The Tale of Balen Part 2

But Balen's spear through Launceor's s.h.i.+eld Clove as a ploughshare cleaves the field And pierced the hauberk triple-steeled, That horse with horseman stricken reeled, And as a storm-breached rock falls, fell.

And Balen turned his horse again And wist not yet his foe lay slain, And saw him dead that sought his bane And wrought and fared not well.

Suddenly, while he gazed and stood, And mused in many-minded mood If life or death were evil or good, Forth of a covert of a wood That skirted half the moorland lea Fast rode a maiden flower-like white Full toward that fair wild place of fight, Anhungered of the woful sight G.o.d gave her there to see.

And seeing the man there fallen and dead, She cried against the sun that shed Light on the living world, and said, "O Balen, slayer whose hand is red, Two bodies and one heart thou hast slain, Two hearts within one body: aye, Two souls thou hast lost; by thee they die, Cast out of sight of earth and sky And all that made them fain."

And from the dead his sword she caught, And fell in trance that wist of nought, Swooning: but softly Balen sought To win from her the sword she thought To die on, dying by Launceor's side.

Again her wakening wail outbroke As wildly, sword in hand, she woke And struck one swift and bitter stroke That healed her, and she died.

And sorrowing for their strange love's sake Rode Balen forth by lawn and lake, By moor and moss and briar and brake, And in his heart their sorrow spake Whose lips were dumb as death, and said Mute words of presage blind and vain As rain-stars blurred and marred by rain To wanderers on a moonless main Where night and day seem dead.

Then toward a sunbright wildwood side He looked and saw beneath it ride A knight whose arms afar espied By note of name and proof of pride Bare witness of his brother born, His brother Balan, hard at hand, Twin flower of bright Northumberland, Twin sea-bird of their loud sea-strand, Twin song-bird of their morn.

Ah then from Balen pa.s.sed away All dread of night, all doubt of day, All care what life or death might say, All thought of all worse months than May: Only the might of joy in love Brake forth within him as a fire, And deep delight in deep desire Of far-flown days whose full-souled quire Rang round from the air above.

From choral earth and quiring air Rang memories winged like songs that bear Sweet gifts for spirit and sense to share: For no man's life knows love more fair And fruitful of memorial things Than this the deep dear love that breaks With sense of life on life, and makes The sundawn sunnier as it wakes Where morning round it rings.

"O brother, O my brother!" cried Each upon each, and cast aside Their helms unbraced that might not hide From sight of memory single-eyed The likeness graven of face and face, And kissed and wept upon each other For joy and pity of either brother, And love engrafted by sire and mother, G.o.d's natural gift of grace.

And each with each took counsel meet For comfort, making sorrow sweet, And grief a goodly thing to greet: And word from word leapt light and fleet Till all the venturous tale was told, And how in Balen's hope it lay To meet the wild Welsh king and slay, And win from Arthur back for pay The grace he gave of old.

"And thither will not thou with me And win as great a grace for thee?"

"That will I well," quoth Balan: "we Will cleave together, bound and free, As brethren should, being twain and one."

But ere they parted thence there came A creature withered as with flame, A dwarf mismade in nature's shame, Between them and the sun.

And riding fleet as fire may glide He found the dead lie side by side, And wailed and rent his hair and cried, "Who hath done this deed?" And Balen eyed The strange thing loathfully, and said, "The knight I slew, who found him fain And keen to slay me: seeing him slain, The maid I sought to save in vain, Self-stricken, here lies dead.

"Sore grief was mine to see her die, And for her true faith's sake shall I Love, and with love of heart more high, All women better till I die."

"Alas," the dwarf said, "ill for thee In evil hour this deed was done: For now the quest shall be begun Against thee, from the dawning sun Even to the sunset sea.

"From sh.o.r.e to mountain, dawn to night, The kinsfolk of this great dead knight Will chase thee to thy death." A light Of swift blithe scorn flashed answer bright As fire from Balen's eye. "For that, Small fear shall fret my heart," quoth he: "But that my lord the king should be For this dead man's sake wroth with me, Weep might it well thereat."

Then murmuring pa.s.sed the dwarf away, And toward the knights in fair array Came riding eastward up the way From where the flower-soft lowlands lay A king whose name the sweet south-west Held high in honour, and the land That bowed beneath his gentle hand Wore on its wild bright northern strand Tintagel for a crest.

And Balen hailed with homage due King Mark of Cornwall, when he knew The pennon that before him flew: And for those lovers dead and true The king made moan to hear their doom; And for their sorrow's sake he sware To seek in all the marches there The church that man might find most fair And build therein their tomb.

V

As thought from thought takes wing and flies, As month on month with sunlit eyes Tramples and triumphs in its rise, As wave smites wave to death and dies, So chance on hurtling chance like steel Strikes, flashes, and is quenched, ere fear Can whisper hope, or hope can hear, If sorrow or joy be far or near For time to hurt or heal.

Swift as a shadow and strange as light That cleaves in twain the shadow of night Before the wide-winged word takes flight That thunder speaks to depth and height And quells the quiet hour with sound, There came before King Mark and stood Between the moorside and the wood The man whose word G.o.d's will made good, Nor guile was in it found.

And Merlin said to Balen: "Lo, Thou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe To let this lady die, and know Thou mightst have stayed her deadly blow."

And Balen answered him and said, "Nay, by my truth to faith, not I, So fiercely fain she was to die; Ere well her sword had flashed on high, Self-slain she lay there dead."

Again and sadly Merlin spake: "My heart is wrung for this deed's sake, To know thee therefore doomed to take Upon thine hand a curse, and make Three kingdoms pine through twelve years' change, In want and woe: for thou shalt smite The man most n.o.ble and truest knight That looks upon the live world's light A dolorous stroke and strange.

"And not till years shall round their goal May this man's wound thou hast given be whole."

And Balen, stricken through the soul By dark-winged words of doom and dole, Made answer: "If I wist it were No lie but sooth thou sayest of me, Then even to make a liar of thee Would I too slay myself, and see How death bids dead men fare."

And Merlin took his leave and pa.s.sed And was not: and the shadow as fast Went with him that his word had cast, Too fleet for thought thereof to last: And there those brethren bade King Mark Farewell: but fain would Mark have known The strong knight's name who had overthrown The pride of Launceor, when it shone Bright as it now lay dark.

And Balan for his brother spake, Saying: "Sir, albeit him list not break The seal of secret time, nor shake Night off him ere his morning wake, By these two swords he is girt withal May men that praise him, knights and lords, Call him the knight that bears two swords, And all the praise his fame accords Make answer when they call."

So parted they toward eventide; And tender twilight, heavy-eyed, Saw deep down glimmering woodlands ride Balen and Balan side by side, Till where the leaves grew dense and dim Again they spied from far draw near The presence of the sacred seer, But so disguised and strange of cheer That seeing they knew not him.

"Now whither ride ye," Merlin said, "Through shadows that the sun strikes red, Ere night be born or day be dead?"

But they, for doubt half touched with dread, Would say not where their goal might lie.

"And thou," said Balen, "what art thou, To walk with shrouded eye and brow?"

He said: "Me lists not show thee now By name what man am I."

"Ill seen is this of thee," said they, "That thou art true in word and way Nor fain to fear the face of day, Who wilt not as a true man say The name it shames not him to bear."

He answered: "Be it or be it not so, Yet why ye ride this way I know, To meet King Ryons as a foe, And how your hope shall fare.

"Well, if ye hearken toward my rede, Ill, if ye hear not, shall ye speed."

"Ah, now," they cried, "thou art ours at need What Merlin saith we are fain to heed."

"Great wors.h.i.+p shall ye win," said he, "And look that ye do knightly now, For great shall be your need, I trow."

And Balen smiled: "By knighthood's vow, The best we may will we."

Then Merlin bade them turn and take Rest, for their good steeds' weary sake, Between the highway and the brake, Till starry midnight bade them wake: Then "Rise," he said, "the king is nigh, Who hath stolen from all his host away With threescore horse in armed array, The goodliest knights that bear his sway And hold his kingdom high.

"And twenty ride of them before To bear his errand, ere the door Turn of the night, sealed fast no more, And sundawn bid the stars wax h.o.a.r; For by the stars.h.i.+ne of to-night He seeks a leman where she waits His coming, dark and swift as fate's, And hearkens toward the unopening gates That yield not him to sight.

Then through the glimmering gloom around A shadowy sense of light and sound Made, ere the proof thereof were found, The brave blithe hearts within them bound, And "Where," quoth Balen, "rides the king?"

But softer spake the seer: "Abide, Till hither toward your spears he ride, Where all the narrowing woodland side Grows dense with boughs that cling."

There in that straitening way they met The wild Welsh host against them set, And smote their strong king down, ere yet His hurrying horde of spears might get Fierce vantage of them. Then the fight Grew great and joyous as it grew, For left and right those brethren slew, Till all the lawn waxed red with dew More deep than dews of night.

And ere the full fierce tale was read Full forty lay before them dead, And fast the hurtling remnant fled And wist not whither fear had led: And toward the king they went again, And would have slain him: but he bowed Before them, crying in fear aloud For grace they gave him, seeing the proud Wild king brought lowest of men.

And ere the wildwood leaves were stirred With song or wing of wakening bird, In Camelot was Merlin's word With joy in joyous wonder heard That told of Arthur's bitterest foe Diskingdomed and discomfited.

"By whom?" the high king smiled and said.

He answered: "Ere the dawn wax red, To-morrow bids you know.

"Two knights whose heart and hope are one And fain to win your grace have done This work whereby if grace be won Their hearts shall hail the enkindling sun With joy more keen and deep than day."

And ere the sundawn drank the dew Those brethren with their prisoner drew To the outer guard they gave him to And pa.s.sed again away.

And Arthur came as toward his guest To greet his foe, and bade him rest As one returned from n.o.bler quest And welcome from the stormbright west, But by what chance he fain would hear.

"The chance was hard and strange, sir king,"

Quoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving.

"Who won you?" Arthur said: "the thing Is worth a warrior's ear."

The wild king flushed with pride and shame, Answering: "I know not either name Of those that there against us came And withered all our strength like flame: The knight that bears two swords is one, And one his brother: not on earth May men meet men of knightlier worth Nor mightier born of mortal birth That hail the sovereign sun."

And Arthur said: "I know them not But much am I for this, G.o.d wet, Beholden to them: Launcelot Nor Tristram, when the war waxed hot Along the marches east and west, Wrought ever n.o.bler work than this."