Complete Works of William Morris, page 128
“Yea, Lord King,” said Christopher, “I will at least do my best, if thou but tell me where to seek the quarry and when.”
“It is well,” said the Marshal, “and to-morrow my squire, whom thou seest yonder, and who hight Simon, shall tell thee where the hunt is up, and thou shalt go with him. But hearken! thou shalt not call me king; for to-day there is no king in Oakenrealm, and I am but Marshal, and Earl of the king that shall be.”
The lad fell a-musing for a minute, and then he said: “Yea, Lord Marshal, I shall do thy will: but meseemeth I have heard some tale of one who was but of late king in Oakenrealm: is it not so, Lord?”
“Stint thy talk, young man,” cried the Marshal in a harsh voice, “and abide to-morrow; who knoweth who shall be king, and whether thou or I shall live to see him.”
But as he spake the words they seemed to his heart like a foretelling of evil, and he turned pale and trembled, and said to Christopher: “Come hither, lad; I will give thee a gift, and then shalt thou depart till to-morrow.” So Christopher drew near to him, and the Marshal pulled off a ring from his finger and set it on the lad’s, and said to him: “Now depart in peace;” and Christopher bent the knee to him and thanked him for the gracious gift of the ruler of Oakenrealm, and then went his ways out of the hall, and the folk without gave a glad cry as he came amongst them.
But by then he was come to the door, Lord Rolf looked on his hand, and saw that, instead of giving the youngling a finger-ring which he had bought of a merchant for a price of five bezants, as he had meant to do, he had given him a ring which the old King had had, whereon was the first letter of his name (Christopher to wit), and a device of a crowned rose, for this ring was a signet of his. Wherefore was the Marshal once more sore troubled, and he arose, and was half minded to run down the hall after Christopher; but he refrained him, and presently smiled to himself, and then fell a-talking to Lord Richard, sweetly and pleasantly.
SO wore the day to evening; but, ere he went to bed, the Lord Rolf had a privy talk, first with Lord Richard, and after with his squire Simon. What followed of that talk ye may hear after.
CHAPTER VII. HOW CHRISTOPHER WENT A JOURNEY INTO THE WILD-WOOD.
Next morning Christopher, who slept in the little hall of the inner court of the Castle, arose betimes, and came to the great gate; but, for as early as he was, there he saw the squire Simon abiding him, standing between two strong horses; to him he gave the sele of the day, and the squire greeted him, but in somewhat surly wise. Then he said to him: “Well, King Christopher, art thou ready for the road?”
“Yea, as thou seest,” said the youngling smiling. For, indeed, he had breeches now beneath his shirt, and a surcoat of green woollen over it; boots of deerskin had he withal, and spurs thereon: he was girt with a short sword, and had a quiver of arrows at his back, and bare a great bow in his hand.
“Yea,” quoth Simon, “thou deemest thee a gay swain belike; but thou lookest likelier for a deerstealer than a rider, thou, hung up to thy shooting-gear. Deemest thou we go a-hunting of the hind?”
Quoth Christopher: “I wot not, squire; but the great lord who lieth sleeping yonder, hath told me that thou shouldest give me his errand; and of some hunting or feat of wood-craft he spake. Moreover, this crooked stick can drive a shaft through matters harder than a hind’s side.”
Simon looked confused, and he reddened and stammered somewhat as he answered: “Ah, yea: so it was; I mind me; I will tell thee anon.”
Said Christopher: “Withal, squire, if we are wending into the wood, as needs we must, unless we ride round about this dale in a ring all day, dost thou deem we shall go at a gallop many a mile? Nay, fair sir; the horses shall wend a foot’s pace oftenest, and we shall go a-foot not unseldom through the thickets.”
Now was Simon come to himself again, and that self was surly, so he said: “Ay, ay, little King, thou deemest thee exceeding wise in these woods, dost thou not? and forsooth, thou mayst be. Yet have I tidings for thee.”
“Yea, and what be they?” said Christopher.
Simon grinned: “Even these,” said he, “that Dr. Knowall was no man’s cousin while he lived, and that he died last week.”
Therewith he swung himself into his saddle, and Christopher laughed merrily at his poor gibe and mounted in like wise.
Wherewithal they rode their ways through the thorpe, and at the southern end thereof Simon drew rein, and looked on Christopher as if he would ask him something, but asked not. Then said Christopher: “Whither go we now?”
Said Simon: “It is partly for thee to say: hearken, I am bidden first to ride the Redwater Wood with thee: knowest thou that?”
“Yea,” said the lad, “full well: but which way shall we ride it? Wilt thou come out of it at Redwater Head, or Herne Moss, or the Long Pools?”
Said Simon: “We shall make for the Long Pools, if thou canst bring me there.”
Christopher laughed: “Aha!” said he, “then am I some faraway cousin of Dr. Knowall when the whole tale is told: forsooth I can lead thee thither; but tell me, what shall I do of valiant deeds at the Long Pools? for there is no fire-drake nor effit, nay, nor no giant, nor guileful dwarf, nought save mallard and coot, heron and bittern; yea, and ague-shivers to boot.”
Simon looked sourly on him and said: “Thou are bidden to go with me, young man, or gainsay the Marshal. Art thou mighty enough thereto? For the rest, fear not but that the deed shall come to thee one day.”
“Nay,” said Christopher, “it is all one to me, for I am at home in these woods and wastes, I and my shafts. Tell me of the deeds when thou wilt.” But indeed he longed to know the deed, and fretted him because of Simon’s surliness and closeness. Then he said: “Well, Squire Simon, let us to the road; for thou shalt know that to-night we must needs house us under the naked heaven; in nowise can we come to the Long Pools before to-morrow morning.”
“Yea, and why not?” said the squire; “I have lain in worse places.”
“Wilt thou tell me thereof?” said Christopher.
“Mayhappen,” said Simon, “if to-morrow comes and goes for both of us twain.”
So they rode their ways through the wood, and baited at midday with what Simon bare in his saddle-bags, and then went on till night fell on them; then asked Simon how long they were from the Long Pools, and Christopher told him that they were yet short of them some fifteen miles, and those long ones, because of the marish grounds. So they tethered their horses there and ate their supper; and lay down to sleep in the house of the woods, by a fire-side which they lighted.
But in the midnight Christopher, who was exceeding fine-eared, had an inkling of someone moving afoot anigh him, and he awoke therewith, and sprang up, his drawn short-sword in his hand, and found himself face to face with Simon, and he also with his sword drawn. Simon sprang aback, but held up his sword-point, and Christopher, not yet fully awake, cried out: “What wouldst thou? What is it?”
Simon answered, stammering and all abashed: “Didst thou not hear then? it wakened me.”
“I heard nought,” said Christopher; “what was it?”
“Horses going in the wood,” said Simon
“Ah, yea,” said Christopher, “it will have been the wild colts and the mares; they harbour about these marsh-land parts. Go to sleep again, neighbour, the night is not yet half worn; but I will watch a while.”
Then Simon sheathed his sword, and turned about and stood uneasily a little while, and then cast him down as one who would sleep hastily; but slept not forsooth, though he presently made semblance of it: as for Christopher, he drew together the brands of the fire, and sat beside it with his blade over his knees, until the first beginning of the summer dawn was in the sky; then he began to nod, and presently lay aback and slept soundly. Simon slept not, but durst not move. So they lay till it was broad day, and the sunbeams came thrusting through the boughs of the thicket.
CHAPTER VIII. CHRISTOPHER COMES TO THE TOFTS.
When they arose in the sunshine, Simon went straightway to see to the horses, while Christopher stayed by the fire to dight their victuals; he was merry enough, and sang to himself the while; but when Simon came back again, Christopher looked on him sharply, but for a while Simon would not meet his eye, though he asked divers questions of him concerning little matters, as though he were fain to hear Christopher’s voice; at last he raised his eyes, and looked on him steadily, and then Christopher said: “Well, wayfarer mine, and whither away this morning?”
Said Simon: “As thou wottest, to the Long Pools.”
Said the lad: “Well, thou keepest thy tidings so close, that I will ask thee no more till we come to the Long Pools; since there, forsooth, thou must needs tell me; unless we sunder company there, whereof I were nought grieving.”
“Mayhappen thou shalt fare a long way to-day,” muttered Simon.
But the lad cried out aloud, while his eye glittered and his cheek flushed: “Belike thou hadst well-nigh opened the door thereto last night!” And therewith he leapt to his feet and drew his short-sword, and with three deft strokes sheared asunder an overhanging beech-bough as thick as a man’s wrist, that it fell crashing down, and caught Simon amongst the fall of its leafy twigs, while Christopher stood laughing on him, but with a dangerous lofty look in his eyes: then he turned away quietly toward the horses and mounted his nag, and Simon followed and did the like, silently; crestfallen he looked, with brooding fierceness in his face.
So they rode their ways, and spake but little each to each till they came to where the trees of the wood thinned speedily, and gave out at last at the foot of a low stony slope but little grassed; and when they had ridden up to the brow and could see below, Christopher stretched out his hand, and said: “Lo thou the Long Pools, fellow wayfarer! and lo some of the tramping; horses that woke thee and not me last night.”
Forsooth there lay below them a great stretch of grass, which whiles ran into mere quagmire, and whiles was sound and better grassed; and the said plain was seamed by three long shallow pools, with, as it were, grassy causeways between them, grown over here and there with ancient alder trees; but the stony slope whereon they had reined up bent round the plain mostly to the east, as though it were the shore of a great water; and far away to the south the hills of the forest rose up blue, and not so low at the most, but that they were somewhat higher than the crest of the White Horse as ye may see it from the little Berkshire hills above the Thames. Down on the firm greensward there was indeed a herd of wild horses feeding; mallard and coot swam about the waters; the whimbrel laughed from the bent-sides, and three herons stood on the side of the causeway seeking a good fishing-stead.
Simon sat a-horseback looking askance from the marish to Christopher, and said nothing a while; then he spake in a low croaking voice, and said: “So, little King, we have come to the Long Pools; now I will ask thee, hast thou been further southward than this marish land?”
“That have I,” said the lad, “a day’s journey further; but according to the tales of men it was at the peril of my life.”
Simon seemed as if he had not noted his last word; he said: “Well then, since thou knowest the wild and the wood, knowest thou amidst of the thickets there, two lumps of bare hills, like bowls turned bottom up, that rise above the trees, and on each a tower, and betwixt them a long house.”
“Save us, Allhallows!” quoth Christopher, “but thou wilt mean the Tofts! Is it so, sir squire?”
“Even so,” said Simon.
“And thou knowest what dwellest there, and wouldst have me lead thee thither?” said the lad.
“I am so bidden,” said Simon; “if thou wilt not do my bidding, seek thou some place to hide thee in from the hand of the Earl Marshal.”
Said the youngling: “Knowest thou not Jack of the Tofts and his seven sons, and what he is, and that he dwelleth there?”
Said Simon: “I know of him; yea, and himself I know, and that he dwelleth there; and I wot that men call him an outlaw, and that many rich men shall lack ere he lacks. What then?”
“This,” said Christopher, “that, as all tales tell, he will take my life if I ride thither. And,” said he, turning to Simon, “this is belike what thou wouldest with me?” And therewith he drew out his sword, for his bow was unstrung.
But Simon sat still and let his sword abide, and said, sourly enough: “Thou art a fool to think I am training thee to thy death by him; for I have no will to die, and why shall he not slay me also? Now again I say unto thee, thou hast the choice, either to lead me to the Tofts, where shall be the deed for thee to do, or to hide thee in some hole, as I said afore, from the vengeance of the Lord of Oakenrealm. But as for thy sword, thou mayst put it up, for I will not fight with thee, but rather let thee go with a string to thy leg, if thou wilt not be wise and do as thy lords ordain for thee.”
Christopher sheathed his sword, and a smile came into his face, as if some new thought were stirring in him, and he said: “Well, since thou wilt not fight with me, and I but a lad, I will e’en do thy will and thine errand to Jack of the Tofts. Maybe he is not so black as he is painted, and not all tales told of him are true. But some of them I will tell thee as we ride along.”
“And some thereof I know already, O woodland knight,” said Simon, as they rode down the bent, and Christopher led on toward the green causeway betwixt the waters. “Tell me,” quoth he, when they had ridden awhile, “is this one of thy tales, how Jack of the Tofts went to the Yule feast of a great baron in the guise of a minstrel, and, even as they bore in the boar’s head, smote the said baron on the neck, so that his head lay by the head of the swine on the Christmas board?”
“Yea,” said Christopher, “and how Jack cried out: ‘Two heads of swine, one good to eat, one good to burn.’ But, my master, thou shalt know that this manslaying was not for nought: whereas the Baron of Greenlake had erewhile slain Jack’s father in felon wise, where he could strike no stroke for life; and two of his brethren also had he slain, and made the said Jack an outlaw, and he all sackless. In the Uttermost March we deem that he had a case against the baron.”
“Hah!” said Simon. “Is this next tale true, that this Jack o’ the Tofts slew a good knight before the altar, so that the priest’s mass-hackle was all wet with his blood, whereas the said priest was in the act of putting the holy body into the open mouth of the said knight?”
Christopher said eagerly: “True was it, by the Rood! and well was it done, for that same Sir Raoul was an ugly traitor, who had knelt down where he died to wed the Body of the Lord to a foul lie in his mouth; whereas the man who knelt beside him he had trained to his destruction, and was even then doing the first deal of his treason by forswearing him there.”
“And that man who knelt with him there,” said Simon, “what betid to him?”
Said Christopher: “He went out of the church with Jack of the Tofts that minute of the stroke; and to the Tofts he went with him, and abode with him freely: and a valiant man he was...and is.”
“Hah!” said Simon again. “And then there is this: that the seven sons of Jack of the Tofts bore off perforce four fair maidens of gentle blood from the castle wherein they dwelt, serving a high dame in all honour; and that moreover, they hanged the said dame over the battlements of her own castle. Is this true, fair sir?”
“True is it as the gospel,” said Christopher: “yet many say that the hanged dame had somewhat less than her deserts; for a foul & cruel whore had she been; and had done many to be done to death, and stood by while they were pined. And the like had she done with those four damsels, had there not been the stout sons of Jack of the Tofts; so that the dear maidens were somewhat more than willing to be borne away.”
Simon grinned: “Well, lad,” said he, “I see that thou knowest Jack of the Tofts even better than I do; so why in the devil’s name thou art loth to lead me to him, I wot not.”
Christopher reddened, and held his peace awhile; then he said: “Well fellow-farer, at least I shall know something of him ere next midnight.”
“Yea,” said Simon, “and shall we not come to the Tofts before nightfall?”
“Let us essay it,” said Christopher, “and do our best, it yet lacketh three hours of noon.” Therewith he spurred on, for the greensward was hard under the hooves, and they had yet some way to go before they should come amongst the trees and thickets.
Into the said wood they came, and rode all day diligently, but night fell on them before they saw either house or man or devil; then said Simon: “Why should we go any further before dawn? Will it not be best to come to this perilous house by daylight?”
Said Christopher: “There be perils in the wood as well as in the house. If we lie down here, maybe Jack’s folk may come upon us sleeping, and some mischance may befall us. Withal, hereabout be no wild horses to wake thee and warn thee of thy foeman anigh. Let us press on; there is a moon, though she be somewhat hidden by clouds, and meseemeth the way lieth clear before me; neither are we a great way from the Tofts.”
Then Simon rode close up to Christopher, and took his rein and stayed him, and said to him, as one who prayeth: “Young man, willest thou my death?”
“That is as it may be,” said Christopher; “willest thou mine?”
Simon held his peace awhile, and Christopher might not see what was in his face amidst the gathering dusk; but he twitched his rein out of the squire’s hand, as if he would hasten onward; then the squire said: “Nay, I pray thee abide and hear a word of me.”
“Speak then,” said Christopher, “but hasten, for I hunger, and I would we were in the hall.” And therewith he laughed.
Said Simon: “Thus it is: if I go back to my lord and bear no token of having done his errand to Jack of the Tofts, then am I in evil case; and if I come to the Tofts, I wot well that Jack is a man fierce of heart, and ready of hand: now, therefore, I pray thee give me thy word to be my warrant, so far as thou mayst be, with this woodman and his sons.”
