The Roots of the Mountains

by William Morris

  CHAPTER XXIV. FACE-OF-GOD GIVETH THAT TOKEN TO THE BRIDE.

  NOW on the morrow, when Face-of-god arose and other men with him, and theHall was astir and there was no little throng therein, the Bride came upto him; for she had slept in the House of the Face by the bidding of theAlderman; and she spake to him before all men, and bade him come forthwith her into the garden, because she would speak to him apart. Heyeasaid her, though with a heavy heart; and to the folk about that seemedmeet and due, since those twain were deemed to be troth-plight, and theysmiled kindly on them as they went out of the Hall together.

  So they came into the garden, where the pear-trees were blossoming overthe spring lilies, and the cherries were showering their flowers on thedeep green grass, and everything smelled sweetly on the warm windlessspring morning.

  She led the way, going before him till they came by a smooth grass pathbetween the berry bushes, to a square space of grass about which werebarberry trees, their first tender leaves bright green in the sun againstthe dry yellowish twigs. There was a sundial amidmost of the grass, andbetwixt the garden-boughs one could see the long grey roof of the ancienthall; and sweet familiar sounds of the nesting birds and men and womengoing on their errands were all about in the scented air. She turnedabout at the sundial and faced Face-of-god, her hand lightly laid on thescored brass, and spake with no anger in her voice:

  ‘I ask thee if thou hast brought me the token whereon thou shalt swear togive me that gift.’

  ‘Yea,’ said he; and therewith drew the ring from his bosom, and held itout to her. She reached out her hand to him slowly and took it, andtheir fingers met as she did so, and he noted that her hand was warm andfirm and wholesome as he well remembered it.

  She said: ‘Whence hadst thou this fair finger-ring?’

  Said Face-of-god: ‘My friend there in the mountain-valley drew it fromoff her finger for thee, and bade me bear thee a message.’

  Her face flushed red: ‘Yea,’ she said, ‘and doth she send me a message?Then doth she know of me, and ye have talked of me together. Well, givethe message!’

  Said Face-of-god: ‘She saith, that thou shalt bear in mind, Thatto-morrow is a new day.’

  ‘Yea,’ she said, ‘for her it is so, and for thee; but not for me. Butnow I have brought thee here that thou mightest swear thine oath to me;lay thine hand on this ring and on this brazen plate whereby the sunmeasures the hours of the day for happy folk, and swear by thespring-tide of the year and all glad things that find a mate, and by theGod of the Earth that rejoiceth in the life of man.’

  Then he laid his hand on the finger-ring as it lay on the dial-plate andsaid:

  ‘By the spring-tide and the live things that long to multiply their kind;by the God of the Earth that rejoiceth in the life of man, I swear togive to my kinswoman the Bride the second man-child that I beget; to behers, to leave or cherish, to love or hate, as her will may bid her.’Then he looked on her soberly and said: ‘It is duly sworn; is it enough?’

  ‘Yea,’ she said; but he saw how the tears ran out of her eyes and wettedthe bosom of her kirtle, and she hung her head for shame of her grief.And Gold-mane was all abashed, and had no word to say; for he knew thatno word of his might comfort her; and he deemed it ill done to stay thereand behold her sorrow; and he knew not how to get him gone, and be gladelsewhere, and leave her alone.

  Then, as if she had read his thought, she looked up at him and saidsmiling a little amidst of her tears:

  ‘I bid thee stay by me till the flood is over; for I have yet a word tosay to thee.’

  So he stood there gazing down on the grass in his turn, and not daring toraise his eyes to her face, and the minutes seemed long to him: till atlast she said in a voice scarcely yet clear of weeping:

  ‘Wilt thou say anything to me, and tell me what thou hast done, and why,and what thou deemest will come of it?’

  He said: ‘I will tell the truth as I know it, because thou askest it ofme, and not because I would excuse myself before thee. What have I done?Yesterday I plighted my troth to wed the woman that I met last autumn inthe wood. And why? I wot not why, but that I longed for her. Yet Imust tell thee that it seemed to me, and yet seemeth, that I might do nootherwise—that there was nothing else in the world for me to do. What doI deem will come of it, sayest thou? This, that we shall be happytogether, she and I, till the day of our death.’

  She said: ‘And even so long shall I be sorry: so far are we sundered now.Alas! who looked for it? And whither shall I turn to now?’

  Said Gold-mane: ‘She bade me tell thee that to-morrow is a new day:meseemeth I know her meaning.’

  ‘No word of hers hath any meaning to me,’ said the Bride.

  ‘Nay,’ said he, ‘but hast thou not heard these rumours of war that are inthe Dale? Shall not these things avail thee? Much may grow out of them;and thou with the mighty heart, so faithful and compassionate!’

  She said: ‘What sayest thou? What may grow out of them? Yea, I haveheard those rumours as a man sick to death heareth men talk of theirbusiness down in the street while he lieth on his bed; and already hehath done with it all, and hath no world to mend or mar. For me noughtshall grow out of it. What meanest thou?’

  Said Gold-mane: ‘Is there nought in the fellowship of Folks, and theaiding of the valiant, and the deliverance of the hapless?’

  ‘Nay,’ she said, ‘there is nought to me. I cannot think of it to-day noryet to-morrow belike. Yet true it is that I may mingle in it, thoughthinking nought of it. But this shall not avail me.’

  She was silent a little, but presently spake and said: ‘Thou sayestright; it is not thou that hast done this, but the woman who sent me thering and the message of an old saw. O that she should be born to sunderus! How hath it befallen that I am now so little to thee and she somuch?’

  And again she was silent; and after a while Face-of-god spake kindly andsoftly and said: ‘Kinswoman, wilt thou for ever begrudge our love? thisgrudge lieth heavy on my soul, and it is I alone that have to bear it.’

  She said: ‘This is but a light burden for thee to bear, when thou hastnought else to bear! But do I begrudge thee thy love, Gold-mane? I knownot that. Rather meseemeth I do not believe in it—nor shall do ever.’

  Then she held her peace a long while, nor did he speak one word: and theywere so still, that a robin came hopping about them, close to the hem ofher kirtle, and a starling pitched in the apple-tree hard by and whistledand chuckled, turning about and about, heeding them nought. Then at lastshe lifted up her face from looking on the grass and said: ‘These areidle words and avail nothing: one thing only I know, that we aresundered. And now it repenteth me that I have shown thee my tears and mygrief and my sickness of the earth and those that dwell thereon. I amashamed of it, as if thou hadst smitten me, and I had come and shown theethe stripes, and said, See what thou hast done! hast thou no pity? Yea,thou pitiest me, and wilt try to forget thy pity. Belike thou art rightwhen thou sayest, To-morrow is a new day; belike matters will arise thatwill call me back to life, and I shall once more take heed of the joy andsorrow of my people. Nay, it is most like that this I shall feign to doeven now. But if to-morrow be a new day, it is to-day now and notto-morrow, and so shall it be for long. Hereof belike we shall talk nomore, thou and I. For as the days wear, the dealings between us shall bethat thou shalt but get thee away from my life, and I shall be nought tothee but the name of a kinswoman. Thus should it be even wert thou tostrive to make it otherwise; and thou shalt _not_ strive. So let allthis be; for this is not the word I had to say to thee. But hearken! noware we sundered, and it irketh me beyond measure that folk know it not,and are kind, and rejoice in our love, and deem it a happy thing for thefolk; and this burden I may bear no longer. So I shall declare unto menthat I will not wed thee; and belike they may wonder why it is, till theysee thee wedded to the Woman of the Mountain. Art thou content that soit shall be?’

  Said Face-of-god: ‘Nay, thou shalt not take this all upo
n thyself; I alsoshall declare unto the Folk that I will wed none but her, theMountain-Woman.’

  She said: ‘This shalt thou not do; I forbid it thee. And I _will_ takeit all upon myself. Shall I have it said of me that I am unmeet to wedthee, and that thou hast found me out at last and at latest? I lay thisupon thee, that wheresoever I declare this and whatsoever I may say, thoushalt hold thy peace. This at least thou may’st do for me. Wilt thou?’

  ‘Yea,’ he said, ‘though it shall put me to shame.’

  Again she was silent for a little; then she said:

  ‘O Gold-mane, this would I take upon myself not soothly for any shame ofseeming to be thy cast-off; but because it is I who needs must bear allthe sorrow of our sundering; and I have the will to bear it greater andheavier, that I may be as the women of old time, and they that have comefrom the Gods, lest I belittle my life with malice and spite andconfusion, and it become poisonous to me. Be at peace! be at peace! Andleave all to the wearing of the years; and forget not that which thouhast sworn!’

  Therewith she turned and went from that green place toward the House ofthe Face, walking slowly through the garden amongst the sweet odours,beneath the fair blossoms, a body most dainty and beauteous of fashion,but the casket of grievous sorrow, which all that goodliness availed not.

  But Face-of-god lingered in that place a little, and for that littlewhile the joy of his life was dulled and overworn; and the days beforehis wandering on the mountain seemed to him free and careless and happydays that he could not but regret. He was ashamed, moreover, that thisso unquenchable grief should come but of him, and the pleasure of hislife, which he himself had found out for himself, and which was but sucha little portion of the Earth and the deeds thereof. But presently histhought wandered from all this, and as he turned away from the sundialand went his ways through the garden, he called to mind his longing forthe day of the spring market, when he should see the Sun-beam again andbe cherished by the sweetness of her love.