The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in ArmsMorris, William
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The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in Arms
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction
Thereat men laughed, and the Alderman went down the Hall with those
bearers of gifts, and was away for a space while they drank and made
merry: but presently back they came from the treasury bearing loads of
goodly things which were laid on one of the endlong boards. Then began
the gift-giving: and first he gave unto Folk-might six golden cups
marvellously fashioned, the work of four generations of wrights in the
Dale, and he himself had wrought the last two thereof. To Sun-beam he
gave a girdle of gold, fashioned with great mastery, whereon were images
of the Gods and the Fathers, and warriors, and beasts of the field and
fowls of the air; and as he girt it about her loins, he said in a soft
voice so that few heard:
‘Sun-beam, thou fair woman, time has been when thou wert to us as the
edge of the poisonous sword or the midnight torch of the murderer; but
now I know not how it will be, or if the grief which thou hast given me
will ever wear out or not. And now that I have beheld thee, I have
little to do to blame my son; for indeed when I look on thee I cannot
deem that there is any evil in thee. Yea, however it may be, take thou
this gift as the reward of thine exceeding beauty.’
She looked on him with kind eyes, and said meekly:
‘Indeed, if I have hurt thee unwittingly, I grieve to have hurt so good a
man. Hereafter belike we may talk more of this, but now I will but say,
that whereas at first I needed but to win thy son’s goodwill, so that our
Folk might come to life and thriving again, now it is come to this, that
he holdeth my heart in his hand and may do what he will with it;
therefore I pray thee withhold not thy love either from him or from me.’
He looked on her wondering, and said: ‘Thou art such an one as might make
the old man young, and the boy grow into manhood suddenly; and thy voice
is as sweet as the voice of the song-birds singing in the dawn of early
summer soundeth to him who hath been sick unto death, but who hath
escaped it and is mending. And yet I fear thee.’
Therewith he kissed her hand and turned unto the others, and he gave unto
Bow-may a hauberk of ring-mail of his own fashioning, a sure defence and
a wonderful work, and the collar thereof was done with gold and gems.
But he said to her: ‘Fair damsel-at-arms, faithful is thy face, and the
fashion of thee is goodly: now art thou become one of the best of our
friends, and this is little enough to give thee; yet would we fain ward
thy body against the foeman; so grieve us not by gainsaying us.’
And Bow-may was exceeding glad, and scarce knew how to cease handling
that marvel of ring-mail.
Then to Wood-wise Iron-face gave a most goodly sword, the blade all
marked with dark lines like the stream of an eddying river, the hilts of
steel and gold marvellously wrought; and all the work of a smith who had
dwelt in the house of his father’s father, and was a great warrior.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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