The House of the Wolfings [87]
to deal with and the game withal to win. Woe's me for the waning of all things, and my hope that needs must fade As the fruitless sun of summer on the waste where nought is made! And now farewell, O daughter, thou mayst not see the kiss Of the hapless and the death-doomed when I have told of this; Yet once again shalt thou see him, though I no more again, Fair with the joy that hopeth and dieth not in vain."
Then came the Hall-Sun close to her, and knelt down by her, and laid her head upon her knees and wept for love of her mother, who kissed her oft and caressed her; and Thiodolf's hand strayed, as it were, on to his daughter's head, and he looked kindly on her, though scarce now as if he knew her. Then she arose when she had kissed her mother once more, and went her ways from that wood-lawn into the woods again, and so to the Folk-mote of her people.
But when those twain were all alone again, the Wood-Sun spoke: "O Thiodolf canst thou hear me and understand?"
"Yea," he said, "when thou speakest of certain matters, as of our love together, and of our daughter that came of our love."
"Thiodolf," she said, "How long shall our love last?"
"As long as our life," he said.
"And if thou diest to-day, where then shall our love be?" said the Wood-Sun.
He said, "I must now say, I wot not; though time was I had said, It shall abide with the soul of the Wolfing Kindred."
She said: "And when that soul dieth, and the kindred is no more?"
"Time agone," quoth he, "I had said, it shall abide with the Kindreds of the Earth; but now again I say, I wot not."
"Will the Earth hide it," said she, "when thou diest and art borne to mound?"
"Even so didst thou say when we spake together that other night," said he; "and now I may say nought against thy word."
"Art thou happy, O Folk-Wolf?" she said.
"Why dost thou ask me?" said he; "I know not; we were sundered and I longed for thee; thou art here; it is enough."
"And the people of thy Kindred?" she said, "dost thou not long for them?"
He said; "Didst thou not say that I was not of them? Yet were they my friends, and needed me, and I loved them: but by this evening they will need me no more, or but little; for they will be victorious over their foes: so hath the Hall-Sun foretold. What then! shall I take all from thee to give little to them?"
"Thou art wise," she said; "Wilt thou go to battle to-day?"
"So it seemeth," said he.
She said: "And wilt thou bear the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk? for if thou dost, thou wilt live, and if thou dost not, thou wilt die."
"I will bear it," said he, "that I may live to love thee."
"Thinkest thou that any evil goes with it?" said she.
There came into his face a flash of his ancient boldness as he answered: "So it seemed to me yesterday, when I fought clad in it the first time; and I fell unsmitten on the meadow, and was shamed, and would have slain myself but for thee. And yet it is not so that any evil goes with it; for thou thyself didst say that past night that there was no evil weird in it."
She said: "How then if I lied that night?"
Said he; "It is the wont of the Gods to lie, and be unashamed, and men-folk must bear with it."
"Ah! how wise thou art!" she said; and was silent for a while, and drew away from him a little, and clasped her hands together and wrung them for grief and anger. Then she grew calm again, and said:
"Wouldest thou die at my bidding?"
"Yea," said he, "not because thou art of the Gods, but because thou hast become a woman to me, and I love thee."
Then was she silent some while, and at last she said, "Thiodolf, wilt thou do off the Hauberk if I bid thee?"
"Yea, yea," said he, "and let us depart from the Wolfings, and their strife, for they need us not."
She was silent once more for a longer while still, and at last she said in a cold voice; "Thiodolf, I bid thee arise, and put off the Hauberk from thee."
He looked at her wondering, not at her words, but at the voice wherewith she spake them; but he arose from the stone nevertheless, and stood
Then came the Hall-Sun close to her, and knelt down by her, and laid her head upon her knees and wept for love of her mother, who kissed her oft and caressed her; and Thiodolf's hand strayed, as it were, on to his daughter's head, and he looked kindly on her, though scarce now as if he knew her. Then she arose when she had kissed her mother once more, and went her ways from that wood-lawn into the woods again, and so to the Folk-mote of her people.
But when those twain were all alone again, the Wood-Sun spoke: "O Thiodolf canst thou hear me and understand?"
"Yea," he said, "when thou speakest of certain matters, as of our love together, and of our daughter that came of our love."
"Thiodolf," she said, "How long shall our love last?"
"As long as our life," he said.
"And if thou diest to-day, where then shall our love be?" said the Wood-Sun.
He said, "I must now say, I wot not; though time was I had said, It shall abide with the soul of the Wolfing Kindred."
She said: "And when that soul dieth, and the kindred is no more?"
"Time agone," quoth he, "I had said, it shall abide with the Kindreds of the Earth; but now again I say, I wot not."
"Will the Earth hide it," said she, "when thou diest and art borne to mound?"
"Even so didst thou say when we spake together that other night," said he; "and now I may say nought against thy word."
"Art thou happy, O Folk-Wolf?" she said.
"Why dost thou ask me?" said he; "I know not; we were sundered and I longed for thee; thou art here; it is enough."
"And the people of thy Kindred?" she said, "dost thou not long for them?"
He said; "Didst thou not say that I was not of them? Yet were they my friends, and needed me, and I loved them: but by this evening they will need me no more, or but little; for they will be victorious over their foes: so hath the Hall-Sun foretold. What then! shall I take all from thee to give little to them?"
"Thou art wise," she said; "Wilt thou go to battle to-day?"
"So it seemeth," said he.
She said: "And wilt thou bear the Dwarf-wrought Hauberk? for if thou dost, thou wilt live, and if thou dost not, thou wilt die."
"I will bear it," said he, "that I may live to love thee."
"Thinkest thou that any evil goes with it?" said she.
There came into his face a flash of his ancient boldness as he answered: "So it seemed to me yesterday, when I fought clad in it the first time; and I fell unsmitten on the meadow, and was shamed, and would have slain myself but for thee. And yet it is not so that any evil goes with it; for thou thyself didst say that past night that there was no evil weird in it."
She said: "How then if I lied that night?"
Said he; "It is the wont of the Gods to lie, and be unashamed, and men-folk must bear with it."
"Ah! how wise thou art!" she said; and was silent for a while, and drew away from him a little, and clasped her hands together and wrung them for grief and anger. Then she grew calm again, and said:
"Wouldest thou die at my bidding?"
"Yea," said he, "not because thou art of the Gods, but because thou hast become a woman to me, and I love thee."
Then was she silent some while, and at last she said, "Thiodolf, wilt thou do off the Hauberk if I bid thee?"
"Yea, yea," said he, "and let us depart from the Wolfings, and their strife, for they need us not."
She was silent once more for a longer while still, and at last she said in a cold voice; "Thiodolf, I bid thee arise, and put off the Hauberk from thee."
He looked at her wondering, not at her words, but at the voice wherewith she spake them; but he arose from the stone nevertheless, and stood