Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated)

by Rudyard Kipling

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  ‘At this she cried that I was a Norman thief’

  * * *

  the Beacon of Brunanburgh behind us here, south and north it ran a full league — and all the woods were full of broken men from Santlache, Saxon thieves, Norman plunderers, robbers, and deer-stealers. A hornets’ nest indeed!

  ‘When De Aquila had gone, Hugh would have thanked me for saving their lives; but the Lady Ælueva said that I had done it only for the sake of receiving the Manor.

  ‘“How could I know that De Aquila would give it me?” I said. “If I had told him I had spent my night in your halter he would have burned the place twice over by now.”

  ‘“If any man had put my neck in a rope,” she said, “I would have seen his house burned thrice over before I would have made terms.”

  ‘“But it was a woman,” I said; and I laughed, and she wept and said that I mocked her in her captivity.

  ‘“Lady,” said I, “there is no captive in this valley except one, and he is not a Saxon.”

  ‘At this she cried that I was a Norman thief, who came with false, sweet words, having intended from the first to turn her out in the fields to beg her bread. Into the fields! She had never seen the face of war!

  ‘I was angry, and answered, “This much at least I can disprove, for I swear” — and on my sword-hilt I swore it in that place — ”I swear I will never set foot in the Great Hall till the Lady Ælueva herself shall summon me there.”

  ‘She went away, saying nothing, and I walked out, and Hugh limped after me, whistling dolorously (that is a custom of the English), and we came upon the three Saxons that had bound me. They were now bound by my men-at-arms, and behind them stood some fifty stark and sullen churls of the House and the Manor, waiting to see what should fall. We heard De Aquila’s trumpets blow thin through the woods Kentward.

  ‘“Shall we hang these?” said my men.

  ‘“Then my churls will fight,” said Hugh, beneath his breath; but I bade him ask the three what mercy they hoped for.

  ‘“None,” said they all. “She bade us hang thee if our master died. And we would have hanged thee. There is no more to it.”

  ‘As I stood doubting, a woman ran down from the oak wood above the King’s Hill yonder, and cried out that some Normans were driving off the swine there.

  ‘“Norman or Saxon,” said I, “we must beat them back, or they will rob us every day. Out at them with any arms ye have!” So I loosed those three carles and we ran together, my men-at-arms and the Saxons with bills and axes which they had hidden in the thatch of their huts, and Hugh led them. Half-way up the King’s Hill we found a false fellow from Picardy — a sutler that sold wine in the Duke’s camp — with a dead knight’s shield on his arm, a stolen horse under him, and some ten or twelve wastrels at his tail, all cutting and slashing at the pigs. We beat them off, and saved our pork. One hundred and seventy pigs we saved in that great battle.’ Sir Richard laughed.

  ‘That, then, was our first work together, and I bade Hugh tell his folk that so would I deal with any man, knight or churl, Norman or Saxon, who stole as much as one egg from our valley. Said he to me, riding home: “Thou hast gone far to conquer England this evening.” I answered: “England must be thine and mine, then. Help me, Hugh, to deal aright with these people. Make them to know that if they slay me De Aquila will surely send to slay them, and he will put a worse man in my place.” “That may well be true,” said he, and gave me his hand. “Better the devil we know than the devil we know not, till we can pack you Normans home.” And so, too, said his Saxons; and they laughed as we drove the pigs downhill. But I think some of them, even then, began not to hate me.’

  ‘I like Brother Hugh,’ said Una, softly.

  ‘Beyond question he was the most perfect, courteous, valiant, tender, and wise knight that ever drew breath,’ said Sir Richard, caressing the sword. ‘He hung up his sword — this sword — on the wall of the Great Hall, because he said it was fairly mine, and never he took it down till De Aquila returned, as I shall presently show. For three months his men and mine guarded the valley, till all robbers and nightwalkers learned there was nothing to get from us save hard tack and a hanging. Side by side we fought against all who came — thrice a week sometimes we fought — against thieves and landless knights looking for good manors. Then we were in some peace, and I made shift by Hugh’s help to govern the valley — for all this valley of yours was my Manor — as a knight should. I kept the roof on the hall and the thatch on the barn, but ... the English are a bold people. His Saxons would laugh and jest with Hugh, and Hugh with them, and — this was marvellous to me — if even the meanest of them said that such and such a thing was the Custom of the Manor, then straightway would Hugh and such old men of the Manor as might be near forsake everything else to debate the matter — I have seen them stop the Mill with the corn half ground — and if the custom or usage were proven to be as it was said, why, that was the end of it, even though it were flat against Hugh, his wish and command. Wonderful!’

  ‘Aye,’ said Puck, breaking in for the first time. ‘The Custom of Old England was here before your Norman knights came, and it outlasted them, though they fought against it cruel.’

  ‘Not I,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I let the Saxons go their stubborn way, but when my own men-at-arms, Normans not six months in England, stood up and told me what was the custom of the country, then I was angry. Ah, good days! Ah, wonderful people! And I loved them all.’

  The knight lifted his arms as though he would hug the whole dear valley, and Swallow, hearing the chink of his chain-mail, looked up and whinnied softly.

  ‘At last,’ he went on, ‘after a year of striving and contriving and some little driving, De Aquila came to the valley, alone and without warning.

  * * *

  Said he,’I have it all from this child here.’

  * * *

  I saw him first at the Lower Ford, with a swineherd’s brat on his saddle-bow.

  ‘“There is no need for thee to give any account of thy stewardship,” said he. “I have it all from the child here.” And he told me how the young thing had stopped his tall horse at the Ford, by waving of a branch, and crying that the way was barred. “And if one bold, bare babe be enough to guard the Ford in these days, thou hast done well,” said he, and puffed and wiped his head.

  ‘He pinched the child’s cheek, and looked at our cattle in the flat by the river.

  ‘“Both fat,” said he, rubbing his nose. “This is craft and cunning such as I love. What did I tell thee when I rode away, boy?”

  ‘“Hold the Manor or hang,” said I. I had never forgotten it.

  ‘“True. And thou hast held.” He clambered from his saddle and with his sword’s point cut out a turf from the bank and gave it me where I kneeled.’

  Dan looked at Una, and Una looked at Dan.

  ‘That’s seizin,’ said Puck, in a whisper.

  ‘“Now thou art lawfully seized of the Manor, Sir Richard,” said he — ’twas the first time he ever called me that — ”thou and thy heirs for ever. This must serve till the King’s clerks write out thy title on a parchment. England is all ours — if we can hold it.”

  ‘“What service shall I pay?” I asked, and I remember I was proud beyond words.

  ‘“Knight’s fee, boy, knight’s fee!” said he, hopping round his horse on one foot. (Have I said he was little, and could not endure to be helped to his saddle?) “Six mounted men or twelve archers thou shalt send me whenever I call for them, and — where got you that corn?” said he, for it was near harvest, and our corn stood well. “I have never seen such bright straw. Send me three bags of the same seed yearly, and furthermore, in memory of our last meeting — with the rope round thy neck — entertain me and my men for two days of each year in the Great Hall of thy Manor.”

  ‘“Alas!” said I, “then my Manor is already forfeit. I am under vow not to enter the Great Hall.” And I told him what I had sworn to the Lady Ælueva.’


  ‘And hadn’t you ever been into the house since?’ said Una.

  ‘Never,’ Sir Richard answered, smiling. ‘I had made me a little hut of wood up the hill, and there I did justice and slept ... De Aquila wheeled aside, and his shield shook on his back. “No matter, boy,” said he. “I will remit the homage for a year.”‘

  ‘He meant Sir Richard needn’t give him dinner there the first year,’ Puck explained.

  ‘De Aquila stayed with me in the hut, and Hugh, who could read and write and cast accounts, showed him the Roll of the Manor, in which were written all the names of our fields and men, and he asked a thousand questions touching the land, the timber, the grazing, the mill, and the fish-ponds, and the worth of every man in the valley. But never he named the Lady Ælueva’s name, nor went he near the Great Hall. By night he drank with us in the hut. Yes, he sat on the straw like an eagle ruffled in her feathers, his yellow eyes rolling above the cup, and he pounced in his talk like an eagle, swooping from one thing to another, but always binding fast. Yes; he would lie still awhile, and then rustle in the straw, and speak sometimes as though he were King William himself, and anon he would speak in parables and tales, and if at once we saw not his meaning he would yerk us in the ribs with his scabbarded sword.

  ‘“Look you, boys,” said he, “I am born out of my due time. Five hundred years ago I would have made all England such an England as neither Dane, Saxon, nor Norman should have conquered. Five hundred years hence I should have been such a counsellor to Kings as the world hath never dreamed of. ‘Tis all here,” said he, tapping his big head, “but it hath no play in this black age. Now Hugh here is a better man than thou art, Richard.” He had made his voice harsh and croaking, like a raven’s.

  ‘“Truth,” said I. “But for Hugh, his help and patience and long-suffering, I could never have kept the Manor.”

  ‘“Nor thy life either,” said De Aquila. “Hugh has saved thee not once, but a hundred times. Be still, Hugh!” he said. “Dost thou know, Richard, why Hugh slept, and why he still sleeps, among thy Norman men-at-arms?”

  ‘“To be near me,” said I, for I thought this was truth.

  ‘“Fool!” said De Aquila. “It is because his Saxons have begged him to rise against thee, and to sweep every Norman out of the valley. No matter how I know. It is truth. Therefore Hugh hath made himself an hostage for thy life, well knowing that if any harm befell thee from his Saxons thy Normans would slay him without remedy. And this his Saxons know. Is it true, Hugh?”

  ‘“In some sort,” said Hugh shamefacedly; “at least, it was true half a year ago. My Saxons would not harm Richard now. I think they know him — but I judged it best to make sure.”

  ‘Look, children, what that man had done — and I had never guessed it! Night after night had he lain down among my men-at-arms, knowing that if one Saxon had lifted knife against me, his life would have answered for mine.

  ‘“Yes,” said De Aquila. “And he is a swordless man.” He pointed to Hugh’s belt, for Hugh had put away his sword — did I tell you? — the day after it flew from his hand at Santlache. He carried only the short knife and the long-bow. “Swordless and landless art thou, Hugh; and they call thee kin to Earl Godwin.” (Hugh was indeed of Godwin’s blood.) “The Manor that was thine is given to this boy and to his children for ever. Sit up and beg, for he can turn thee out like a dog, Hugh.”

  ‘Hugh said nothing, but I heard his teeth grind, and I bade De Aquila, my own overlord, hold his peace, or I would stuff his words down his throat. Then De Aquila laughed till the tears ran down his face.

  ‘“I warned the King,” said he, “what would come of giving England to us Norman thieves. Here art thou, Richard, less than two days confirmed in thy Manor, and already thou hast risen against thy overlord. What shall we do to him, Sir Hugh?”

  ‘“I am a swordless man,” said Hugh. “Do not jest with me,” and he laid his head on his knees and groaned.

  ‘“The greater fool thou,” said De Aquila, and all his voice changed; “for I have given thee the Manor of Dallington up the hill this half-hour since,” and he yerked at Hugh with his scabbard across the straw.

  ‘“To me?” said Hugh. “I am a Saxon, and, except that I love Richard here, I have not sworn fealty to any Norman.”

  ‘“In God’s good time, which because of my sins I shall not live to see, there will be neither Saxon nor Norman in England,” said De Aquila. “If I know men, thou art more faithful unsworn than a score of Normans I could name. Take Dallington, and join Sir Richard to fight me tomorrow, if it please thee!”

  ‘“Nay,” said Hugh. “I am no child. Where I take a gift, there I render service”; and he put his hands between De Aquila’s, and swore to be faithful, and, as I remember, I kissed him, and De Aquila kissed us both.

  ‘We sat afterwards outside the hut while the sun rose, and De Aquila marked our churls going to their work in the fields, and talked of holy things, and how we should govern our Manors in time to come, and of hunting and of horse-breeding, and of the King’s wisdom and unwisdom; for he spoke to us as though we were in all sorts now his brothers. Anon a churl stole up to me — he was one of the three I had not hanged a year ago — and he bellowed — which is the Saxon for whispering — that the Lady Ælueva would speak to me at the Great House. She walked abroad daily in the Manor, and it was her custom to send me word whither she went, that I might set an archer or two behind and in front to guard her. Very often I myself lay up in the woods and watched on her also.

  ‘I went swiftly, and as I passed the great door it opened from within, and there stood my Lady Ælueva, and she said to me: “Sir Richard, will it please you enter your Great Hall?” Then she wept, but we were alone.’

  The knight was silent for a long time, his face turned across the valley, smiling.

  ‘Oh, well done!’ said Una, and clapped her hands very softly. ‘She was sorry, and she said so.’

  ‘Aye, she was sorry, and she said so,’ said Sir Richard, coming back with a little start. ‘Very soon — but he said it was two full hours later — De Aquila rode to the door, with his shield new scoured (Hugh had cleansed it), and demanded entertainment, and called me a false knight, that would starve his overlord to death. Then Hugh

  * * *

  ‘Sir Richard, will it please you to enter your Great Hall?’

  * * *

  cried out that no man should work in the valley that day, and our Saxons blew horns, and set about feasting and drinking, and running of races, and dancing and singing; and De Aquila climbed upon a horse-block and spoke to them in what he swore was good Saxon, but no man understood it. At night we feasted in the Great Hall, and when the harpers and the singers were gone we four sat late at the high table. As I remember, it was a warm night with a full moon, and De Aquila bade Hugh take down his sword from the wall again, for the honour of the Manor of Dallington, and Hugh took it gladly enough. Dust lay on the hilt, for I saw him blow it off.

  ‘She and I sat talking a little apart, and at first we thought the harpers had come back, for the Great Hall was filled with a rushing noise of music. De Aquila leaped up; but there was only the moonlight fretty on the floor.

  ‘“Hearken!” said Hugh. “It is my sword,” and as he belted it on the music ceased.

  ‘“Over Gods, forbid that I should ever belt blade like that,” said De Aquila. “What does it foretell?”

  ‘“The Gods that made it may know. Last time it spoke was at Hastings, when I lost all my lands. Belike it sings now that I have new lands and am a man again,” said Hugh.

  ‘He loosed the blade a little and drove it back happily into the sheath, and the sword answered him low and crooningly, as — as a woman would speak to a man, her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Now that was the second time in all my life I heard this Sword sing.’...

  ‘Look!’ said Una. ‘There’s Mother coming down the Long Slip. What will she say to Sir Richard? She can’t help seeing him.’

 
; ‘And Puck can’t magic us this time,’ said Dan.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Puck; and he leaned forward and whispered to Sir Richard, who, smiling, bowed his head.

  ‘But what befell the sword and my brother Hugh I will tell on another time,’ said he, rising. ‘Ohé, Swallow!’

  The great horse cantered up from the far end of the meadow, close to Mother.

  They heard Mother say: ‘Children, Gleason’s old horse has broken into the meadow again. Where did he get through?’

  ‘Just below Stone Bay,’ said Dan. ‘He tore down simple flobs of the bank! We noticed it just now. And we’ve caught no end of fish. We’ve been at it all the afternoon.’

  And they honestly believed that they had. They never noticed the Oak, Ash and Thorn leaves that Puck had slyly thrown into their laps.

  * * *

  SIR RICHARD’S SONG

  I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,To take from England fief and fee; But now this game is the other way over — But now England hath taken me!

  I had my horse, my shield and banner,And a boy’s heart, so whole and free; But now I sing in another manner — But now England hath taken me!

  As for my Father in his tower,Asking news of my ship at sea; He will remember his own hour — Tell him England hath taken me!

  As for my Mother in her bower,That rules my Father so cunningly; She will remember a maiden’s power — Tell her England hath taken me!

  As for my Brother in Rouen city,A nimble and naughty page is he; But he will come to suffer and pity — Tell him England hath taken me!

  As for my little Sister waitingIn the pleasant orchards of Normandie; Tell her youth is the time of mating — Tell her England hath taken me!