Chapter 3
And thence with sorrowing heart and cheer He rode, in grief that cast out fear Lest death in darkness yet were near, And bore the truncheon of the spear Wherewith the woful knight lay slain To her with whom he rode, and she Still bare it with her, fain to see What righteous doom of God’s might be The darkling manslayer’s bane.
And down a dim deep woodland way They rode between the boughs asway With flickering winds whose flash and play Made sunlight sunnier where the day Laughed, leapt, and fluttered like a bird Caught in a light loose leafy net That earth for amorous heaven had set To hold and see the sundawn yet And hear what morning heard.
There in the sweet soft shifting light Across their passage rode a knight Flushed hot from hunting as from fight, And seeing the sorrow-stricken sight Made question of them why they rode As mourners sick at heart and sad, When all alive about them bade Sweet earth for heaven’s sweet sake be glad As heaven for earth’s love glowed.
“Me lists not tell you,” Balen said. The strange knight’s face grew keen and red “Now, might my hand but keep my head, Even here should one of twain lie dead Were he no better armed than I.” And Balen spake with smiling speed, Where scorn and courtesy kept heed Of either: “That should little need: Not here shall either die.”
And all the cause he told him through As one that feared not though he knew All: and the strange knight spake anew, Saying: “I will part no more from you While life shall last me.” So they went Where he might arm himself to ride, And rode across wild ways and wide To where against a churchyard side A hermit’s harbour leant.
And there against them riding came Fleet as the lightning’s laugh and flame The invisible evil, even the same They sought and might not curse by name As hell’s foul child on earth set free, And smote the strange knight through, and fled, And left the mourners by the dead. “Alas, again,” Sir Balen said, “This wrong he hath done to me.”
And there they laid their dead to sleep Royally, lying where wild winds keep Keen watch and wail more soft and deep Than where men’s choirs bid music weep And song like incense heave and swell. And forth again they rode, and found Before them, dire in sight and sound, A castle girt about and bound With sorrow like a spell.
Above it seemed the sun at noon Sad as a wintry withering moon That shudders while the waste wind’s tune Craves ever none may guess what boon, But all may know the boon for dire. And evening on its darkness fell More dark than very death’s farewell, And night about it hung like hell, Whose fume the dawn made fire.
And Balen lighted down and passed Within the gateway, whence no blast Rang as the sheer portcullis, cast Suddenly down, fell, and made fast The gate behind him, whence he spied A sudden rage of men without And ravin of a murderous rout That girt the maiden hard about With death on either side.
And seeing that shame and peril, fear Bade wrath and grief awake and hear What shame should say in fame’s wide ear If she, by sorrow sealed more dear Than joy might make her, so should die: And up the tower’s curled stair he sprang As one that flies death’s deadliest fang, And leapt right out amid their gang As fire from heaven on high.
And they thereunder seeing the knight Unhurt among their press alight And bare his sword for chance of fight Stood from him, loth to strive or smite, And bade him hear their woful word, That not the maiden’s death they sought; But there through years too dire for thought Had lain their lady stricken, and nought Might heal her: and he heard.
For there a maiden clean and whole In virgin body and virgin soul, Whose name was writ on royal roll, That would but stain a silver bowl With offering of her stainless blood, Therewith might heal her: so they stayed For hope’s sad sake each blameless maid There journeying in that dolorous shade Whose bloom was bright in bud.
No hurt nor harm to her it were If she should yield a sister there Some tribute of her blood, and fare Forth with this joy at heart to bear, That all unhurt and unafraid This grace she had here by God’s grace wrought. And kindling all with kindly thought And love that saw save love’s self nought, Shone, smiled, and spake the maid.
“Good knight of mine, good will have I To help this healing though I die.” “Nay,” Balen said, “but love may try What help in living love may lie. —I will not lose the life of her While my life lasteth.” So she gave The tribute love was fain to crave, But might not heal though fain to save, Were God’s grace helpfuller.
Another maid in later Mays Won with her life that woful praise, And died. But they, when surging day’s Deep tide fulfilled the dawn’s wide ways, Rode forth, and found by day or night No chance to cross their wayfaring Till when they saw the fourth day spring A knight’s hall gave them harbouring Rich as a king’s house might.
And while they sat at meat and spake Words bright and kind as grace might make Sweet for true knighthood’s kindly sake, They heard a cry beside them break The still-souled joy of blameless rest. “What noise is this?” quoth Balen. “Nay,” His knightly host made answer, “may Our grief not grieve you though I say How here I dwell unblest.
“Not many a day has lived and died Since at a tournay late I tried My strength to smite and turn and ride Against a knight of kinglike pride, King Pellam’s brother: twice I smote The splendour of his strength to dust: And he, fulfilled of hate’s fierce lust, Swore vengeance, pledged for hell to trust, And keen as hell’s wide throat.
“Invisible as the spirit of night That heaven and earth in depth and height May see not by the mild moon’s light Nor even when stars would grant them sight, He walks and slays as plague’s blind breath Slays: and my son, whose anguish here Makes moan perforce that mars our cheer, He wounded, even ere love might fear That hate were strong as death.
“Nor may my son be whole till he Whose stroke through him hath stricken me Shall give again his blood to be Our healing: yet may no man see This felon, clothed with darkness round And keen as lightning’s life.” Thereon Spake Balen, and his presence shone Even as the sun’s when stars are gone That hear dawn’s trumpet sound.
“That knight I know: two knights of mine, Two comrades, sealed by faith’s bright sign, Whose eyes as ours that live should shine, And drink the golden sunlight’s wine With joy’s thanksgiving that they live, He hath slain in even the same blind wise: Were all wide wealth beneath the skies Mine, might I meet him, eyes on eyes, All would I laugh to give.”
His host made answer, and his gaze Grew bright with trust as dawn’s moist maze With fire: “Within these twenty days, King Pellam, lord of Lystenayse, Holds feast through all this country cried, And there before the knightly king May no knight come except he bring For witness of his wayfaring His paramour or bride.
“And there that day, so soon to shine, This knight, your felon foe and mine, Shall show, full-flushed with bloodred wine, The fierce false face whereon we pine To wreak the wrong he hath wrought us, bare As shame should see and brand it.” “Then,” Said Balen, “shall he give again His blood to heal your son, and men Shall see death blind him there.”
“Forth will we fare to-morrow,” said His host: and forth, as sunrise led, They rode; and fifteen days were fled Ere toward their goal their steeds had sped. And there alighting might they find For Balen’s host no place to rest, Who came without a gentler guest Beside him: and that household’s hest Bade leave his sword behind.
“Nay,” Balen said, “that do I not: My country’s custom stands, God wot, That none whose lot is knighthood’s lot, To ride where chance as fire is hot With hope or promise given of fight, Shall fail to keep, for knighthood’s part, His weapon with him as his heart; And as I came will I depart, Or hold herein my right.”
Then gat he leave to wear his sword Beside the strange king’s festal board Where feasted many a knight and lord In seemliness of fair accord: And Balen asked of one beside, “Is there not in this court, if fame Keep faith, a knight that hath to name Garlon?” and saying that word of shame, He scanned that place of pride.
“Yonder he goeth against the light, He with the face as swart as night,” Quoth the other: “but he rides to fight Hid round by charms from all men’s sight, And many a noble knight he hath slain, Being wrapt in darkness deep as hell And silence dark as shame.” “Ah, well,” Said Balen, “is that he? the spell May be the sorcerer’s bane.”
Then Balen gazed upon him long, And thought, “If here I wreak my wrong, Alive I may not scape, so strong The felon’s friends about him throng; And if I leave him here alive, This chance perchance may life not give Again: much evil, if he live, He needs must do, should fear forgive When wrongs bid strike and strive.”
And Garlon, seeing how Balen’s eye Dwelt on him as his heart waxed high With joy in wrath to see him nigh, Rose wolf-like with a wolfish cry And crossed and smote him on the face, Saying, “Knight, what wouldst thou with me? Eat, For shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat Do that thou art come for: stands thy seat Next ours of royal race?”
“Well hast thou said: thy rede rings true; That which I came for will I do,” Quoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew, And clove the head of Garlon through Clean to the shoulders. Then he cried Loud to his lady, “Give me here The truncheon of the shameful spear Wherewith he slew your knight, when fear Bade hate in darkness ride.”
And gladly, bright with grief made glad, She gave the truncheon as he bade, For still she bare it with her, sad And strong in hopeless hope she had, Through all dark days of thwarting fear, To see if doom should fall aright And as God’s fire-fraught thunder smite That head, clothed round with hell-faced night, Bare now before her here.
And Balen smote therewith the dead Dark felon’s body through, and said Aloud, “With even this truncheon, red With baser blood than brave men bled Whom in thy shameful hand it slew, Thou hast slain a nobler knight, and now It clings and cleaves thy body: thou Shall cleave again no brave man’s brow, Though hell would aid anew.”
And toward his host he turned and spake; “Now for your son’s long-suffering sake Blood ye may fetch enough, and take Wherewith to heal his hurt, and make Death warm as life.” Then rose a cry Loud as the wind’s when stormy spring Makes all the woodland rage and ring: “Thou hast slain my brother,” said the king, “And here with him shalt die.”
“Ay?” Balen laughed him answer. “Well, Do it then thyself.” And the answer fell Fierce as a blast of hate from hell, “No man of mine that with me dwell Shall strike at thee but I their lord For love of this my brother slain.” And Pellam caught and grasped amain A grim great weapon, fierce and fain To feed his hungering sword.
And eagerly he smote, and sped Not well: for Balen’s blade, yet red With lifeblood of the murderous dead, Between the swordstroke and his head Shone, and the strength of the eager stroke Shore it in sunder: then the knight, Naked and weaponless for fight, Ran seeking him a sword to smite As hope within him woke.
And so their flight for deathward fast From chamber forth to chamber passed Where lay no weapon, till the last Whose doors made way for Balen cast Upon him as a sudden spell Wonder that even as lightning leapt Across his heart and eyes, and swept As storm across his soul that kept Wild watch, and watched not well.
For there the deed he did, being near Death’s danger, breathless as the deer Driven hard to bay, but void of fear, Brought sorrow down for many a year On many a man in many a land. All glorious shone that chamber, bright As burns at sunrise heaven’s own height: With cloth of gold the bed was dight, That flamed on either hand.
And one he saw within it lie: A table of all clear gold thereby Stood stately, fair as morning’s eye, With four strong silver pillars, high And firm as faith and hope may be: And on it shone the gift he sought, A spear most marvellously wrought, That when his eye and handgrip caught Small fear at heart had he.
Right on King Pellam then, as fire Turns when the thwarting winds wax higher, He turned, and smote him down. So dire The stroke was, when his heart’s desire Struck, and had all its fill of hate, That as the king fell swooning down Fell the walls, rent from base to crown, Prone as prone seas that break and drown Ships fraught with doom for freight.
And there for three days’ silent space Balen and Pellam face to face Lay dead or deathlike, and the place Was death’s blind kingdom, till the grace That God had given the sacred seer For counsel or for comfort led His Merlin thither, and he said, Standing between the quick and dead, “Rise up, and rest not here.”
And Balen rose and set his eyes Against the seer’s as one that tries His heart against the sea’s and sky’s And fears not if he lives or dies, Saying, “I would have my damosel, Ere I fare forth, to fare with me.” And sadly Merlin answered, “See Where now she lies; death knows if she Shall now fare ill or well.
“And in this world we meet no more, Balen.” And Balen, sorrowing sore, Though fearless yet the heart he bore Beat toward the life that lay before, Rode forth through many a wild waste land Where men cried out against him, mad With grievous faith in fear that bade Their wrath make moan for doubt they had Lest hell had armed his hand.
For in that chamber’s wondrous shrine Was part of Christ’s own blood, the wine Shed of the true triumphal vine Whose growth bids earth’s deep darkness shine As heaven’s deep light through the air and sea; That mystery toward our northern shore Arimathean Joseph bore For healing of our sins of yore, That grace even there might be.
And with that spear there shrined apart Was Christ’s side smitten to the heart. And fiercer than the lightning’s dart The stroke was, and the deathlike smart Wherewith, nigh drained of blood and breath, The king lay stricken as one long dead: And Joseph’s was the blood there shed, For near akin was he that bled, Near even as life to death.
And therefore fell on all that land Sorrow: for still on either hand, As Balen rode alone and scanned Bright fields and cities built to stand Till time should break them, dead men lay; And loud and long from all their folk Living, one cry that cursed him broke; Three countries had his dolorous stroke Slain, or should surely slay.
VII
In winter, when the year burns low As fire wherein no firebrands glow, And winds dishevel as they blow The lovely stormy wings of snow, The hearts of northern men burn bright With joy that mocks the joy of spring To hear all heaven’s keen clarions ring Music that bids the spirit sing And day give thanks for night.
Aloud and dark as hell or hate Round Balen’s head the wind of fate Blew storm and cloud from death’s wide gate: But joy as grief in him was great To face God’s doom and live or die, Sorrowing for ill wrought unaware, Rejoicing in desire to dare All ill that innocence might bear With changeless heart and eye.
Yet passing fain he was when past Those lands and woes at length and last. Eight times, as thence he fared forth fast, Dawn rose and even was overcast With starry darkness dear as day, Before his venturous quest might meet Adventure, seeing within a sweet Green low-lying forest, hushed in heat, A tower that barred his way.
Strong summer, dumb with rapture, bound With golden calm the woodlands round Wherethrough the knight forth faring found A knight that on the greenwood ground Sat mourning: fair he was to see, And moulded as for love or fight A maiden’s dreams might frame her knight; But sad in joy’s far-flowering sight As grief’s blind thrall might be.
“God save you,” Balen softly said, “What grief bows down your heart and head Thus, as one sorrowing for his dead? Tell me, if haply I may stead In aught your sorrow, that I may.” “Sir knight,” that other said, “thy word Makes my grief heavier that I heard.” And pity and wonder inly stirred Drew Balen thence away.
And so withdrawn with silent speed He saw the sad knight’s stately steed, A war-horse meet for warrior’s need, That none who passed might choose but heed, So strong he stood, so great, so fair, With eyes afire for flight or fight, A joy to look on, mild in might, And swift and keen and kind as light, And all as clear of care.
And Balen, gazing on him, heard Again his master’s woful word Sound sorrow through the calm unstirred By fluttering wind or flickering bird, Thus: “Ah, fair lady and faithless, why Break thy pledged faith to meet me? soon An hour beyond thy trothplight noon Shall strike my death-bell, and thy boon Is this, that here I die.
“My curse for all thy gifts may be Heavier than death or night on thee; For now this sword thou gavest me Shall set me from thy bondage free.” And there the man had died self-slain, But Balen leapt on him and caught The blind fierce hand that fain had wrought Self-murder, stung with fire of thought, As rage makes anguish fain.
Then, mad for thwarted grief, “Let go My hand,” the fool of wrath and woe Cried, “or I slay thee.” Scarce the glow In Balen’s cheek and eye might show, As dawn shows day while seas lie chill, He heard, though pity took not heed, But smiled and spake, “That shall not need: What man may do to bid you speed I, so God speed me, will.”
And the other craved his name, beguiled By hope that made his madness mild. Again Sir Balen spake and smiled: “My name is Balen, called the Wild By knights whom kings and courts make tame Because I ride alone afar And follow but my soul for star.” “Ah, sir, I know the knight you are And all your fiery fame.
“The knight that bears two swords I know, Most praised of all men, friend and foe, For prowess of your hands, that show Dark war the way where balefires glow And kindle glory like the dawn’s.” So spake the sorrowing knight, and stood As one whose heart fresh hope made good: And forth they rode by wold and wood And down the glimmering lawns.
And Balen craved his name who rode Beside him, where the wild wood glowed With joy to feel how noontide flowed Through glade and glen and rough green road Till earth grew joyful as the sea. “My name is Garnysshe of the Mount, A poor man’s son of none account,” He said, “where springs of loftier fount Laugh loud with pride to be.
“But strength in weakness lives and stands As rocks that rise through shifting sands; And for the prowess of my hands One made me knight and gave me lands, Duke Hermel, lord from far to near, Our prince; and she that loved me—she I love, and deemed she loved but me, His daughter, pledged her faith to be Ere now beside me here.”
And Balen, brief of speech as light Whose word, beheld of depth and height, Strikes silence through the stars of night, Spake, and his face as dawn’s grew bright, For hope to help a happier man, “How far then lies she hence?” “By this,” Her lover sighed and said, “I wis, Not six fleet miles the passage is, And straight as thought could span.”
So rode they swift and sure, and found A castle walled and dyked around: And Balen, as a warrior bound On search where hope might fear to sound The darkness of the deeps of doubt, Made entrance through the guardless gate As life, while hope in life grows great, Makes way between the doors of fate That death may pass thereout.
Through many a glorious chamber, wrought For all delight that love’s own thought Might dream or dwell in, Balen sought And found of all he looked for nought, For like a shining shell her bed Shone void and vacant of her: thence Through devious wonders bright and dense He passed and saw with shame-struck sense Where shame and faith lay dead.
Down in a sweet small garden, fair With flowerful joy in the ardent air, He saw, and raged with loathing, where She lay with love-dishevelled hair Beneath a broad bright laurel tree And clasped in amorous arms a knight, The unloveliest that his scornful sight Had dwelt on yet; a shame the bright Broad noon might shrink to see.
And thence in wrathful hope he turned, Hot as the heart within him burned, To meet the knight whose love, so spurned And spat on and made nought of, yearned And dreamed and hoped and lived in vain, And said, “I have found her sleeping fast,” And led him where the shadows cast From leaves wherethrough light winds ran past Screened her from sun and rain.
But Garnysshe, seeing, reeled as he stood Like a tree, kingliest of the wood, Half hewn through: and the burning blood Through lips and nostrils burst aflood: And gathering back his rage and might As broken breakers rally and roar The loud wind down that drives off shore, He smote their heads off: there no more Their life might shame the light.
Then turned he back toward Balen, mad With grief, and said, “The grief I had Was nought: ere this my life was glad: Thou hast done this deed: I was but sad And fearful how my hope might fare: I had lived my sorrow down, hadst thou Not shown me what I saw but now.” The sorrow and scorn on Balen’s brow Bade silence curb him there.
And Balen answered: “What I did I did to hearten thee and bid Thy courage know that shame should rid A man’s high heart of love that hid Blind shame within its core: God knows, I did, to set a bondman free, But as I would thou hadst done by me, That seeing what love must die to see Love’s end might well be woe’s.”
“Alas,” the woful weakling said, “I have slain what most I loved: I have shed The blood most near my heart: the head Lies cold as earth, defiled and dead, That all my life was lighted by, That all my soul bowed down before, And now may bear with life no more: For now my sorrow that I bore Is twofold, and I die.”
Then with his red wet sword he rove His breast in sunder, where it clove Life, and no pulse against it strove, So sure and strong the deep stroke drove Deathward: and Balen, seeing him dead, Rode thence, lest folk would say he had slain Those three; and ere three days again Had seen the sun’s might wax and wane, Far forth he had spurred and sped.
And riding past a cross whereon Broad golden letters written shone, Saying, “No knight born may ride alone Forth toward this castle,” and all the stone Glowed in the sun’s glare even as though Blood stained it from the crucified Dead burden of one that there had died, An old hoar man he saw beside Whose face was wan as woe.
“Balen the Wild,” he said, “this way Thy way lies not: thou hast passed to-day Thy bands: but turn again, and stay Thy passage, while thy soul hath sway Within thee, and through God’s good power It will avail thee:” and anon His likeness as a cloud was gone, And Balen’s heart within him shone Clear as the cloudless hour.
Nor fate nor fear might overcast The soul now near its peace at last. Suddenly, thence as forth he past, A mighty and a deadly blast Blown of a hunting-horn he heard, As when the chase hath nobly sped. “That blast is blown for me,” he said, “The prize am I who am yet not dead,” And smiled upon the word.
As toward a royal hart’s death rang That note, whence all the loud wood sang With winged and living sound that sprang Like fire, and keen as fire’s own fang Pierced the sweet silence that it slew. But nought like death or strife was here: Fair semblance and most goodly cheer They made him, they whose troop drew near As death among them drew.