Meanwhile in the cottages of the peasant folk were tears, hunger, and great misery.

And when the fifteenth maid had been taken in the domain of Halewyn,

The mothers prayed to God that he would make them barren, or else that they might bear men-children only.

And the fathers complained and said to one another sadly: “Is it not a pitiful thing to see these sweet and gentle flowers of youth so brought to death and dishonour!”

And some among them said: “Let us go by night to the good town of Ghent, taking with us all our virgin daughters, and tell the whole tale to the burgesses, begging their blessed protection for them, and leaving them there in the town if we are so permitted. So they will escape death at the hands of our master.”

Every one who heard this plan thought it a good one; and all the peasants with daughters who were virgins took them off to Ghent, and there told the story to the commune, and the good men gave them protection.

Then with lighter hearts the peasants returned to the domain of Halewyn.

Not long afterwards a hard winter set in, with bitter cold and furious storm.

And the heart of the fifteenth virgin no longer beat strong against Sir Halewyn’s breast.

And he sang, but none came. Wherefore he was disappointed and angry.

But calling to mind that there were, in the castle of Sir Roel de Heurne, two girls supposed by common report to be virgins,

And that this castle was no more than the fifth part of a league from the borders of his land,

And that therefore the two maids would be able to hear and come to the call of his song,

He went each night and stationed himself on the farthest border of his demesne, and there sang towards the said castle, notwithstanding the bitter cold, and the snow beginning to fall abundantly.

While the Miserable was roaming the woods, Sir Roel de Heurne and the lady Gonde, his wife, richly clad, and wrapt round with deer-skins, which give particular warmth to the body, were sitting snugly on their coffers before their good fire of oaken logs, chatting together as old folk will.

But it was the Lady Gonde who spoke most, being the woman.

And she said:

“My good man, do you hear the storm raging furiously in the forest?”

“Yes,” answered Sir Roel.

And his lady said further:

“God has been kind to give us, against this great cold, such a fine castle so strongly built, such good clothes, and such a bright fire.”

“Yes,” answered the Sire.

“But above all,” said she, “he has shown us his divine grace by giving us such good and brave children.”

“True,” answered the Sire.

“For,” said she, “nowhere could you find a young man more valiant, courteous, gentle, and fitter to uphold our name than Toon, our son.”

“Yes,” said the Sire, “he has saved my life in battle.”

“But,” said his lady, “he has this fault, that he is so scant of words that we scarce know the tone of his voice. He is well called the Silent.”

“There is better worth to a man,” said the Sire, “in a good sword than in a long tongue.”

“Here I see you, my lord,” said the lady, “pent up with your reflections, for sadness and gravity are the lot of old age, but I know well a certain maid who would smooth out your forehead and set you laughing.”

“’Tis possible,” said the Sire.

“Yes,” said she, “it is certainly possible, for when Magtelt our daughter comes into this room, I shall see my lord and husband turn happy at once.”

At these words Sir Roel nodded his head and smiled a little.

“Yes, yes,” said his lady, “for when Magtelt laughs, then laughs my old Roel; when she sings, then my old Roel grows thoughtful and nods his head happily, and if she passes by, he follows with smiling eyes each step of his little daughter.”

“True, Gonde,” said the Sire.

“Yes, yes,” said she, “for who is the well-being and joy of this house? ’Tis not I, who am old, and losing my teeth one by one; nor you either, my fellow in antiquity; nor the Silent either; nor Anne-Mie the private servant, who, though she is very sweet and healthy in her person, is something too quiet in her ways, and laughs only when she is set laughing. But she who makes our old age happy, she who is the nightingale in the house, she who is always coming and going, passing and repassing, flying hither and thither, singing and singing again, as happy as a peal of bells at Christmastide: ’tis our good daughter.”

“So it is,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said his lady further, “it is a happy thing for us to have such a child, since both of us have already cold in our feet at all seasons. For without her we should pass our time in sadness, and from our old feet the cold would creep up to our hearts, and so we should be taken to our graves more quickly.”

“Yes, wife,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said she, “another damosel would have wished for love-suitors, and to go to the court of My Lord to get a husband. But our little maid gives no thought to that, for hereabout she loves no one but ourselves, and her who goes everywhere with her, and is as a sister to her, Anne-Mie the private servant; but not without teasing her a little in order to make her laugh.”

“True,” said the Sire.

“Yes, yes,” said his lady, “and every one loves her, admires her, and respects her, pages, grooms, varlets, men-at-arms, private servants, serfs, and peasants, so joyous and merry is she, so brave and gentle is her bearing. There is no one, even down to Schimmel, the great war-horse, who does not follow her like a dog. Ah! When he sees her coming he whinnies joyously; and she alone must bring him his oats and corn; from none other will he take a grain. She treats him like a man, and often gives him a great draught of clauwaert, which he drinks up with relish. She makes herself understood to him by words, but she must never be cross with him, or he makes as if to weep, and looks at her with so sad a manner that she cannot withstand it and then calls him to her, saying: ‘Beautiful Schimmel, brave Schimmel,’ and other soft words; hearing which the good dapple-gray gets up and comes close to her to have more compliments. He suffers no one on his back but she, and when he is carrying her he is as proud as My Lord of Flanders at the head of his good barons and knights. So she has her sovereignty over every one, by joyousness, goodness, and fair speaking.”

“Yes,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said his lady, “may the very good God watch over our little one, and may our old ears hear this fledgeling nightingale singing always.”

“Amen,” said the Sire.

While Sir Roel and the lady Gonde were talking together,

The snow had fallen in great quantity,

And had quite covered Magtelt and Anne-Mie, who were coming back from having taken an eagle-stone to the wife of Josse, for her to bind to her left thigh and so get ease in her lying-in.

And the girls came into the great hall, where Sir Roel was sitting with his good wife.

Magtelt, drawing close to her father, knelt to him in salutation.

And Sir Roel, having raised her up, kissed her on the brow.

But Anne-Mie stayed quietly in a corner, as became a private servant.

And it was a good sight to see these two maids wholly covered with snow.

“Jesus-Maria,” said the lady Gonde, “see these two sillies, what have they been doing to get themselves clothed in snow in this fashion? To the fire quickly, children; draw to the fire and dry yourselves.”

“Silence, wife,” said Sir Roel, “you make youth faint-heart. In my young days I went through cold, snow, hail, thunder, and tempest without a thought. And so do I still, when there is need to, and I will have Magtelt do the same. Thanks be to God! ’tis not from a fire of logs that a daughter of ours must get warmth, but from the natural fire which burns in the bodies of the children of old Roel.”

But Magtelt, seeing him about to grow angry, went and knelt at his feet.

“Lord father,” said she, “we are not cold at all, for we have been leaping, dancing and frolicking so heartily, thumping and drubbing each other, that we turned winter into spring; furthermore we sang some fine songs, which I beg you will give me leave to sing over again to you.”

“So I will, little one,” said Sir Roel. So Magtelt sang him the lied, of Roeland de Heurne the Lion, who came back from the Holy Land, and brought thence a great sword; and also the song of the Four Witches, wherein you may hear mewling of cats, bleating of goats, and the noise which they make with their tails in rainy weather.

And Sir Roel forgot his anger.

When Magtelt had done singing he caused supper to be served and the cross lit up, which threw over them a bright light from the four lamps burning at the end of each arm.

And he made his daughter sit at his side.

Anne-Mie came likewise to sit at table, beside the lady Gonde, who said: “Young company warms old folk.”

And there were served to them that evening fine white bread, beef salted and smoked in the chimney among the sweet smoke of fir-cones, Ghent sausage, which was invented, they say, by Boudwin the Glutton, bastard of Flanders, and old clauwaert.

Supper finished, and a prayer spoken, Magtelt and Anne-Mie went off to bed, in the same room, for Magtelt loved Anne-Mie like a sister and would have her by her side at all times.

Magtelt, with laughter, singing, and frolic, soon fell asleep.

But Anne-Mie, being somewhat cold, could not close her eyes.

And the Miserable came and stationed himself on the border of his land. Thence his voice rang out clear, soft, and melodious.

And Anne-Mie heard it, and, forgetting that she was but lightly clad, rose up and went out of the castle by the postern.

When she came into the open the snow smote harshly on her face, her breast, and her shoulders.

And she tried to shield herself against this bitter cold and evil snow, but could not, for she had lain down to sleep nearly naked.

Going towards the song she passed barefoot across the moat, whereof the water was hard frozen.

And trying to mount the farther bank, which was high and slippery, she fell;

And cut a great wound in her knee.

Having picked herself up she entered the forest, wounding her bare feet on the stones, and her numbed body on the branches of trees.

But she went her way without heeding.

When she drew near to the Miserable she fell on her knees before him. And he did to her as he had done to the others.

And Anne-Mie was the sixteenth virgin hanged in the Gallows-field.

On the morrow Magtelt, being, as was customary, the first awake, said her prayers to My Lord Jesus and to Madam Saint Magtelt, her blessed patron.

Having besought them earnestly for Sir Roel, the lady Gonde, the Silent, and all the household, most particularly for Anne-Mie, she looked at the maid’s bed, and seeing its curtains half drawn she supposed that her companion was still asleep; and so, putting on her fine clothes, she kept saying as she moved up and down the room, or looked at herself in the mirror-glass:

“Ho, Anne-Mie, wake up, wake up, Anne-Mie! Who sleeps late comes last to grass. The sparrows are awake and the hens also, and already their eggs are laid. Wake up, Anne-Mie, Schimmel is neighing in the stable, and the sun is shining bright on the snow; my lord father is scolding the servants, and my lady mother is interceding for them. Canst not smell the savoury odour of beans and good beef broiled with spices? I can smell it well enough, and it makes me hungry; wake up, Anne-Mie.” But the girl could not possess herself in patience any longer, and threw the curtains wide open.

Finding no Anne-Mie: “There!” she said, “the rogue, she has gone down without me; and without me, no doubt, is at this same moment eating those good beans and beef.”

And going down the stairs at a run Magtelt entered the great hall, where, seeing Sir Roel her father, she knelt to him and asked his blessing, and then likewise to the lady Gonde.

But her mother said to her: “Where is Anne-Mie?”

“I cannot tell,” said Magtelt, “she is having some fun with us, I suppose, hidden in some corner.”

“That,” said Sir Roel, “is not her way, for if any one here makes fun of others ’tis not she, but thou, little one.”

“My lord father,” said Magtelt, “you make me anxious by talking so.”

“Well,” said Sir Roel, “go and seek Anne-Mie; as for us, mother, let us eat; our old stomachs cannot wait for food as well as these young ones.”

“Ah,” said the lady Gonde, “I have no mind to eat; go, Magtelt, and find me Anne-Mie.”

But Sir Roel helped himself to a great platterful of beans and good beef, and, falling to it, said that nothing was so easily put out, troubled, made anxious, as a woman, and this for nothing at all.

Nevertheless he was himself a little uneasy, and from time to time looked up at the door, saying that the rascal of a girl would show herself suddenly from somewhere.

But Magtelt, after searching the whole castle over, came back and said: “I can find Anne-Mie nowhere.”

And Magtelt had great sorrow in her heart, and wept, and made lament, crying: “Anne-Mie, where art thou? Would I could see thee again!” And falling on her knees before Sir Roel, she said: “My lord father, I pray you to send our men-at-arms in goodly number in search for Anne-Mie.”

“So I will,” said he.

The men-at-arms went out, but dared not pass on to the lands of Halewyn from fear of the spell.

And on their return they said: “We can hear nothing of Anne-Mie.”

And Magtelt went up and stretched herself on her bed, and prayed to the good God to send her back her sweet comrade.

On the second day she went and sat before the glazed window, and without intermission looked out all day at the countryside and the falling snow, and watched to see if Anne-Mie were coming.

But Anne-Mie could not come.

And on the third day the lids of her eyes bled for weeping. And on that day the snow ceased falling, the sky became clear, the sun shone therein, and the earth was hard frozen.

And every day in the same place went and sat the sorrowing Magtelt, watching the countryside, thinking of Anne-Mie and saying nothing.

Sir Roel, seeing her so low-hearted, sent to Bruges for some blue cloth-of-scarlet, for her to make herself a dress, and fine Cyprian gold for the border, and fine gold buttons of rich workmanship.

Magtelt worked away at making this dress, but took no pleasure at all at the thought of all this fine apparel.

And so passed away the week, and each day Magtelt worked at her dress, saying nothing and singing never, but weeping oftentimes.

On the fifth day, when the dress was finished, well trimmed with the Cyprian gold and embellished with the rich buttons, the lady Gonde bade Magtelt don it, and then showed her her magnificence in a great mirror-glass; but Magtelt had no heart to be glad at seeing herself so beautiful, for she was thinking of Anne-Mie.

And the lady Gonde, seeing how sad she was and silent, wept also, saying: “Since our Magtelt stopped singing I have felt more bitterly the chill of winter and old age.”

And Sir Roel made no murmur, but became sullen and pensive, and drank clauwaert all day.

And at times, turning angry, he bade Magtelt sing and be cheerful.

And the maid sang merry lieds to the old man, who then turned joyous again, and Gonde as well.

And they spent all their time before the fire, nodding their heads. And they said: “The nightingale is come back again to the house, and her music makes the fires of spring sunshine stir in our bones.”

And Magtelt, having done singing, would go off to hide herself in a corner and weep for Anne-Mie.

On the eighth day, the Silent went wolf-hunting.

Following a certain beast he rode into the domain of Halewyn.

And at vespers the lady Gonde, leaving the great hall to go to the kitchen for the ordering of supper, on opening the door saw Toon before her. He seemed loth to come in, and hung his head as if with shame.

The lady Gonde, going to him, said: “My son, why do you not come into the hall to bid good evening to the lord your father?”

The Silent, without answering, went into the hall, and muttering short and sullen words by way of salutation, went to sit in the darkest corner.

And the lady Gonde said to Sir Roel: “Our son is angry at something, I think, since he goes off into a dark corner far away from us, against his habit.”

Sir Roel said to the Silent: “Son, come hither to the light that we may see thy face.”

He obeyed, and Sir Roel, the lady Gonde, and the sorrowing Magtelt saw that he was bleeding from the head and from the neck, and cast down his eyes, not daring to look them in the face.

The lady Gonde cried out with fright on seeing the blood, and Magtelt came to him, and Sir Roel said: “Who has given my son this shamed countenance, this downcast heart, and these wounds in his body?”

The Silent answered: “Siewert Halewyn.”

“Why,” said Sir Roel, “was my son so presumptuous as to attack the Invincible?”

The Silent answered: “Anne-Mie hanged in the Gallows-field of Siewert Halewyn.”

“Woe!” cried Sir Roel, “our poor maid hanged! shame and sorrow upon us!”

“Lord God,” said Gonde, “you smite us hard indeed.” And she wept.

But Magtelt could neither weep nor speak from the bitterness of the grief which laid hold upon her.

And she looked at her brother fixedly, and his sunken face blenched, and from the wounds against his eyes dropped tears of blood, and his body was shaken with spasms.

And the Silent sank into a seat, weeping dully like a wounded lion.

“Ha,” quoth Sir Roel, hiding his face, “this is the first man of the house of Heurne that has found need to sit weeping. Shame upon us, and without redress, for there is a spell woven.”

And the Silent stuffed his fingers into the wound in his neck, pressing out the blood; but he felt nothing of the pain.

“Toon,” said the lady Gonde, “do not dirty your wound with your fingers in this wise; you will poison it, my son.”

But the Silent did not seem to hear.

“Toon,” said the lady Gonde, “do not do it; I, your mother, order you. Let me wash away this blood and dress with ointment these ugly sores.”

While she hurried to prepare the ointment and to warm the water in a washing-basin, Toon did not cease his groaning and weeping. And he tore out the hair from his beard in a rage.

And Sir Roel, watching him, said: “When a man weeps ’tis blood and shame, shame without redress. Halewyn has a spell. Ah, presumptuous one, must thou then go to his castle to brave the Invincible?”

“Woe, my lord,” said the lady Gonde, “be not so bitter angry with the Silent, for he showed fine courage in wishing to avenge Anne-Mie on the Miserable.”

“Yes,” said Sir Roel, “fine courage that brings shame to our house.”

“Tell,” said she, “tell, Toon, the tale to thy father, to show him that thou art a worthy son to him none the less.”

“I wish it,” said Sir Roel.

“My lord father,” said the Silent, groaning, and speaking in short breaths, “Anne-Mie hanging, Siewert Halewyn near to the gallows. He was laughing. I ran at him, cutting at his belly with my sword in the fashion of a cross to break the spell. Invincible! He laughed, saying: ‘I will take Magtelt.’ I struck him with a knife; the blade turned. He laughed. He said: ‘I do not care for punishment, be off.’ I did not go. I struck him with sword and knife together; in vain. He laughed. He said again: ‘Be off.’ I could not. Then he struck me with the flat of his sword in the neck and breast, and with the hilt in the back, like a serf. He laughed. I lost sense from the blows. Beaten like a serf, my lord father, I could do naught against him.”

Sir Roel, having heard Toon speak, was less angered, understanding that he had not been presumptuous, thinking also of his great pain and of his bitter groaning and his grievous shame.

With the ointment ready and the water warm, the lady Gonde set to work to dress the wounds of her son, particularly that on his neck, which was a deep one.

But Magtelt wept never a tear, and soon went off to her bed, not without a blessing from Sir Roel her father, and her lady mother.

The three stayed a long while together before the fire, father, mother, and son, without a word spoken, for the Silent, moaning all the while, could not bear his defeat, and the lady Gonde wept and prayed; and Sir Roel, sad and ashamed, hid his face.

Magtelt, before she lay down on her bed, prayed, but not aloud. And her face was hard set with anger.

And having undressed she lay down in her bed, tugging at her breast with her finger-nails from time to time, as if she were fighting for breath.

And her breathing was as if she were in agony.

For she was bitter sad and out of heart.

But she did not weep.

And she heard the high wind, forerunner of snow, lifting over the forest, and roaring like a stream in spate after heavy rain.

And it tossed against the window glass dried leaves and branches, which beat on the pane like dead men’s finger-nails.

And it howled and whistled sadly in the chimney.

And the sorrowing maid saw in her mind’s eye Anne-Mie hanging in the Gallows-field and her poor body pecked by the crows, and she thought of the stain on her brave brother’s honour, and of the fifteen poor virgins outraged by the Miserable.

But she did not weep.

For in her breast was a dumb pain, harsh anguish, and a bitter thirst for vengeance.

And she asked very humbly of Our Lady if it were a good thing to let the Miserable any longer go killing the maidens of the land of Flanders.

And at cock-crow she rose from her bed, and her eyes were bright, and proud was her countenance, and her head held high, and she said: “I will go to Halewyn.”

And throwing herself on her knees she prayed to the very strong God to give her courage and strength for the revenge of Anne-Mie, Toon the Silent, and the fifteen virgins.

At sun-up she went to Sir Roel, who was still in bed, on account of the cold.

Seeing her come in and fall on her knees before him, he said: “What wilt thou, little one?”

“My lord father,” she said, “may I go to Halewyn?”

At this he became afraid, and saw well enough that Magtelt, unable to rid her heart of the thought of Anne-Mie, was minded to avenge her. And he said with love and anger:

“No, my daughter, no, not thou; who goes there will not come again!”

But seeing her go out of the room he never supposed that she would fail in her obedience.

And Magtelt went thence to the lady Gonde, who was praying in the chapel for the repose of Anne-Mie’s soul; and she pulled at her mother’s dress, to show that she was there.

When the lady Gonde turned her head, Magtelt fell on her knees before her:

“Mother,” said she, “may I go to Halewyn?”

But her lady mother: “Oh no, child, no, not thou; who goes there will not come again!”

And so saying, she opened her arms and let fall the golden ball wherewith she warmed her hands, so that the embers spread this way and that on the floor. Then she fell to moaning, weeping, trembling, and chattering with her teeth, and embraced the girl tightly as if she would never let her go.

But she never supposed that she could fail in her obedience.

And Magtelt went thence to Toon, who, despite his wounds, was already out of bed, and seated on his coffer, warming himself before a new-lit fire.

“Brother,” she said, “may I go to Halewyn?”

Saying this she held herself straight before him.

The Silent lifted his head and looked at her severely, waiting for her to speak further.

“Brother,” she said, “Siewert Halewyn has killed this sweet maid whom I loved; and has done the same to fifteen other pitiful virgins, who are hanging in the Gallows-field shamefully; he is for this country a greater evil than war, death, and pestilence; brother, I would kill him.”

But Toon looked at Magtelt and answered nothing.

“Brother,” said she, “thou must not refuse me, for my heart bids me go. Canst thou not see how sad and downcast I am in this house, and how I shall die of sorrow if I do not that which I should. But having been to him I shall come back joyous and singing as before.”

But the Silent said not a word.

“Ah,” she said, “dost fear for me, seeing how many good knights have assailed him and been by him shamefully overthrown, even thyself, my brave brother, who carriest even now his marks? I am not ignorant that on his shield is written: ‘None can stand against me.’ But what others could not, one may do. He goes glorying in his strength, more terrible than an oliphant, prouder than a lion, thinking himself invincible, but when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows the more easily. Brother, may I go to Halewyn?”

When Magtelt had reached so far in her speech, suddenly there fell from the wall whereon it was fastened a fair sword well set and sharpened, and with the blade stout to the hilt. The handpiece was of cedar of Lebanon, set out with golden cresslets, and in the castle this sword was held to be of marvellous virtue and holiness, because it had been brought from the crusade by Roeland de Heurne, the Lion. And none dared use it.

The sword, falling, lay at the feet of Magtelt.

“Brother,” said Magtelt, crossing herself, “the good sword of the Lion has fallen at my feet; ’tis the very strong God showing thus his will. He must be obeyed, brother; let me go to Halewyn.”

And Toon the Silent, crossing himself as Magtelt had done, answered:

“’Tis all one to me where thou go, if thou cherish thine honour and carry thy crown straight.”

“Brother,” she said, “I thank you.” And the noble maid began to tremble mightily from head to foot; and she who had not shed a tear on hearing of Anne-Mie’s death and her brother’s dishonour, fell to weeping abundantly, whereby her bitter anger was melted, and bursting into tears by reason of her great joy she said again: “Brother, brother, ’tis the hour of God! I go to the reckoning!”

And she took the good sword.

The Silent, seeing her so brave, lifted himself straight before her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Go,” said he.

And she went out.

In her own room she dressed herself in her most beautiful clothes as quickly as she could.

What did the fair maid put on her white body? A bodice finer than silk.

And over the fine bodice?

A robe of cloth-of-scarlet of Flemish blue, whereon were the arms of de Heurne marvellously worked, and the edges next to the feet and the neck embroidered with fine Cyprian gold.

Wherewith did the fair maid bind in her slender waist?

With a girdle of the hide of a lion, studded with gold.

What had the fair maid on her beautiful shoulders?

Her great keirle, which was of cramoisy stitched with Cyprian gold, and covered her from head to foot, for it was an ample cloak.

What had the fair maid on her proud head?

A fine crown of beaten gold, whence fell tresses of pale hair as long as herself.

What held she in her little hand?

The blessed sword brought from the crusade.

So apparelled she went out to the stable, and harnessed Schimmel, the great war-horse, with his saddle of State, a fine leathern seat, painted in divers colours, and richly worked with gold.

And they set out together, through the snow falling thickly.

While Magtelt was on her way to Halewyn, and when the first hour of her journey had already gone by, the lady Gonde questioned Sir Roel: “Sir,” she said, “do you know where our daughter may be?”

Sir Roel said that he knew nothing of it; and speaking to the Silent: “Son,” said he, “dost thou know where thy sister has gone?”

The Silent answered quietly: “Magtelt is a brave maid; whom God leads he leads well.”

“Sir,” said the lady Gonde, “do not put yourself to the trouble of questioning him further, for saying so much he has used up his words.”

But Sir Roel to Toon: “Son, dost thou not know where she is?”

“Magtelt,” answered he, “is a fair maid, and carries her crown straight.”

“Ah,” exclaimed the lady Gonde, “I am growing anxious; where is she then?”

And she went off to search the castle thoroughly.

But coming back she said to Sir Roel: “She is nowhere in the house; she has defied our orders and gone to Halewyn.”

“Wife,” said Roel, “that cannot be. Children, in this country, were always obedient to their parents.”

“Toon,” said she, “where is she? Toon, do you not know?”

“The Miserable,” he answered, “fears the beautiful maid; whom God leads he leads well.”

“Roel,” cried out the lady Gonde, “he knows where our Magtelt has gone!”

“Son, answer,” said Sir Roel.

The Silent answered:

“The sword of the crusade fell from the wall at the maid’s feet. Whom God guides succeeds in everything.”

“Toon,” cried the lady Gonde, “where is Magtelt?”

“The virgin,” he said, “rides without fear, she goes faster than the armed man: whom God leads he leads well.”

The lady Gonde groaned:

“Ah,” she said, “our Magtelt will be killed, even now she is stiff frozen, sweet Jesus! The sword of the crusade is of no avail against Siewert Halewyn.”

The Silent answered:

“He glories in his strength, thinking himself invincible, but when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows more easily.”

“Wicked son, how couldst thou think to send the little bird to the hawk, the virgin to the enemy of virgins?”

The Silent answered:

“She will come whither none looks to see her: whom God leads he leads well.”

“Sir,” said the lady Gonde to Roel, “you hear what he says; she has gone to Halewyn, and ’tis this wicked son that gave her leave.”

Sir Roel going to Toon:

“Son,” said he, “we had here but one joy, that was our Magtelt. Thou hast abused thy privilege in giving her leave to go thither. If she comes not back to us by nightfall I will curse thee and banish thee from my house. May God hear me, and take from thee, in this world bread and salt, and in the other thy portion in Paradise.”

“God,” said the Silent, “will guide the sword. Whosoever has done wrong, on him let fall the punishment.”

Gonde began crying out, weeping and making dole. Roel bade her be silent, and sent a goodly troop of men-at-arms in the direction she had taken.

But they came back without having seen anything of Magtelt, for they had not dared to go into the territory of Halewyn by reason of the spell.

Singing and winding her horn, rides the noble damosel.

And she is beautiful with a beauty from heaven; fresh and rosy are her cheeks.

And straight she carries her crown.

And her little hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword of Roel the Lion.

And wide open are her fearless eyes, searching the forest for Sir Halewyn.

And she listens for the sound of his horse.

But she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

What is it makes the flame glow in her clear brown eyes? It is her high courage.

Why does she carry so straight her head and her crown? Because of the great strength in her heart.

What is it so swells her breast? The cruel thought of Anne-Mie, and her brother’s shame and the great crimes of Sir Halewyn.

And ceaselessly she looks to see if he be not coming, and if she can hear nothing of the sound of his horse.

But she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

And she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she sings.

Then, speaking to Schimmel, she said: “Together, good Schimmel, we are going to a lion. Canst not see him in his cavern, awaiting passers-by, and devouring poor maids?”

And Schimmel, hearing her, whinnied joyously.

“Schimmel,” said Magtelt, “thou art glad, I see, to be going to the revenge of Anne-Mie with the good sword.”

And Schimmel whinnied a second time.

And Magtelt sought Sir Halewyn everywhere as she went through the forest. And she listened well for the sound of his horse, and looked to see if he were nowhere coming.

And she saw nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

And she heard nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she wound her horn.

When she reached the middle part of the forest, she saw through the thick snowflakes Sir Halewyn coming towards her.

The Miserable had that day on his body a fine dress of blue cloth, on which was broidered in two colours his ugly arms. Round his waist he had a fair belt studded with lumps of gold, and at his belt the golden sickle, and over his dress a fair opperst-kleed of corn-coloured cloth-of-scarlet.

Riding on his roan horse he came up to Magtelt, and she saw that he was handsome.

Before his horse, barking and making a great noise, ran a hound like a wolf, which, on seeing Schimmel, leapt at him and bit him. But Schimmel, with a great kick which he let fly, set him dancing a sorry dance, and singing a pitiful song over his broken paw.

“Ah,” thought the maid, “God grant, brave Schimmel, that I may do better for the master than thou hast done for the dog.”

And the Miserable came to her:

“Salutation,” he said, “fair maid with clear brown eyes.”

“Salutation,” she said, “Siewert Halewyn the Invincible.”

But the Miserable: “What brings thee,” he said, “into my lands?”

“My heart,” said Magtelt, “bade me come, I wished greatly to see thee, and am content now that I can look at thee face to face.”

“So,” said he, “have done and shall do all virgins, even more beautiful than thou art.”

While they were talking together the wounded hound made a rush at the horse and hung on to Halewyn’s opperst-kleed as if he would drag him down to the ground.

Having done this, he went off and sat down in the snow beside the road, and there lifting up his muzzle howled most lamentably.

“See,” said he, “my hound crying out to death. Hast no fear, maid?”

“I go,” she said, “in God’s keeping.”

Having moved forward a little way, talking and riding together, they saw in the air above their heads, a crow of great size, on whose neck was perched an angry little sparrow, pecking him, clutching him, pulling out his feathers and piping furiously. Wounded, torn open, flying this way and that, right, left, upward, downward, banging against the trees blindly, and croaking with pain, this crow at length fell dead, with his eyes pecked out, across Halewyn’s saddle. Having looked at it a moment, he tossed it aside into the road; while the sparrow flew off to a bough, and there, shaking out his feathers merrily, fell a-piping at the top of his voice in celebration of his victory.

“Ah,” said Magtelt, laughing to the sparrow, “thou art of noble blood, little bird; come hither, I will find thee a fair cage and give thee thy fill of wheat, millet, hemp, and linseed.”

But Halewyn became mightily angry: “Common little insolent!” he cried, “would that I had thee in a snare! Shouldst not then sing for long thy victory over this noble crow.”

None the less the sparrow went on singing without a break, and in this wise seemed to mock at Halewyn, who said to Magtelt:

“Dost dare to applaud and give heart to this little animal, knowing that my shield bears on it the crow of my glorious ancestor Dirk! Knowest thou not that like him thou hast but little longer to sing?”

“I,” she said, “shall sing as long as it pleases God, my master.”

“There is for thee,” said he, “no other master than I, for here I rule alone.” Suddenly he turned very cold, for the heart of Anne-Mie, though it still beat, was become like ice in his breast. So, thinking that this heart was about to dry up, he said to Magtelt: “Thou comest in good season, fair virgin.”

“Whom God leads,” said she, “comes always in good season.”

“But,” he said, “who art thou, riding in my land, singing and winding the horn, who bringest hither such insolent talk?”

“I,” said she, “am the Lady Magtelt, daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”

“And,” said he, “art thou not chilled, riding thus in the snow?”

“None,” she said, “feels the cold in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”

“And,” said he, “hast thou no fear, here at my side and on my own land, where no one dares to set foot?”

“None,” she said, “knows of fear in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”

“Thou art,” said he, “a brave maid.”

“I,” she said, “am daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”

He answered nothing to that, and they went on a while without speaking.

Suddenly he said, lifting his head arrogantly: “Am I not truly the Invincible, the Beautiful, the Strong? Shall I not be so always? Yes, for all things come to my aid in the hour of victory. In former times I must needs sing, in cold, snow, wind, and darkness, to call virgins to me, but now the most proud, noble, and beautiful of maids comes hither in broad day without song to call her: sure sign of growing power. Who is my equal? None, save God. He has the heavens and I the earth, and over all living things triumph and mastery. Let come what may, armies, lightning, thunder, tempest; who can stand but I?”

“I!” answered to his hideous blasphemy seven voices speaking together.

Those voices were the echo of the Seven Giants, which sent back every sound seven times over with great force and volume.

But the Miserable: “Hark!” said he, “my Lord Echo dares to mock the Invincible.”

And he burst out laughing.

But the echo burst out laughing likewise, and laughed loud, long, and terribly.

And Halewyn appeared well pleased at the noise, and went on laughing, with the seven echoes after him.

And it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand men hidden in the forest.

And meanwhile the hound had taken fright and howled so desperately that it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand hounds in the forest crying out to death.

The Miserable’s horse had taken fright also, and was so terrified at his master’s laughter, the dog’s howls, and his own neighing, all ringing out together, that he plunged, reared, stood up on his hind legs like a man, laid back his ears with fear, and would, without doubt, have thrown Halewyn from his back, if, driving him onward with his spurs, he had not made him pass by force the place of the seven echoes.

But Schimmel had not moved at all, and this strangely enough, for he was a young horse, apt to be alarmed.

When the noise was over they rode on their way, speaking few words together as they rode.

And together they came to the Gallows-field.