Rewards and Fairies

by Rudyard Kipling

  The Ballad of Minepit Shaw

  About the time that taverns shut And men can buy no beer, Two lads went up by the keepers' hut To steal Lord Pelham's deer.

  Night and the liquor was in their heads-- They laughed and talked no bounds, Till they waked the keepers on their beds, And the keepers loosed the hounds.

  They had killed a hart, they had killed a hind, Ready to carry away, When they heard a whimper down the wind And they heard a bloodhound bay.

  They took and ran across the fern, Their crossbows in their hand, Till they met a man with a green lantern That called and bade 'em stand.

  'What are you doing, O Flesh and Blood, And what's your foolish will, That you must break into Minepit Wood And wake the Folk of the Hill?'

  'Oh, we've broke into Lord Pelham's park, And killed Lord Pelham's deer, And if ever you heard a little dog bark You'll know why we come here!'

  'We ask you let us go our way, As fast as we can flee, For if ever you heard a bloodhound bay, You'll know how pressed we be.'

  'Oh, lay your crossbows on the bank And drop the knife from your hand, And though the hounds are at your flank I'll save you where you stand!' They laid their crossbows on the bank, They threw their knives in the wood, And the ground before them opened and sank And saved 'em where they stood. 'Oh, what's the roaring in our ears That strikes us well-nigh dumb?' 'Oh, that is just how things appears According as they come.'

  'What are the stars before our eyes That strike us well-nigh blind?' 'Oh, that is just how things arise According as you find.'

  'And why's our bed so hard to the bones Excepting where it's cold?' 'Oh, that's because it is precious stones Excepting where 'tis gold.

  'Think it over as you stand For I tell you without fail, If you haven't got into Fairyland You're not in Lewes Gaol.'

  All night long they thought of it, And, come the dawn, they saw They'd tumbled into a great old pit, At the bottom of Minepit Shaw.

  And the keepers' hound had followed 'em close And broke her neck in the fall; So they picked up their knives and their cross-bows And buried the dog. That's all.

  But whether the man was a poacher too Or a Pharisee so bold-- I reckon there's more things told than are true, And more things true than are told.

  The Tree of Justice

  It was a warm, dark winter day with the Sou'-West wind singing throughDallington Forest, and the woods below the Beacon. The children setout after dinner to find old Hobden, who had a three months' job inthe Rough at the back of Pound's Wood. He had promised to get them adormouse in its nest. The bright leaf Still clung to the beech coppice;the long chestnut leaves lay orange on the ground, and the rides werespeckled with scarlet-lipped sprouting acorns. They worked their way bytheir own short cuts to the edge of Pound's Wood, and heard a horse'sfeet just as they came to the beech where Ridley the keeper hangs up thevermin. The poor little fluffy bodies dangled from the branches--someperfectly good, but most of them dried to twisted strips.

  'Three more owls,' said Dan, counting. 'Two stoats, four jays, and akestrel. That's ten since last week. Ridley's a beast.'

  'In my time this sort of tree bore heavier fruit.' Sir RichardDalyngridge reined up his grey horse, Swallow, in the ride behind them.[This is the Norman knight they met the year before in PUCK OF POOK'SHILL. See 'Young Men at the Manor,' 'The Knights of the Joyous Venture,'and 'Old Men at Pevensey,' in that book.] 'What play do you make?'heasked.

  'Nothing, Sir. We're looking for old Hobden,'Dan replied.'He promised toget us a sleeper.'

  'Sleeper? A DORMEUSE, do you say?'

  'Yes, a dormouse, Sir.' 'I understand. I passed a woodman on the lowgrounds. Come!' He wheeled up the ride again, and pointed through anopening to the patch of beech-stubs, chestnut, hazel, and birch thatold Hobden would turn into firewood, hop-poles, pea-boughs, andhouse-faggots before spring. The old man was as busy as a beaver.

  Something laughed beneath a thorn, and Puck stole out, his finger on hislip.

  'Look!' he whispered. 'Along between the spindle-trees. Ridley has beenthere this half-hour.'

  The children followed his point, and saw Ridley the keeper in an old dryditch, watching Hobden as a cat watches a mouse.

  'Huhh!' cried Una. 'Hobden always 'tends to his wires before breakfast.He puts his rabbits into the faggots he's allowed to take home. He'lltell us about 'em tomorrow.'

  'We had the same breed in my day,' Sir Richard replied, and moved offquietly, Puck at his bridle, the children on either side between theclose-trimmed beech stuff.

  'What did you do to them?' said Dan, as they repassed Ridley's terribletree.

  'That!' Sir Richard jerked his head toward the dangling owls.

  'Not he!' said Puck. 'There was never enough brute Norman in you to hanga man for taking a buck.'

  'I--I cannot abide to hear their widows screech. But why am I onhorseback while you are afoot?' He dismounted lightly, tapped Swallowon the chest, so that the wise thing backed instead of turning in thenarrow ride, and put himself at the head of the little procession. Hewalked as though all the woods belonged to him. 'I have often told myfriends,' he went on, 'that Red William the King was not the only Normanfound dead in a forest while he hunted.'

  'D'you mean William Rufus?'said Dan.

  'Yes,' said Puck, kicking a clump of red toad-stools off a dead log.

  'For example, there was a knight new from Normandy,' Sir Richard wenton, 'to whom Henry our King granted a manor in Kent near by. He choseto hang his forester's son the day before a deer-hunt that he gave topleasure the King.'

  'Now when would that be?' said Puck, and scratched an ear thoughtfully.

  'The summer of the year King Henry broke his brother Robert of Normandyat Tenchebrai fight. Our ships were even then at Pevensey loading forthe war.'

  'What happened to the knight?'Dan asked.

  'They found him pinned to an ash, three arrows through his leather coat.I should have worn mail that day.'

  'And did you see him all bloody?'Dan continued.

  'Nay, I was with De Aquila at Pevensey, counting horseshoes, andarrow-sheaves, and ale-barrels into the holds of the ships. The armyonly waited for our King to lead them against Robert in Normandy, buthe sent word to De Aquila that he would hunt with him here before he setout for France.'

  'Why did the King want to hunt so particularly?' Una demanded.

  'If he had gone straight to France after the Kentish knight was killed,men would have said he feared being slain like the knight. It washis duty to show himself debonair to his English people as it was DeAquila's duty to see that he took no harm while he did it, But it wasa great burden! De Aquila, Hugh, and I ceased work on the ships, andscoured all the Honour of the Eagle--all De Aquila's lands--to make afit, and, above all, a safe sport for our King. Look!'

  The ride twisted, and came out on the top of Pound's Hill Wood. SirRichard pointed to the swells of beautiful, dappled Dallington, thatshowed like a woodcock's breast up the valley. 'Ye know the forest?'said he.

  'You ought to see the bluebells there in Spring!' said Una. 'I haveseen,' said Sir Richard, gazing, and stretched out his hand. 'Hugh'swork and mine was first to move the deer gently from all parts intoDallington yonder, and there to hold them till the King came. Next, wemust choose some three hundred beaters to drive the deer to the standswithin bowshot of the King. Here was our trouble! In the mellay of adeer-drive a Saxon peasant and a Norman King may come over-close to eachother. The conquered do not love their conquerors all at once. So weneeded sure men, for whom their village or kindred would answer in life,cattle, and land if any harm come to the King. Ye see?'

  'If one of the beaters shot the King,' said Puck, 'Sir Richard wanted tobe able to pu
nish that man's village. Then the village would take careto send a good man.'

  'So! So it was. But, lest our work should be too easy, the King had donesuch a dread justice over at Salehurst, for the killing of the Kentishknight (twenty-six men he hanged, as I heard), that our folk were halfmad with fear before we began. It is easier to dig out a badger gone toearth than a Saxon gone dumb-sullen. And atop of their misery theold rumour waked that Harold the Saxon was alive and would bring themdeliverance from us Normans. This has happened every autumn sinceSantlache fight.'

  'But King Harold was killed at Hastings,'said Una.

  'So it was said, and so it was believed by us Normans, but our Saxonsalways believed he would come again. That rumour did not make our workany more easy.'

  Sir Richard strode on down the far slope of the wood, where the treesthin out. It was fascinating to watch how he managed his long spursamong the lumps of blackened ling.

  'But we did it!' he said. 'After all, a woman is as good as a man tobeat the woods, and the mere word that deer are afoot makes cripples andcrones young again. De Aquila laughed when Hugh told him over the listof beaters. Half were women; and many of the rest were clerks--Saxon andNorman priests.

  'Hugh and I had not time to laugh for eight days, till De Aquila,as Lord of Pevensey, met our King and led him to the firstshooting-stand--by the Mill on the edge of the forest. Hugh and I--itwas no work for hot heads or heavy hands--lay with our beaters on theskirts of Dallington to watch both them and the deer. When De Aquila'sgreat horn blew we went forward, a line half a league long. Oh, to seethe fat clerks, their gowns tucked up, puffing and roaring, and thesober millers dusting the under-growth with their staves; and, like asnot, between them a Saxon wench, hand in hand with her man, shrillinglike a kite as she ran, and leaping high through the fern, all for joyof the sport.' 'Ah! How! Ah! How! How-ah! Sa-how-ah!' Puck bellowedwithout warning, and Swallow bounded forward, ears cocked, and nostrilscracking.

  'Hal-lal-lal-lal-la-hai-ie!' Sir Richard answered in a high clear shout.

  The two voices joined in swooping circles of sound, and a heron rose outof a red osier-bed below them, circling as though he kept time to theoutcry. Swallow quivered and swished his glorious tail. They stoppedtogether on the same note.

  A hoarse shout answered them across the bare woods.

  'That's old Hobden,'said Una.

  'Small blame to him. It is in his blood,' said Puck. 'Did your beaterscry so, Sir Richard?'

  'My faith, they forgot all else. (Steady, Swallow, steady!) They forgotwhere the King and his people waited to shoot. They followed the deer tothe very edge of the open till the first flight of wild arrows from thestands flew fair over them.

  'I cried, "'Ware shot! 'Ware shot!" and a knot of young knights new fromNormandy, that had strayed away from the Grand Stand, turned about, andin mere sport loosed off at our line shouting: "'Ware Santlache arrows!'Ware Santlache arrows!" A jest, I grant you, but too sharp. One of ourbeaters answered in Saxon: "'Ware New Forest arrows! 'Ware Red William'sarrow!" so I judged it time to end the jests, and when the boys saw myold mail gown (for, to shoot with strangers I count the same as war),they ceased shooting. So that was smoothed over, and we gave our beatersale to wash down their anger. They were excusable! We--they hadsweated to show our guests good sport, and our reward was a flightof hunting-arrows which no man loves, and worse, a churl's jibe overhard-fought, fair-lost Hastings fight. So, before the next beat, Hughand I assembled and called the beaters over by name, to steady them. Thegreater part we knew, but among the Netherfield men I saw an old, oldman, in the dress of a pilgrim.

  'The Clerk of Netherfield said he was well known by repute for twentyyears as a witless man that journeyed without rest to all the shrines ofEngland. The old man sits, Saxon fashion, head between fists. We Normansrest the chin on the left palm. '"Who answers for him?" said I. "If hefails in his duty, who will pay his fine?"

  '"Who will pay my fine?" the pilgrim said. "I have asked that of all theSaints in England these forty years, less three months and nine days!They have not answered!" When he lifted his thin face I saw he wasone-eyed, and frail as a rush. '"Nay, but, Father," I said, "to whomhast thou commended thyself-?" He shook his head, so I spoke in Saxon:"Whose man art thou?"

  '"I think I have a writing from Rahere, the King's jester," said heafter a while. "I am, as I suppose, Rahere's man."

  'He pulled a writing from his scrip, and Hugh, coming up, read it.

  'It set out that the pilgrim was Rahere's man, and that Rahere was theKing's jester. There was Latin writ at the back.

  '"What a plague conjuration's here?" said Hugh, turning it over."Pum-quum-sum oc-occ. Magic?"

  '"Black Magic," said the Clerk of Netherfield (he had been a monk atBattle). "They say Rahere is more of a priest than a fool and more of awizard than either. Here's Rahere's name writ, and there's Rahere's redcockscomb mark drawn below for such as cannot read." He looked slyly atme.

  '"Then read it," said I, "and show thy learning." He was a vain littleman, and he gave it us after much mouthing.

  '"The charm, which I think is from Virgilius the Sorcerer, says: 'Whenthou art once dead, and Minos' (which is a heathen judge) 'has doomedthee, neither cunning, nor speechcraft, nor good works will restorethee!' A terrible thing! It denies any mercy to a man's soul!"

  '"Does it serve?" said the pilgrim, plucking at Hugh's cloak. "Oh, manof the King's blood, does it cover me?"

  'Hugh was of Earl Godwin's blood, and all Sussex knew it, though noSaxon dared call him kingly in a Norman's hearing. There can be but oneKing.

  '"It serves," said Hugh. "But the day will be long and hot. Better resthere. We go forward now."

  '"No, I will keep with thee, my kinsman," he answered like a child. Hewas indeed childish through great age.

  'The line had not moved a bowshot when De Aquila's great horn blew for ahalt, and soon young Fulke--our false Fulke's son--yes, the imp thatlit the straw in Pevensey Castle [See 'Old Men at Pevensey' in PUCK OFPOOK'S HILL.]--came thundering up a woodway.

  '"Uncle," said he (though he was a man grown, he called me Uncle),"those young Norman fools who shot at you this morn are saying thatyour beaters cried treason against the King. It has come to Harry's longears, and he bids you give account of it. There are heavy fines in hiseye, but I am with you to the hilt, Uncle!" 'When the boy had fled back,Hugh said to me: "It was Rahere's witless man that cried, ''Ware RedWilliam's arrow!' I heard him, and so did the Clerk of Netherfield."

  '"Then Rahere must answer to the King for his man," said I. "Keep him byyou till I send," and I hastened down.

  'The King was with De Aquila in the Grand Stand above Welansford down inthe valley yonder. His Court--knights and dames--lay glittering on theedge of the glade. I made my homage, and Henry took it coldly. '"Howcame your beaters to shout threats against me?" said he.

  '"The tale has grown," I answered. "One old witless man cried out,''Ware Red William's arrow,' when the young knights shot at our line. Wehad two beaters hit."

  '"I will do justice on that man," he answered. "Who is his master?"

  '"He's Rahere's man," said I.

  '"Rahere's?" said Henry. "Has my fool a fool?"

  'I heard the bells jingle at the back of the stand, and a red leg wavedover it; then a black one. So, very slowly, Rahere the King's jesterstraddled the edge of the planks, and looked down on us, rubbing hischin. Loose-knit, with cropped hair, and a sad priest's face, under hiscockscomb cap, that he could twist like a strip of wet leather. His eyeswere hollow-set.

  '"Nay, nay, Brother," said he. "If I suffer you to keep your fool, youmust e'en suffer me to keep mine."

  'This he delivered slowly into the King's angry face! My faith, a King'sjester must be bolder than lions!

  '"Now we will judge the matter," said Rahere. "Let these two braveknights go hang my fool because he warned King Henry against runningafter Saxon deer through woods full of Saxons. 'Faith, Brother, if thyBrother, Red William, now among the Saints as
we hope, had been timelywarned against a certain arrow in New Forest, one fool of us four wouldnot be crowned fool of England this morning. Therefore, hang the fool'sfool, knights!" 'Mark the fool's cunning! Rahere had himself given usorder to hang the man. No King dare confirm a fool's command to such agreat baron as De Aquila; and the helpless King knew it.

  '"What? No hanging?" said Rahere, after a silence. "A' God's GraciousName, kill something, then! Go forward with the hunt!"

  'He splits his face ear to ear in a yawn like a fish-pond. "Henry," sayshe, "the next time I sleep, do not pester me with thy fooleries." Thenhe throws himself out of sight behind the back of the stand.

  'I have seen courage with mirth in De Aquila and Hugh, but stark madcourage of Rahere's sort I had never even guessed at.'

  'What did the King say?' cried Dan.

  'He had opened his mouth to speak, when young Fulke, who had come intothe stand with us, laughed, and, boy-like, once begun, could not checkhimself. He kneeled on the instant for pardon, but fell sideways,crying: "His legs! Oh, his long, waving red legs as he went backward!"

  'Like a storm breaking, our grave King laughed,--stamped and reeledwith laughter till the stand shook. So, like a storm, this strange thingpassed!

  'He wiped his eyes, and signed to De Aquila to let the drive come on.

  'When the deer broke, we were pleased that the King shot from theshelter of the stand, and did not ride out after the hurt beasts as RedWilliam would have done. Most vilely his knights and barons shot!

  'De Aquila kept me beside him, and I saw no more of Hugh till evening.We two had a little hut of boughs by the camp, where I went to wash mebefore the great supper, and in the dusk I heard Hugh on the couch.

  '"Wearied, Hugh?" said I.

  '"A little," he says. "I have driven Saxon deer all day for a NormanKing, and there is enough of Earl Godwin's blood left in me to sicken atthe work. Wait awhile with the torch."

  'I waited then, and I thought I heard him sob.'

  'Poor Hugh! Was he so tired?' said Una. 'Hobden says beating is hardwork sometimes.'

  'I think this tale is getting like the woods,' said Dan, 'darker andtwistier every minute.' Sir Richard had walked as he talked, and thoughthe children thought they knew the woods well enough, they felt a littlelost.

  'A dark tale enough,' says Sir Richard, 'but the end was not all black.When we had washed, we went to wait on the King at meat in the greatpavilion. Just before the trumpets blew for the Entry--all the guestsupstanding--long Rahere comes posturing up to Hugh, and strikes him withhis bauble-bladder.

  '"Here's a heavy heart for a joyous meal!" he says. "But each man musthave his black hour or where would be the merit of laughing? Take afool's advice, and sit it out with my man. I'll make a jest to excuseyou to the King if he remember to ask for you. That's more than I woulddo for Archbishop Anselm."

  'Hugh looked at him heavy-eyed. "Rahere?" said he. "The King's jester?Oh, Saints, what punishment for my King!" and smites his hands together.'"Go--go fight it out in the dark," says Rahere, "and thy Saxon Saintsreward thee for thy pity to my fool." He pushed him from the pavilion,and Hugh lurched away like one drunk.'

  'But why?' said Una. 'I don't understand.'

  'Ah, why indeed? Live you long enough, maiden, and you shall know themeaning of many whys.' Sir Richard smiled. 'I wondered too, but it wasmy duty to wait on the King at the High Table in all that glitter andstir.

  'He spoke me his thanks for the sport I had helped show him, and he hadlearned from De Aquila enough of my folk and my castle in Normandy tograciously feign that he knew and had loved my brother there. (This,also, is part of a king's work.) Many great men sat at the HighTable--chosen by the King for their wits, not for their birth. I haveforgotten their names, and their faces I only saw that one night.But'--Sir Richard turned in his stride--'but Rahere, flaming in blackand scarlet among our guests, the hollow of his dark cheek flushed withwine--long, laughing Rahere, and the stricken sadness of his face whenhe was not twisting it about--Rahere I shall never forget.

  'At the King's outgoing De Aquila bade me follow him, with his greatbishops and two great barons, to the little pavilion. We had devisedjugglers and dances for the Court's sport; but Henry loved to talkgravely to grave men, and De Aquila had told him of my travels to theworld's end. We had a fire of apple-wood, sweet as incense,--and thecurtains at the door being looped up, we could hear the music and seethe lights shining on mail and dresses.

  'Rahere lay behind the King's chair. The questions he darted forth at mewere as shrewd as the flames. I was telling of our fight with the apes,as ye called them, at the world's end. [See 'The Knights of the JoyousVenture' in PUCK OF POOK'S HILL.] '"But where is the Saxon knight thatwent with you?" said Henry. "He must confirm these miracles."

  '"He is busy," said Rahere, "confirming a new miracle."

  '"Enough miracles for today," said the King. "Rahere, you have savedyour long neck. Fetch the Saxon knight."

  '"Pest on it," said Rahere. "Who would be a King's jester? I'll bringhim, Brother, if you'll see that none of your home-brewed bishops tastemy wine while I am away." So he jingled forth between the men-at-arms atthe door.

  'Henry had made many bishops in England without the Pope's leave. I knownot the rights of the matter, but only Rahere dared jest about it. Wewaited on the King's next word.

  '"I think Rahere is jealous of you," said he, smiling, to Nigel of Ely.He was one bishop; and William of Exeter, the other--Wal-wist the Saxonscalled him--laughed long. "Rahere is a priest at heart. Shall I make hima bishop, De Aquila?" says the King.

  '"There might be worse," said our Lord of Pevensey. "Rahere would neverdo what Anselm has done."

  'This Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, had gone off raging to the Popeat Rome, because Henry would make bishops without his leave either. Iknew not the rights of it, but De Aquila did, and the King laughed.

  '"Anselm means no harm. He should have been a monk, not a bishop," saidthe King. "I'll never quarrel with Anselm or his Pope till they quarrelwith my England. If we can keep the King's peace till my son comes torule, no man will lightly quarrel with our England."

  '"Amen," said De Aquila. "But the King's peace ends when the King dies."

  'That is true. The King's peace dies with the King. The custom then isthat all laws are outlaw, and men do what they will till the new King ischosen.

  '"I will amend that," said the King hotly. "I will have it so thatthough King, son, and grandson were all slain in one day, still theKing's peace should hold over all England! What is a man that his meredeath must upheave a people? We must have the Law."

  '"Truth," said William of Exeter; but that he would have said to anyword of the King.

  'The two great barons behind said nothing. This teaching was cleanagainst their stomachs, for when the King's peace ends, the great baronsgo to war and increase their lands. At that instant we heard Rahere'svoice returning, in a scurril Saxon rhyme against William of Exeter:

  '"Well wist Wal-wist where lay his fortune When that he fawned on the King for his crozier,"

  and amid our laughter he burst in, with one arm round Hugh, and oneround the old pilgrim of Netherfield.

  '"Here is your knight, Brother," said he, "and for the better disport ofthe company, here is my fool. Hold up, Saxon Samson, the gates of Gazaare clean carried away!"

  'Hugh broke loose, white and sick, and staggered to my side; the old manblinked upon the company.

  'We looked at the King, but he smiled.

  '"Rahere promised he would show me some sport after supper to cover hismorning's offence," said he to De Aquila. "So this is thy man, Rahere?"

  '"Even so," said Rahere. "My man he has been, and my protection hehas taken, ever since I found him under the gallows at Stamford Bridgetelling the kites atop of it that he was--Harold of England!"

  'There was a great silence upon these last strange words, and Hugh hidhis face on my shoulder, woman-fashion.

  '"It is most cruel true,"
he whispered to me. "The old man proved itto me at the beat after you left, and again in our hut even now. It isHarold, my King!"

  'De Aquila crept forward. He walked about the man and swallowed.

  '"Bones of the Saints!" said he, staring.

  '"Many a stray shot goes too well home," said Rahere.

  'The old man flinched as at an arrow. "Why do you hurt me still?" he saidin Saxon. "It was on some bones of some Saints that I promised I wouldgive my England to the Great Duke." He turns on us all crying, shrilly:"Thanes, he had caught me at Rouen--a lifetime ago. If I had notpromised, I should have lain there all my life. What else could I havedone? I have lain in a strait prison all my life none the less. There isno need to throw stones at me." He guarded his face with his arms, andshivered. "Now his madness will strike him down," said Rahere. "Cast outthe evil spirit, one of you new bishops."

  'Said William of Exeter: "Harold was slain at Santlache fight. All theworld knows it."

  '"I think this man must have forgotten," said Rahere. "Be comforted,Father. Thou wast well slain at Hastings forty years gone, less threemonths and nine days. Tell the King."

  'The man uncovered his face. "I thought they would stone me," he said."I did not know I spoke before a King." He came to his full toweringheight--no mean man, but frail beyond belief.

  'The King turned to the tables, and held him out his own cup of wine.The old man drank, and beckoned behind him, and, before all the Normans,my Hugh bore away the empty cup, Saxon-fashion, upon the knee.

  "It is Harold!" said De Aquila. "His own stiff-necked blood kneels toserve him.

  "Be it so," said Henry. "Sit, then, thou that hast been Harold ofEngland."

  'The madman sat, and hard, dark Henry looked at him between half-shuteyes. We others stared like oxen, all but De Aquila, who watched Rahereas I have seen him watch a far sail on the sea.

  'The wine and the warmth cast the old man into a dream. His white headbowed; his hands hung. His eye indeed was opened, but the mind wasshut. When he stretched his feet, they were scurfed and road-cut like aslave's.

  '"Ah, Rahere," cried Hugh, "why hast thou shown him thus? Better havelet him die than shame him--and me!"

  '"Shame thee?" said the King. "Would any baron of mine kneel to me if Iwere witless, discrowned, and alone, and Harold had my throne?"

  '"No," said Rahere. "I am the sole fool that might do it, Brother,unless"--he pointed at De Aquila, whom he had only met that day--"yondertough Norman crab kept me company. But, Sir Hugh, I did not mean toshame him. He hath been somewhat punished through, maybe, little faultof his own."

  '"Yet he lied to my Father, the Conqueror," said the King, and the oldman flinched in his sleep.

  '"Maybe," said Rahere, "but thy Brother Robert, whose throat we purposesoon to slit with our own hands--"

  '"Hutt!" said the King, laughing. "I'll keep Robert at my table fora life's guest when I catch him. Robert means no harm. It is all hiscursed barons."

  '"None the less," said Rahere, "Robert may say that thou hast not alwaysspoken the stark truth to him about England. I should not hang too manymen on that bough, Brother." '"And it is certain," said Hugh, "that"--hepointed to the old man--"Harold was forced to make his promise to theGreat Duke."

  '"Very strongly, forced," said De Aquila. He had never any pride in theDuke William's dealings with Harold before Hastings. Yet, as he said,one cannot build a house all of straight sticks.

  '"No matter how he was forced," said Henry, "England was promised to myFather William by Edward the Confessor. Is it not so?" William of Exeternodded. "Harold confirmed that promise to my Father on the bones of theSaints. Afterwards he broke his oath and would have taken England bythe strong hand."

  '"Oh! La! La!" Rahere rolled up his eyes like a girl. "That ever Englandshould be taken by the strong hand!"

  'Seeing that Red William and Henry after him had each in just thatfashion snatched England from Robert of Normandy, we others knew notwhere to look. But De Aquila saved us quickly.

  '"Promise kept or promise broken," he said, "Harold came near enough tobreaking us Normans at Santlache."

  '"Was it so close a fight, then?" said Henry.

  '"A hair would have turned it either way," De Aquila answered. "Hishouse-carles stood like rocks against rain. Where wast thou, Hugh, init?"

  '"Among Godwin's folk beneath the Golden Dragon till your front gaveback, and we broke our ranks to follow," said Hugh.

  '"But I bade you stand! I bade you stand! I knew it was all a deceit!"Harold had waked, and leaned forward as one crying from the grave.

  '"Ah, now we see how the traitor himself was betrayed!" said William ofExeter, and looked for a smile from the King.

  '"I made thee Bishop to preach at my bidding," said Henry; and turningto Harold, "Tell us here how thy people fought us?" said he. "Their sonsserve me now against my Brother Robert!"

  'The old man shook his head cunningly. "Na--Na--Na!" he cried. "I knowbetter. Every time I tell my tale men stone me. But, Thanes, I will tellyou a greater thing. Listen!" He told us how many paces it was from someSaxon Saint's shrine to another shrine, and how many more back to theAbbey of the Battle.

  '"Ay," said he. "I have trodden it too often to be out even ten paces.I move very swiftly. Harold of Norway knows that, and so does Tostig mybrother. They lie at ease at Stamford Bridge, and from Stamford Bridgeto the Battle Abbey it is--" he muttered over many numbers and forgotus.

  '"Ay," said De Aquila, all in a muse. "That man broke Harold of Norwayat Stamford Bridge, and came near to breaking us at Santlache--allwithin one month."

  '"But how did he come alive from Santlache fight?" asked the King. "Askhim! Hast thou heard it, Rahere?" "Never. He says he has been stoned toooften for telling the tale. But he can count you off Saxon and Normanshrines till daylight," said Rahere and the old man nodded proudly.

  '"My faith!" said Henry after a while. "I think even my Father the GreatDuke would pity if he could see him."

  '"How if he does see?" said Rahere.

  'Hugh covered his face with his sound hand. "Ah, why hast thou shamedhim?" he cried again to Rahere.

  '"No--no," says the old man, reaching to pluck at Rahere's cape. "I amRahere's man. None stone me now," and he played with the bells on thescollops of it.

  '"How if he had been brought to me when you found him?" said the King toRahere.

  '"You would have held him prisoner again--as the Great Duke did," Rahereanswered.

  '"True," said our King. "He is nothing except his name. Yet that namemight have been used by stronger men to trouble my England. Yes. I musthave made him my life's guest--as I shall make Robert."

  '"I knew it," said Rahere. "But while this man wandered mad by thewayside, none cared what he called himself."

  '"I learned to cease talking before the stones flew," says the old man,and Hugh groaned.

  '"Ye have heard!" said Rahere. "Witless, landless, nameless, and, butfor my protection, masterless, he can still make shift to bide his doomunder the open sky."

  '"Then wherefore didst thou bring him here for a mock and a shame?"cried Hugh, beside himself with woe.

  '"A right mock and a just shame!" said William of Exeter.

  '"Not to me," said Nigel of Ely. "I see and I tremble, but I neithermock nor judge." "Well spoken, Ely." Rahere falls into the pure foolagain. "I'll pray for thee when I turn monk. Thou hast given thyblessing on a war between two most Christian brothers." He meant the warforward 'twixt Henry and Robert of Normandy. "I charge you, Brother," hesays, wheeling on the King, "dost thou mock my fool?" The King shook hishead, and so then did smooth William of Exeter.

  '"De Aquila, does thou mock him?" Rahere jingled from one to another,and the old man smiled.

  '"By the Bones of the Saints, not I," said our Lord of Pevensey. "I knowhow dooms near he broke us at Santlache."

  '"Sir Hugh, you are excused the question. But you, valiant, loyal,honourable, and devout barons, Lords of Man's justice in your ownbounds, do you mock my fool
?"

  'He shook his bauble in the very faces of those two barons whose namesI have forgotten. "Na--Na!" they said, and waved him back foolishlyenough.

  'He hies him across to staring, nodding Harold, and speaks from behindhis chair.

  '"No man mocks thee, Who here judges this man? Henry ofEngland--Nigel--De Aquila! On your souls, swift with the answer!" hecried.

  'None answered. We were all--the King not least--over-borne by thatterrible scarlet-and-black wizard-jester.

  '"Well for your souls," he said, wiping his brow. Next, shrill like awoman: "Oh, come to me!" and Hugh ran forward to hold Harold, that hadslidden down in the chair.

  '"Hearken," said Rahere, his arm round Harold's neck. "The King--hisbishops--the knights--all the world's crazy chessboard neither mock norjudge thee. Take that comfort with thee, Harold of England!"

  'Hugh heaved the old man up and he smiled.

  '"Good comfort," said Harold. "Tell me again! I have been somewhatpunished." 'Rahere hallooed it once more into his ear as the headrolled. We heard him sigh, and Nigel of Ely stood forth, praying aloud.

  '"Out! I will have no Norman!" Harold said as clearly as I speak now,and he refuged himself on Hugh's sound shoulder, and stretched out, andlay all still.'

  'Dead?' said Una, turning up a white face in the dusk.

  'That was his good fortune. To die in the King's presence, and on thebreast of the most gentlest, truest knight of his own house. Some of usenvied him,' said Sir Richard, and fell back to take Swallow's bridle.

  'Turn left here,' Puck called ahead of them from under an oak. Theyducked down a narrow path through close ash plantation.

  The children hurried forward, but cutting a corner charged full-abreastinto the thorn-faggot that old Hobden was carrying home on his back.'My! My!' said he. 'Have you scratted your face, Miss Una?'

  'Sorry! It's all right,' said Una, rubbing her nose. 'How many rabbitsdid you get today?'

  'That's tellin'!' the old man grinned as he re-hoisted his faggot. 'Ireckon Mus' Ridley he've got rheumatism along o' lyin' in the dik to seeI didn't snap up any. Think o' that now!'

  They laughed a good deal while he told them the tale.

  'An' just as he crawled away I heard some one hollerin' to the houndsin our woods,' said he. 'Didn't you hear? You must ha' been asleepsure-ly.'

  'Oh, what about the sleeper you promised to show us?' Dan cried.

  ''Ere he be--house an' all!' Hobden dived into the prickly heart of thefaggot and took out a dormouse's wonderfully woven nest of grass andleaves. His blunt fingers parted it as if it had been precious lace, andtilting it toward the last of the light he showed the little, red, furrychap curled up inside, his tail between his eyes that were shut fortheir winter sleep.

  'Let's take him home. Don't breathe on him,' said Una. 'It'll make himwarm and he'll wake up and die straight off. Won't he, Hobby?'

  'Dat's a heap better by my reckonin' than wakin' up and findin' himselfin a cage for life. No! We'll lay him into the bottom o' this hedge.Dat's jus' right! No more trouble for him till come Spring. An' nowwe'll go home.'

  A Carol

  Our Lord Who did the Ox command To kneel to Judah's King, He binds His frost upon the land To ripen it for Spring-- To ripen it for Spring, good sirs, According to His word; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

  When we poor fenmen skate the ice Or shiver on the wold, We hear the cry of a single tree That breaks her heart in the cold-- That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs, And rendeth by the board; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

  Her wood is crazed and little worth Excepting as to burn That we may warm and make our mirth Until the Spring return-- Until the Spring return, good sirs, When people walk abroad; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

  God bless the master of this house, And all that sleep therein! And guard the fens from pirate folk, And keep us all from sin, To walk in honesty, good sirs, Of thought and deed and word! Which shall befriend our latter end-- And who shall judge the Lord?