The Tale of Balen Part 6

She said, and all her face grew bright As h.e.l.l-fire, lit with hungry light That wicked laughter touched with flame.

"Well, since I shall thereto," said he, "I am ready at heart as death for me: Fain would I be where death should be And life should lose its name.

"But travelling men whose goal afar s.h.i.+nes as a cloud-constraining star Are often weary, and wearier are Their steeds that feel each fret and jar Wherewith the wild ways wound them: yet, Albeit my horse be weary, still My heart is nowise weary; will Sustains it even till death fulfil My trust upon him set."

"Sir," said a knight thereby that stood, "Meseems your s.h.i.+eld is now not good But worn with warrior work, nor could Sustain in strife the strokes it would: A larger will I lend you." "Ay, Thereof I thank you," Balen said, Being single of heart as one that read No face aright whence faith had fled, Nor dreamed that faith could fly.

And so he took that s.h.i.+eld unknown And left for treason's touch his own, And toward that island rode alone, Nor heard the blast against him blown Sound in the wind's and water's sound, But hearkening toward the stream's edge heard Nought save the soft stream's rippling word, Glad with the gladness of a bird, That sang to the air around.

And there against the water-side He saw, fast moored to rock and ride, A fair great boat anear abide Like one that waits the turning tide, Wherein embarked his horse and he Pa.s.sed over toward no kindly strand: And where they stood again on land There stood a maiden hard at hand Who seeing them wept to see.

And "O knight Balen," was her cry, "Why have ye left your own s.h.i.+eld? why Come hither out of time to die?

For had ye kept your s.h.i.+eld, thereby Ye had yet been known, and died not here.

Great pity it is of you this day As ever was of knight, or may Be ever, seeing in war's bright way Praise knows not Balen's peer."

And Balen said, "Thou hast heard my name Right: it repenteth me, though shame May tax me not with base men's blame, That ever, hap what will, I came Within this country; yet, being come, For shame I may not turn again Now, that myself and n.o.bler men May scorn me: now is more than then, And faith bids fear be dumb.

"Be it life or death, my chance I take, Be it life's to build or death's to break: And fall what may, me lists not make Moan for sad life's or death's sad sake."

Then looked he on his armour, glad And high of heart, and found it strong: And all his soul became a song And soared in prayer that soared not long, For all the hope it had.

Then saw he whence against him came A steed whose trappings shone like flame, And he that rode him showed the same Fierce colour, bright as fire or fame, But dark the visors were as night That hid from Balen Balan's face, And his from Balan: G.o.d's own grace Forsook them for a shadowy s.p.a.ce Where darkness cast out light.

The two swords girt that Balen bare Gave Balan for a breath's while there Pause, wondering if indeed it were Balen his brother, bound to dare The chance of that unhappy quest: But seeing not as he thought to see His s.h.i.+eld, he deemed it was not he, And so, as fate bade sorrow be, They laid their spears in rest.

So mighty was the course they ran With spear to spear so great of span, Each fell back stricken, man by man, Horse by horse, borne down: so the ban That wrought by doom against them wrought: But Balen by his falling steed Was bruised the sorer, being indeed Way-weary, like a rain-bruised reed, With travel ere he fought.

And Balen rose again from swoon First, and went toward him: all too soon He too then rose, and the evil boon Of strength came back, and the evil tune Of battle unnatural made again Mad music as for death's wide ear Listening and hungering toward the near Last sigh that life or death might hear At last from dying men.

Balan smote Balen first, and clove His lifted s.h.i.+eld that rose and strove In vain against the stroke that drove Down: as the web that morning wove Of glimmering pearl from spray to spray Dies when the strong sun strikes it, so Shrank the steel, tempered thrice to show Strength, as the mad might of the blow Sh.o.r.e Balen's helm away.

Then turning as a turning wave Against the land-wind, blind and brave In hope that dreams despair may save, With even the unhappy sword that gave The gifts of fame and fate in one He smote his brother, and there had nigh Felled him: and while they breathed, his eye Glanced up, and saw beneath the sky Sights fairer than the sun.

The towers of all the castle there Stood full of ladies, blithe and fair As the earth beneath and the amorous air About them and above them were: So toward the blind and fateful fight Again those brethren went, and sore Were all the strokes they smote and bore, And breathed again, and fell once more To battle in their sight.

With blood that either spilt and bled Was all the ground they fought on red, And each knight's hauberk hewn and shred Left each unmailed and naked, shed From off them even as mantles cast: And oft they breathed, and drew but breath Brief as the word strong sorrow saith, And poured and drank the draught of death, Till fate was full at last.

And Balan, younger born than he Whom darkness bade him slay, and be Slain, as in mist where none may see If aught abide or fall or flee, Drew back a little and laid him down, Dying: but Balen stood, and said, As one between the quick and dead Might stand and speak, "What good knight's head Hath won this mortal crown?

"What knight art thou? for never I Who now beside thee dead shall die Found yet the knight afar or nigh That matched me." Then his brother's eye Flashed pride and love; he spake and smiled And felt in death life's quickening flame, And answered: "Balan is my name, The good knight Balen's brother; fame Calls and miscalls him wild."

The cry from Balen's lips that sprang Sprang sharper than his sword's stroke rang.

More keen than death's or memory's fang, Through sense and soul the shuddering pang s.h.i.+vered: and scarce he had cried, "Alas That ever I should see this day,"

When sorrow swooned from him away As blindly back he fell, and lay Where sleep lets anguish pa.s.s.

But Balan rose on hands and knees And crawled by childlike dim degrees Up toward his brother, as a breeze Creeps wingless over sluggard seas When all the wind's heart fails it: so Beneath their mother's eyes had he, A babe that laughed with joy to be, Made toward him standing by her knee For love's sake long ago.

Then, gathering strength up for a s.p.a.ce, From off his brother's dying face With dying hands that wrought apace While death and life would grant them grace He loosed his helm and knew not him, So scored with blood it was, and hewn Athwart with darkening wounds: but soon Life strove and shuddered through the swoon Wherein its light lay dim.

And sorrow set these chained words free: "O Balan, O my brother! me Thou hast slain, and I, my brother, thee And now far hence, on sh.o.r.e and sea, Shall all the wide world speak of us."

"Alas," said Balan, "that I might Not know you, seeing two swords were dight About you; now the unanswering sight Hath here found answer thus.

"Because you bore another s.h.i.+eld Than yours, that even ere youth could wield Like arms with manhood's tried and steeled Shone as my star of battle-field, I deemed it surely might not be My brother." Then his brother spake Fiercely: "Would G.o.d, for thy sole sake, I had my life again, to take Revenge for only thee!

"For all this deadly work was wrought Of one false knight's false word and thought, Whose mortal craft and counsel caught And snared my faith who doubted nought, And made me put my s.h.i.+eld away.

Ah, might I live, I would destroy That castle for its customs: joy There makes of grief a deadly toy, And death makes night of day."

"Well done were that, if aught were done Well ever here beneath the sun,"

Said Balan: "better work were none: For hither since I came and won A woful honour born of death, When here my hap it was to slay A knight who kept this island way, I might not pa.s.s by night or day Hence, as this token saith.

"No more shouldst thou, for all the might Of heart and hand that seals thee knight Most n.o.ble of all that see the light, Brother, hadst thou but slain in fight Me, and arisen unscathed and whole, As would to G.o.d thou hadst risen! though here Light is as darkness, hope as fear, And love as hate: and none draws near Save toward a mortal goal."

Then, fair as any poison-flower Whose blossom blights the withering bower Whereon its blasting breath has power, Forth fared the lady of the tower With many a lady and many a knight, And came across the water-way Even where on death's dim border lay Those brethren sent of her to slay And die in kindless fight.

And all those hard light hearts were swayed With pity pa.s.sing like a shade That stays not, and may be not stayed, To hear the mutual moan they made, Each to behold his brother die, Saying, "Both we came out of one tomb, One star-crossed mother's woful womb, And so within one grave-pit's gloom Untimely shall we lie."

And Balan prayed, as G.o.d should bless That lady for her gentleness, That where the battle's mortal stress Had made for them perforce to press The bed whence never man may rise They twain, free now from hopes and fears, Might sleep; and she, as one that hears, Bowed her bright head: and very tears Fell from her cold fierce eyes.

Then Balen prayed her send a priest To housel them, that ere they ceased The hansel of the heavenly feast That fills with light from the answering east The sunset of the life of man Might bless them, and their lips be kissed With death's requickening eucharist, And death's and life's dim sunlit mist Pa.s.s as a stream that ran.

And so their dying rites were done: And Balen, seeing the death-struck sun Sink, spake as he whose goal is won: "Now, when our trophied tomb is one, And over us our tale is writ, How two that loved each other, two Born and begotten brethren, slew Each other, none that reads anew Shall choose but weep for it.

"And no good knight and no good man Whose eye shall ever come to scan The record of the imperious ban That made our life so sad a span Shall read or hear, who shall not pray For us for ever." Then anon Died Balan; but the sun was gone, And deep the stars of midnight shone, Ere Balen pa.s.sed away.

And there low lying, as hour on hour Fled, all his life in all its flower Came back as in a sunlit shower Of dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power On life less sweet and glad to be.

He drank the draught of life's first wine Again: he saw the moorland s.h.i.+ne, The rioting rapids of the Tyne, The woods, the cliffs, the sea.

The joy that lives at heart and home, The joy to rest, the joy to roam, The joy of crags and scaurs he clomb, The rapture of the encountering foam Embraced and breasted of the boy, The first good steed his knees bestrode, The first wild sound of songs that flowed Through ears that thrilled and heart that glowed, Fulfilled his death with joy.

So, dying not as a coward that dies And dares not look in death's dim eyes Straight as the stars on seas and skies Whence moon and sun recoil and rise, He looked on life and death, and slept.

And there with morning Merlin came, And on the tomb that told their fame He wrote by Balan's Balen's name, And gazed thereon, and wept.

For all his heart within him yearned With pity like as fire that burned.

The fate his fateful eye discerned Far off now dimmed it, ere he turned His face toward Camelot, to tell Arthur of all the storms that woke Round Balen, and the dolorous stroke, And how that last blind battle broke The consummated spell.

"Alas," King Arthur said, "this day I have heard the worst that woe might say: For in this world that wanes away I know not two such knights as they."

This is the tale that memory writes Of men whose names like stars shall stand, Balen and Balan, sure of hand, Two brethren of Northumberland, In life and death good knights.