The Sundering Flood quotes

… the biggest of dromonds and round-ships might fare up it, and oft they lay amid pleasant upcountry places, with their yards all but touching the windows of the husbandman’s stead, and their bowsprits thrusting forth amongst the middens, and the routing swine, and querulous hens.

And the uneasy lads and lasses sitting at high-mass of the Sunday in the grey church would see the tall masts amidst the painted saints of the aisle windows, and their minds would wander from the mass-hackled priest and the words and the gestures of him, and see visions of far countries and outlandish folk

, and some would be heart-smitten with that desire of wandering and looking on new things which so oft the sea-beat board and the wind-strained pine bear with them to the dwellings of the stay-at-homes:

… from the great mountains, he were no nearer to passing from one side to the other, for there would be nought before him but a wall of sheer rock, and above that rent and tumbled crags, the safe strong-houses of erne and osprey and gerfalcon.

Wherefore all the dealings which the folk on the east Dale and the west might have with each other was but shouting and crying across the swirling and gurgling eddies of the black water, which themselves the while seemed to be talking together in some dread and unknown tongue.

True it is that on certain feast days and above all on Midsummer night, the folk would pluck up a heart, and gather together as gaily clad as might be where the Flood was the narrowest (save at one place, whereof more hereafter), and there …

There was but some thirty feet of water between them, but all gurgling and rushing and talking, so the child raised a shrill and clear voice as she clapped her hands together and cried:

“O thou beauteous creature, what art thou?”

Osberne laughed, and said in a loud voice: “I am a man but young of years, so that they call me a boy, and a bairn, and a lad. But what art thou?”

He spake not, for he was eyeing her closely, and she might not speak for a while for lack of breath. At last she said:

“Now are we as near to each other as we may be today; yea for many days, or it may be for all our lives long: so now let us talk.”

She set her two feet together and held her hands in front of her, and so stood as if she looked for him to begin. But the words came not speedily to his mouth, and at last she said:

Said she: “Are they kind to thee?” The lad drew himself up:

“I am kind to them,” said he.

“How goodly thou art!” she said; “that was why I dreamed thou must be of the Land-wights, because I have seen divers men, some old, some young like to thee, but none half so goodly.” He smiled, and said:

but thou didst to me no worse than if I had been lord and earl.”

Now it is to be told, that when Osberne heard these words then first he knew what praise was, and the heart glowed within him, and his valiancy grew up therein

, and his face was bright and his eyes glistened with tears; and he spake no word aloud, but he swore to himself that he would be no worse than his friend Steelhead would have him to be.

He picked himself up in a mighty rage, and would have fallen on Stephen; but he saw that the Eater had a broad and big knife in his girdle, so he forbore, being now all unarmed; and Stephen said:

“Our floor is somewhat slippery for dancing, fair sir.”

But therewith arose Osberne, and came before the guest, and louted to him and said: “Noble sir, I pray thee pardon our man Stephen, for thou seest how clumsy a man he is, and he knoweth not where to bestow his long legs;

John held his peace and reddened somewhat, and Hardcastle said: “Now show me where to bestow this fighting-gear of mine; for meseems I shall not want it yet awhile in this meek and friendly house.” Quoth Osberne over his shoulder:

“Things boded will happen, and also things unboded.”

Hardcastle scowled again, but this time smote him not, for he was busy doing off his hawberk, which Stephen took from him presently, along with his other armour and weapons, and hung them upon the pins at the other end of the hall.

though whereas he is but little-hearted, and there is none else fight-worthy in the house, save it were this lubber in front—Well thou, why art thou skellying, man, as if thou wouldst cast the eyes out of thine head on either side?” Quoth Stephen:

“I was grown so afraid of thee, fair sir, that I wotted not where to look, so I thought my eyes would do me least harm if they looked down along my nose.”

Quoth Hardcastle: “I begin to see how it will go with thee, great lout, that in the first days of my mastership thine hide will pay for thy folly.” Stephen squinted none the less, but his whittle was yet in his belt.

Hast thou no fear of what I may do to thee, since so it is that forebodings weigh on mine heart?”

“Nay, I am not afraid,” said Osberne; “thou mayst be a bad man, yet not so bad as that.”

“Sooth it is,” said Hardcastle; “but I say again, thou art a valiant lad. Lo now, take thy sword again; but tell me, what armour of defence hast thou for this battle?”

and not seldom, moreover, Elfhild failed at the trysting-place, and Osberne had to go sorrowfully away, though well he wotted it was by no fault of his playmate.

So wore the winter tidingless, and spring came again, and again the two met oftener

; and great feast they made the first day, when Elfhild came to the ness with her head and her loins wreathed with the winter wolfsbane.

Belike thou wilt deem me hard and self-seeking if I tell thee that there is more joy in me for the gain of that knowledge than there is sorrow in my heart for thy pain.”

“Nay, nay,” she said, “but for that I deem thee the dearer and the dearer.”

“See then, sweetheart,” said he, “how might it ever come about that we might meed bodily if I abode ever at Wethermel and the Dale in peace and quietness, while thou dwelt still with thy carlines on the other side of this fierce stream?

“Yea, sweetheart, and what shall that be?” And sooth to say it went against the grain with him that at the very moment of their parting she should crave something, like a very child, for a fairing. But she said:

“O my dear, and what should it be but thou thyself?”

And therewith she could refrain her passion no longer, but brake out a-weeping sorely again, so that her eyes could no longer behold him.

“Art thou wedded?” said he.

“Yea,” she said, “unto thee.”

“O would that we were, would that we were!” said Osberne.

“O would that we were, would that we were!” said Osberne.

“O!” she said, “be not sad this morning, or wish for aught so that it grieve thee. Bethink thee how dear this moment is, now at last when our eyes behold each other.”

“Hast thou come here often to look for me?” said he. She said: “It was the fourteenth of May was a year that we parted; now is this the eighth day of October. That makes five hundred and eleven days:

But I know that oft thou wilt come to meet me: yet belike often thou wilt not, because I wot how thou hast work to do and things wherein folk call for thee to serve them.

So any day if thou come not it shall be well, and if thou come it shall be better.

”

Yea, so it is, and many deem it fair.

But then comes the quiet of the night, and my comrades are as though they were dead, and my praisers are voiceless, and I am alone; and then meseems it is I that have been overthrown and thwarted, and not thine enemies and mine, my friend.

Nay, let me go back to my folk, and the land that I know and that endures before me when others have faded out. There will I abide whatso may come to me.” Then he said: “Moreover there is this last month at Longshaw;

“I have seen somewhat else, if only once,” she said. “

I have seen truth and good-faith and constancy and hope without reward; and five years have worn no whit of that away.

”

She was still standing close to him, and now she laid her hand on his breast and said: “This I say as a last word, and thou must take it how thou wilt.

If thou dost not come with me now, thou shalt rue it only once, to wit, all thy life long.

”

and she looked on him and the scared look went out of her face, and nought but the sweetness of joyful love was there. And he cried out:

“O my sweet, where now is the Sundering Flood?”

And there they were in each other’s arms, as though the long years had never been.

But when the Carline saw the sadness of the Maiden because of it, she said to her: “Nay, nay, my child, put on a good countenance and up with thine heart.

For every tale is good till the next one is told;

and I must tell thee that these last two who had one in their mouths, the chapman and the canon to wit, I questioned them closely, first the two together, and then each one by himself, and methought I could see that they knew little …

“God knows we have striven hard to save our lives this long while past, that there might be one or two left to tell the tale; but now it is not so sure but that up there they will slay us for coming home alive.

But we heed not, for we be foul like beasts and hungry like beasts and weary like beasts.

Let the beasts pass who were once men of Brookside.”

And the women stood still astonied and wist not what to do; and the men also drew up to them and then abode, and one, he whom they knew the best, spake to them in a harsh voice and said: “

God knows we have striven hard to save our lives this long while past, that there might be one or two left to tell the tale; but now it is not so sure but that up there they will slay us for coming home alive.

But we heed not, for we be foul like beasts and hungry like beasts and weary like beasts. Let the beasts pass who were once men of Brookside.”