House of the Wolfings: The William Morris Book that Inspired J. R. R. Tolkiena *s The Lord of the Rings (34 page)

And this eve the work before you will be the
Hall to throng

And purge its walls of sorrow and quench its
scathe and wrong.

She looked on the dead Thiodolf a moment,
and then glanced from him to Otter and spake again:

O kindreds, here before you two mighty
bodies lie;

Henceforth no man shall see them in house
and field go by

As we were used to behold them, familiar to
us then

As the wind beneath the heavens and the sun
that shines on men;

Now soon shall there be nothing of their
dwelling-place to tell,

Save the billow of the meadows, the
flower-grown grassy swell!

Now therefore, O ye kindreds, if amidst you
there be one

Who hath known the heart of the War-dukes,
and the deeds their hands have done,

Will not the word be with him, while yet
your hearts are hot,

Of our praise and long remembrance, and our
love that dieth not?

Then let him come up hither and speak the
latest word

O’er the limbs of the battle-weary and the
hearts outworn with the sword.

She held her peace, and there was a stir in
the ring of men: for they who were anigh the Dayling banner saw an
old warrior sitting on a great black horse and fully armed. He got
slowly off his horse and walked toward the ring of warriors, which
opened before him; for all knew him for Asmund the old, the
war-wise warrior of the Daylings, even he who had lamented over the
Hauberk of Thiodolf. He had taken horse the day before, and had
ridden toward the battle, but was belated, and had come up with
them of the Wain-burg just as they had crossed the water.

Chapter 31

Old Asmund Speaketh Over the War-dukes:

The Dead Are Laid in Mound

Now while all looked on, he went to the
place where lay the bodies of the War-dukes, and looked down on the
face of Otter and said:

O Otter, there thou liest! and thou that I
knew of old,

When my beard began to whiten, as the best
of the keen and the bold,

And thou wert as my youngest brother, and
thou didst lead my sons

When we fared forth over the mountains to
meet the arrowy Huns,

And I smiled to see thee teaching the lore
that I learned thee erst.

O Otter, dost thou remember how the
Goth-folk came by the worst,

And with thee in mine arms I waded the wide
shaft-harrowed flood

That lapped the feet of the mountains with
its water blent with blood;

And how in the hollow places of the
mountains hidden away

We abode the kindreds’ coming as the wet
night bideth day?

Dost thou remember, Otter, how many a joy we
had,

How many a grief remembered has made our
high-tide glad?

O fellow of the hall-glee! O fellow of the
field!

Why then hast thou departed and left me
under shield?

I the ancient, I the childless, while yet in
the Laxing hall

Are thy brother’s sons abiding and their
children on thee call.

O kindreds of the people! the soul that
dwelt herein,

This goodly way-worn body, was keen for you
to win

Good days and long endurance. Who knoweth of
his deed

What things for you it hath fashioned from
the flame of the fire of need?

But of this at least well wot we, that forth
from your hearts it came

And back to your hearts returneth for the
seed of thriving and fame.

In the ground wherein ye lay it, the body of
this man,

No deed of his abideth, no glory that he
wan,

But evermore the Markmen shall bear his
deeds o’er earth,

With the joy of the deeds that are coming,
the garland of his worth.

He was silent a little as he stood looking
down on Otter’s face with grievous sorrow, for all that his words
were stout. For indeed, as he had said, Otter had been his
battle-fellow and his hall-fellow, though he was much younger than
Asmund; and they had been standing foot to foot in that battle
wherein old Asmund’s sons were slain by his side.

After a while he turned slowly from looking
at Otter to gaze upon Thiodolf, and his body trembled as he looked,
and he opened his mouth to speak; but no word came from it; and he
sat down upon the edge of the bier, and the tears began to gush out
of his old eyes, and he wept aloud. Then they that saw him
wondered; for all knew the stoutness of his heart, and how he had
borne more burdens than that of eld, and had not cowered down under
them. But at last he arose again, and stood firmly on his feet, and
faced the Folk-mote, and in a voice more like the voice of a man in
his prime than of an old man, he sang:

Wild the storm is abroad

Of the edge of the sword!

Far on runneth the path

Of the war-stride of wrath!

The Gods hearken and hear

The long rumour of fear

From the meadows beneath

Running fierce o’er the heath,

Till it beats round their dwelling-place
builded aloof

And at last all up-swelling breaks wild o’er
their roof,

And quencheth their laughter and crieth on
all,

As it rolleth round rafter and beam of the
Hall,

Like the speech of the thunder-cloud tangled
on high,

When the mountain-halls sunder as dread
goeth by.

So they throw the door wide

Of the Hall where they bide,

And to murmuring song

Turns that voice of the wrong,

And the Gods wait a-gaze

For that Wearer of Ways:

For they know he hath gone

A long journey alone.

Now his feet are they hearkening, and now is
he come,

With his battle-wounds darkening the door of
his home,

Unbyrnied, unshielded, and lonely he
stands,

And the sword that he wielded is gone from
his hands—

Hands outstretched and bearing no spoil of
the fight,

As speechless, unfearing, he stands in their
sight.

War-father gleams

Where the white light streams

Round kings of old

All red with gold,

And the Gods of the name

With joy aflame.

All the ancient of men

Grown glorious again:

Till the Slains-father crieth aloud at the
last:

‘Here is one that belieth no hope of the
past!

No weapon, no treasure of earth doth he
bear,

No gift for the pleasure of Godhome to
share;

But life his hand bringeth, well cherished,
most sweet;

And hark! the Hall singeth the Folk-wolf to
greet!’

As the rain of May

On earth’s happiest day,

So the fair flowers fall

On the sun-bright Hall

As the Gods rise up

With the greeting-cup,

And the welcoming crowd

Falls to murmur aloud.

Then the God of Earth speaketh; sweet-worded
he saith,

‘Lo, the Sun ever seeketh Life fashioned of
death;

And to-day as he turneth the wide world
about

On Wolf-stead he yearneth; for there without
doubt

Dwells the death-fashioned story, the flower
of all fame.

Come hither new Glory, come Crown of the
Name!’

All men’s hearts rose high as he sang, and
when he had ended arose the clang of sword and shield and went
ringing down the meadow, and the mighty shout of the Markmen’s joy
rent the heavens: for in sooth at that moment they saw Thiodolf,
their champion, sitting among the Gods on his golden chair, sweet
savours around him, and sweet sound of singing, and he himself
bright-faced and merry as no man on earth had seen him, for as
joyous a man as he was.

But when the sound of their exultation sank
down, the Hall-Sun spake again:

Now wendeth the sun westward, and weary
grows the Earth

Of all the long day’s doings in sorrow and
in mirth;

And as the great sun waneth, so doth my
candle wane,

And its flickering flame desireth to rest
and die again.

Therefore across the meadows wend we aback
once more

To the holy Roof of the Wolfings, the shrine
of peace and war.

And these that once have loved us, these
warriors images,

Shall sit amidst our feasting, and see, as
the Father sees

The works that menfolk fashion and the rest
of toiling hands,

When his eyes look down from the mountains
and the heavens above all lands,

And up from the flowery meadows and the
rolling deeps of the sea.

There then at the feast with our champions
familiar shall we be

As oft we are with the Godfolk, when in
story-rhymes and lays

We laugh as we tell of their laughter, and
their deeds of other days.

Come then, ye sons of the kindreds who
hither bore these twain!

Take up their beds of glory, and fare we
home again,

And feast as men delivered from toil unmeet
to bear,

Who through the night are looking to the
dawn-tide fresh and fair

And the morn and the noon to follow, and the
eve and its morrow morn,

All the life of our deliv’rance and the fair
days yet unborn.

So she spoke, and a murmur arose as those
valiant men came forth again. But lo, now were they dight in fresh
and fair raiment and gleaming war-array. For while all this was
a-doing and a-saying, they had gotten them by the Hall-Sun’s
bidding unto the wains of their Houses, and had arrayed them from
the store therein.

So now they took up the biers, and the
Hall-Sun led them, and they went over the meadow before the throng
of the kindreds, who followed them duly ordered, each House about
its banner; and when they were come through the garth which the
Romans had made to the Man’s-door of the Hall, there were the women
of the House freshly attired, who cast flowers on the living men of
the host, and on the dead War-dukes, while they wept for pity of
them. So went the freemen of the Houses into the Hall, following
the Hall-Sun, and the bearers of the War-dukes; but the banners
abode without in the garth made by the Romans; and the thralls
arrayed a feast for themselves about the wains of the kindreds in
the open place before their cots and the smithying booths and the
byres.

And as the Hall-Sun went into the Hall, she
thrust down the candle against the threshold of the Man’s-door, and
so quenched it.

Long were the kindreds entering, and when
they were under the Roof of the Wolfings, they looked and beheld
Thiodolf set in his chair once more, and Otter set beside him; and
the chiefs and leaders of the House took their places on the dais,
those to whom it was due, and the Hall-Sun sat under the wondrous
Lamp her namesake.

Now was the glooming falling upon the earth;
but the Hall was bright within even as the Hall-Sun had promised.
Therein was set forth the Treasure of the Wolfings; fair cloths
were hung on the walls, goodly broidered garments on the pillars:
goodly brazen cauldrons and fair-carven chests were set down in
nooks where men could see them well, and vessels of gold and silver
were set all up and down the tables of the feast. The pillars also
were wreathed with flowers, and flowers hung garlanded from the
walls over the precious hangings; sweet gums and spices were
burning in fair-wrought censers of brass, and so many candles were
alight under the Roof, that scarce had it looked more ablaze when
the Romans had litten the faggots therein for its burning amidst
the hurry of the Morning Battle.

There then they fell to feasting, hallowing
in the high-tide of their return with victory in their hands: and
the dead corpses of Thiodolf and Otter, clad in precious glistering
raiment, looked down on them from the High-seat, and the kindreds
worshipped them and were glad; and they drank the Cup to them
before any others, were they Gods or men.

But before the feast was hallowed in, came
Ali the son of Grey up to the High-seat, bearing something in his
hand: and lo! it was Throng-plough, which he had sought all over
the field where the Markmen had been overcome by the Romans, and
had found it at last. All men saw him how he held it in his hand
now as he went up to the Hall-Sun and spake to her. But she kissed
the lad on the forehead, and took Throng-plough, and wound the
peace-strings round him and laid him on the board before Thiodolf;
and then she spake softly as if to herself, yet so that some heard
her:

“O father, no more shalt thou draw
Throng-plough from the sheath till the battle is pitched in the
last field of fight, and the sons of the fruitful Earth and the
sons of Day meet Swart and his children at last, when the change of
the World is at hand. Maybe I shall be with thee then: but now and
in meanwhile, farewell, O mighty hand of my father!”

Thus then the Houses of the Mark held their
High-tide of Returning under the Wolfing Roof with none to blame
them or make them afraid: and the moon rose and the summer night
wore on towards dawn, and within the Roof and without was there
feasting and singing and harping and the voice of abundant joyance:
for without the Roof feasted the thralls and the strangers, and the
Roman war-captives.

But on the morrow the kindreds laid their
dead men in mound betwixt the Great Roof and the Wild-wood. In one
mound they laid them with the War-dukes in their midst, and
Arinbiorn by Otter’s right side; and Thiodolf bore Throng-plough to
mound with him.

But a little way from the mound of their own
dead, toward the south they laid the Romans, a great company, with
their Captain in the midst: and they heaped a long mound over them
not right high; so that as years wore, and the feet of men and
beasts trod it down, it seemed a mere swelling of the earth not
made by men’s hands; and belike men knew not how many bones of
valiant men lay beneath; yet it had a name which endured for long,
to wit, the Battle-toft.