handle, and
the arm disappeared.  And they brought the sword back to land.

As they rode the King looked lovingly on his sword, which Merlin saw,
and, smiling, said, "Which do you like best, the sword or the
scabbard?" "I like the sword," answered Arthur.  "You are not wise to
say that," replied Merlin, "for the scabbard is worth ten of the sword,
and as long as it is buckled on you, you will lose no blood, however
sorely you may be wounded."

So they rode into the town of Carlion, and Arthur's Knights gave them a
glad welcome, and said it was a joy to serve under a King who risked
his life as much as any common man.




HOW GRETTIR THE STRONG BECAME AN OUTLAW.


I

Now Grettir had a strong wish to go to Norway, for Earl Svein had fled
the country after being beaten in a battle, and Olaf the Saint held
sole rule as King.

There was also a man named Thorir of Garth who had been in Norway, and
was a friend of the King; this man was anxious to send out his sons to
become the King's men.  The sons accordingly sailed, and came to a
haven at Stead, where they remained some days, during stormy weather.

Grettir also had sailed after them, and the crew bore down on Stead,
being hard put to it by reason of foul weather, snow and frost; and
they were all worn, weary and wet.  To save expense they did not put
into the harbour, but lay to beside a dyke, where, though perished with
cold, they could not light a fire.

As the night wore on they saw that a great fire was burning on the
opposite side of the sound up which they had sailed, and fell to
talking and wondering whether any man might fetch that fire.

Grettir said little, but made ready for swimming; he had on but a cape
and sail-cloth breeches.  He girt up the cape and tied a rope strongly
round his middle, and had with him a cask; then he leaped overboard and
swam across.  There he saw a house, and heard much talking and noise,
so he turned towards it, and found it to be a house of refuge for
coasting sailors; twelve men were inside sitting round a great fire on
the floor, drinking, and these were the sons of Thorir.

When Grettir burst in he knew not who was there; he himself seemed huge
of bulk, for his cape was frozen all over into ice; therefore the men
took him to be some evil troll, and smote at him with anything that lay
to hand; but Grettir put all blows aside, snatched up some firebrands,
and swam therewith back to the ship.  Grettir's comrades were mightily
pleased, and bepraised him and his journey and his prowess.

Next morning they crossed the sound, but found no house, only a great
heap of ashes, and therein many bones of men.  They asked if Grettir
had done this misdeed; but he said it had happened even as he had
expected.

The men said wherever they came that Grettir had burnt those people;
and the news soon spread that the victims were the sons of Thorir of
Garth.

Grettir therefore now grew into such bad repute that he was driven from
the ship, and scarcely any one would say a good word for him.  As
matters were so hopeless he determined to explain all to the King, and
offer to free himself from the slander by handling hot iron without
being burned.

His ill-luck still pursued him, for when all was ready in the Church
where the ceremony was about to take place, a wild-looking lad, or, as
some said, an unclean spirit, started up from no one knew where, and
spoke such impertinent words to Grettir that he felled him with a blow
of his fist.

After this the King would not allow the ceremony to go on: "Thou art
far too luckless a man to abide with us, and if ever man has been
cursed, of all men must thou have been," said he; and advised him to go
back to Iceland in the summer.

Meanwhile Asmund the Greyhaired died, and was buried at Biarg, and Atli
succeeded to his goods, but was soon afterwards basely murdered by a
neighbouring chief, who bore him ill-will for his many friendships, and
grudged him his possessions.

Thorir of Garth brought a suit at the Thing to have Grettir outlawed
for the burning of his sons; but Skapti the Lawman thought it scarcely
fair to condemn a man unheard, and spoke these wise words: "A tale is
half told if one man tells it, for most folk are readiest to bring
their stories to the worser side when there are two ways of telling
them."

Thorir, however, was a man of might, and had powerful friends; these
between them pushed on the suit, and with a high hand rather than
according to law obtained their decree.  Thus was Grettir outlawed for
a deed of which he was innocent.

Next, Grettir's enemy Thorir of Garth heard of his whereabouts, and
prevailed upon one Thorir Redbeard to attempt to slay him.

So Redbeard laid his plans, with the object, as it is quaintly phrased,
of "winning" Grettir.  He, however, declined to be "won," for Redbeard
fared no better than Grim.

[Illustration: Grettir overthrows Thorir Redbeard]

He tried to slay the outlaw while he was swimming back from his nets,
but Grettir sank like a stone and swam along the bottom, till he
reached a place where he could land unseen by Redbeard.  He then came
on him from behind, while Redbeard was still looking for his appearance
out of the water; heaved him over his head, and caused him to fall so
heavily that his weapon fell out of his hand.  Grettir seized it and
smote off his head.




DEATH OF GRETTIR THE STRONG.

About this time, Grettir having been so many years in outlawry, many
thought that the sentence should be annulled, and it was deemed certain
that he would be pardoned in the next ensuing summer; but they who had
owned the island were discontented at the prospect of his acquittal,
and urged Angle either to give back the island or slay Grettir.

Now Angle had a foster-mother, Thurid; she was old and cunning in
witchcraft, which she had learnt in her youth; for though Christianity
had now been established in the island, yet there remained still many
traces of heathendom.

Angle and she put out a ten-oared boat to pick a quarrel with Grettir,
of which the upshot was that the outlaw threw a huge stone into the
boat, where the witch lay covered up with wrappings, and broke her leg.
Angle had to endure many taunts at the failure of all his attempts to
outplay Grettir.

One day, Thurid was limping along by the sea, when she found a large
log, part of the trunk of a tree.  She cut a flat space on it, carved
magic characters, or runes, on the root, reddened them with her blood,
and sang witch-words over them; then she walked backwards round it, and
widdershins--which means in a direction against the sun--and thrust the
log out to sea under many strong spells, in such wise that it should
drive out to Drangey.

In the teeth of the wind it went, till it came to the island, where
Illugi and Grettir saw it, but knowing it boded them ill, they thrust
it out from shore; yet next morning was it there again, nearer the
ladders than before; but again they drove it out to sea.

The days wore on to summer, and a gale sprang up with wet; the brothers
being short of firewood, Noise was sent down to the shore to look for
drift, grumbling at being ordered out in bad weather, when, lo! the log
was there again, and he fetched it up.

Grettir was angry with Noise, and not noticing what the log was, hewed
at it with his axe, which glanced from the wood and cut into his leg,
right down to the bone.

Illugi bound it up, and at first it seemed as though the wound was
healed.  But after a time his leg took to paining Grettir, and became
blue and swollen, so that he could not sleep, and Illugi watched by him
night and day.

At this time Thurid advised Angle to make another attempt on the
island; he therefore gathered a force of a dozen men together, and set
sail in very foul weather, but no sooner had they reached open sea than
the wind lulled, so they came to Drangey at dusk.

Noise had been told to guard the ladders, and had gone out as usual
with very ill grace; he thought to himself he would not draw them up,
so he lay down there and fell asleep, remaining all day long in slumber
till Angle came to the island.

Mounting the ladders, he and his men found Noise snoring at the top;
arousing him roughly, they learned from him what had happened, and how
Grettir lay sick in the hut with Illugi tending him.

Angle thrashed Noise soundly for betraying his master, and the men made
for the hut.  Illugi guarded the door with the greatest valour, and
when they thrust at him with spears he struck off all the spear heads
from the shafts.

But some of the men leapt up on to the roof, tore away the thatch, and
broke one of the rafters.  Grettir thrust up with a spear and killed
one man, but he could not rise from his knee by reason of his wound;
the others leapt down and attacked him; young Illugi threw his shield
over him and made defence for both in most manly wise.

Grettir killed another man, whose body fell upon him, so that he could
not use his sword; wherefore Angle at that moment was able to stab him
between the shoulders, and many another wound they gave him till they
thought he was dead.

Angle took Grettir's short sword and struck at the head of the body
with such force that a piece of the sword-blade was nicked out.  So
died Grettir, the bravest man of all who ever dwelt in Iceland.




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