After speaking with Feargus, Torfrida returned to her maidens, telling them to keep secret the knowledge that Feargus had appeared among them. On the morrow Osbert arose and, saddling his horse, took his way towards the king’s hall, on the side where Torfrida sat in her bower among her maidens. As he drew near he saw an object lying across the threshold shining brightly. Now for many months he had seen the mad Pict lying across the gate in this wise, and had tried to persuade Torfrida to turn him away from her door; but she mistrusted Osbert, and her father dreaded him, and for his sake she had to hearken to him, but with an ever-increasing ill-will the more he pressed his suit. And Torfrida had felt that a kind of safety lay in the mad giant who came of her mother’s race. So Osbert had got used to his presence, but as he drew near the door he saw that this was surely no mad and ragged Pict that lay in the gate, but a shining warrior in a gold byrny richly wrought, fit for king’s wear. As he stepped up the man stirred not. Then said Osbert: “Now, sir warrior of the scarlet locks, make way, for I would enter.”
“For what wouldst thou enter—the lady doth not lack thee nor aught of thine?”
“Fool—where I am not, there am I lacked.”
“Lacked truly, but not desired.”
“Rude dog—let me pass.”
“Nay, no man passes here without leave of the lady.”
“Thou art beside thyself, but now I am minded that thou art him of the woods, that erst ran ragged like as never man was afore. But thou hast found thy tongue. What ho! ye maidens of the lady Torfrida, hither and move thy mad watch-dog, else will I do him a hurt.”
Torfrida sitting within heard the cry, and minded her of Feargus, and ran out, and lo! there were the two men facing each other. Then said she sharply to Feargus in the Pictish tongue: “How foolish thou art and how rash! Seek ye no quarrel lest ye bring ruin on the twain of us. If they find thee out who thou art, then thou art lost, and then will my death come also, for rather would I die with thee, foolish as thou art, than live a day with him.”
So Feargus paused and stood aside at her bidding but sulkily, and Osbert stepped in.
“What hath brought about this change in thy watch-dog, or I might say watch-tower, so tall of stature is he?” said Osbert. “Of a surety ’tis a dangerous and unmannerly brute, and sorely did my hand itch to thrash him.”
“Methought thou hadst given him enough of thrashing to last thee: as thou shouldst know the dog hath long teeth. And I warn thee that if but a hair of his beard be harmed I shall know that thy hand, or more like the hands of thy men, have been at the doing of it, and never again shalt thou sit aside the ingle in hall of mine. This much will I do for my mother’s kin.”
And so they parted, and Feargus lay still outside the door, and Torfrida feared for him, dreading the villainy of Osbert, for sore had he pressed his suit that day, and she had repelled him roughly, till he left her in anger. So when her maidens slept she arose, and went and looked forth the window that stood near by the door, watching the watcher. And the night following she did the same. And she sent a messenger to her brother Edwy, who, back from foreign lands, was through the evil counsel of Osbert kept in a far-off town on the border of Sigmund’s land, where little life stirred, and there were none to befriend him. And when the messenger gave him the summons he set forth to meet Torfrida in the Sherwood near to the hamlet of Mansfield.
And Torfrida arose early before the day broke and took horse, and with Feargus rode to meet her brother. But Osbert had set a spy to watch her, and he followed them clad in green from head to foot that he might hardly be told from the green leaves. And he lurked ever in their footsteps, but kept well covered, behind bush and bracken, for he well knew the sureness of the arrows which flew from the great bow of the Pict. He watched the two riding side by side, and Feargus he heard talking, now in English, now in Gaelic, as madman never talked before. Now their horses drew together, and the Pict put his arm around her, and so they rode. At length, about noon, they reached a narrow glen where they drew up, and he lifted her aground and took her in his arms, kissing her and she him. Then they sat side by side on a fallen tree, holding sweet converse, until the spy heard the leaves rustle and up dashed young Edwy, his horse covered with foam. He drew up so suddenly that the beast went back upon its haunches. Quickly he sprang aground and threw his arms about the madman, and the two wept together for very gladness. And then they held counsel.
“And,” said Edwy, “noble brother and sister, I fear that much ill is before ye both, and before me and my father’s house, for in the nest is the gowk that will turn out the young sparrows should it be thwarted of its prey, which is thyself, sweet sister, a little, and the kingdom of the Lindiswaras more.”
“Sorely thou comfortest me, Edwy,” said Torfrida.
“It were better,” said Feargus, “that we three should fly together, to my own Alban, and come forth again with an army and slay this serpent who bendeth the old man to his will.”
“Nay,” said Torfrida, “greater need hath he than ever of his daughter to comfort and his son to deliver him.”
So they bade Edwy farewell, and departed. And the spy, though he had seen all, had no power to understand their words, for they spoke in the Gaelic tongue.
So the spy returned to his master, and Osbert was mortally angered and perplexed at the news he brought him. Anon he went to the king, and said he: “Lo, king Sigmund, thy daughter hath taken up with a mad beggarman.”
“What may thy meaning be, friend Osbert? ’Tis a strange way to speak of my daughter, for like to her there is not another in all the land.”
“Neither more nor less than I have said is the truth, king. The same beggarman that hath been so long about thy court to-day rode with her into the forest, and when they were out of sight and hearing they held sweet converse together, and the man cast his arm about her and kissed her and she him. So they rode until they met a second man in the wood, and they three talked together in the Pictish tongue and then parted, and the two entered thy hall not an hour since. And now the mad Pict or devil, or whatever he be, lieth outside her door and is like to kill any person that enters.”
Then king Sigmund was an angry man and swore a great oath. “Had any other but thee told me this thing,” said he, “I should have said he lied. Now will I summon Torfrida, and her mad squire shall die.”
So the king’s messenger sought Torfrida; lightly she stepped out and followed him. Feargus started also to his feet with his bow in his hand, and when they reached the gate of the king’s chamber the warriors forbade him to enter, for Sigmund had asked for Torfrida alone. Without word spoken, Feargus drew forth his sword, and they deemed him still a madman and feared his wrath, so let him enter. When king Sigmund looked up he beheld his daughter, but beside her stood a stranger whom he knew not, great of stature and mighty of limb and exceeding mild, but withal fearless of countenance; and his cheeks were like red apples and as smooth from good health and sober living—unlike the puffed and bloated thanes of Sigmund’s court, and his pale blue eyes glittered and shone as clear as precious stones. On his breast was the byrny of a king worked with the rich ornaments and bright colours of the Picts, and a king’s helm sat on his brow, while at his back hung a sword of giant length. And so noble and comely he looked withal that the king stared upon him, until recalled by the impatient Osbert.
“And who art thou, sir warrior, king or king’s son, or whatsoever thou be?”
“Hold, king Sigmund,” said Osbert, “didst thou ask the presence of this man, or didst thou not say that none but the lady Torfrida was to enter the hall, for none but she and I are concerned in this matter. I ask thee in the light of the promise thou wottest of, that thou gavest to me long since, for war service rendered, that thou sendest away this mad beggarman.”
“Beggarman he may be, yet saw I never beggarman like to this, and few men even of king’s blood. Yet Sigmund regardeth promise given, so the stranger must hold himself outside.”
“King Sigmund, men say that thou regardest an oath sworn, and I have sworn never to leave the lady Torfrida, and I beg that thou wilt give me leave to stay before thee.”
“Sir, thou art young and comely and a stranger, and I would befriend thee and all such. Nay, I would that I had many as honest as thou seemest here at my court; but if thou hast sworn so foolish an oath thou wilt have to break it, for I have long promised the lady to my captain Osbert who standeth here, so get thee gone as thou art bidden.”
“That thou mayst have promised for thine own part, sir king, but for the lady, she hath not yet promised to wed this thane. If I leave this hall without her it will be feet before, and there will be others that will pass out along with me in like manner.”
“Now, good Osbert,” said the king, “if this man is indeed the madman who came in with thee and Torfrida, it is ill parleying with him, and he must remain, for I little like to bring in the guards and make this matter public.” Then turning to Torfrida, his brow darkening as he spoke, he said: “What is this that I hear of thee, Torfrida?”
“That can I not say till thou hast told me.”
“Dost thou not know that they say of thee that thou wast seen riding in the forest with this stranger, and that this beggar or madman or king’s son put his arm about thee and kissed thee and thou him? Such disgrace was never on our house before. And they say that the two of ye rode on and met with another.”
Then Torfrida turned pale and trembled, and then spoke: “Thou hast tried long to force the thane Osbert upon me; know, my father, that I have sworn to wed with this stranger and may surely ride with him.”
Then the king started to his feet an angry man, and Osbert drew his sword and started up likewise.
“Ho! guards, seize this madman, and the madwoman also, and slay him. Guards! guards!” cried the king.
Then sprang Feargus to the door, against it placing his back, and drew forth his bow and fitted an arrow thereto.
“Hold, sir king,” said he, “for an thy guards lay but a hand upon her thou shalt die; for know that a shot never missed I yet with this bow at such range, and the traitor thane shall die along of thee ere thy guards have crossed the hall. Hearken how they clamour at the door. For thine own sake bid them be still, for on that door’s strength, which they so sturdily assail, thy life hangs.”
Then Torfrida cried out in terror and called on him to spare her father.
So the king was constrained to call out to them to hold off, and they desisted. Then Feargus stepped from the door towards the king, never doubting his word given, and returned his arrows to the sheath, but the word of Osbert he had not got, and ere he reached Torfrida’s side Osbert had won the door, and, bursting it open, called aloud to his men. In a moment twenty stalwart fellows were at the back of him. Then Feargus, seeing himself outdone, started before Torfrida and drew his sword.
“Hark, thou traitor,” said he, “an thou or thy warriors lay but a hand on the damsel, neither thou nor they shall leave this hall if but king Sigmund will grant me fair field and ye will meet me man after man. And even if Sigmund hath lost his soldiership, then may I call myself one that can raise a death pile in this hall, such as men will tell of in the days to come, even though the lady Torfrida and I lie sword-stricken atop of it. And not the last to bite the dust shalt thou be, O Osbert! Thrice have I spared thee, but a fourth time thou shalt taste the sword’s edge.”
“And who art thou, braggart?”
“One whom thy villainy hath well nigh ruined. I am Feargus of Alban, escaped from drowning, and saved from mind-death by Torfrida.”
As though a thunderbolt had fallen at their feet, or the sky opened ahead of them, looked Osbert and the king, and the warriors nigh let their weapons fall.
Then said Sigmund, “Now I see that thou art indeed him whom thou namest, despite thy beard; yet many of the thanes of the prince Edwy swore to having seen thy death in the flood.”
“Yet was I plucked forth the water for value, methinks, of the harness I wore, and here am I. And I claim thy daughter Torfrida.”
Then up started Osbert. “Hear me, king Sigmund. Thou hast promised the lady Torfrida to be my wife, and I will in no wise release thee from thy bond given; but an thou deniest it my men shall enter and slay all within, for they are many while thy men are scattered abroad, and the many will conquer, how strong soever this madman thinketh himself.”
“The king hath promised the lady to thee, proud traitor; but it is the lady herself that hath made me the promise.”
“Let the king speak,” said Osbert.
King Sigmund was much troubled, for his regard went with Feargus, and he felt himself in the hands of Osbert and would be free; but he knew that war with Osbert was ruin to his kingdom and himself, for so had the thane thrown his toils about him that all the realm was filled with his men. Then said he: “Much as I have the weal of Feargus in my heart, it is certain that ye both may not have the damsel. That thou, Feargus, and Torfrida have long since sworn troth is nought to me, for a maiden’s fate is in her father’s giving, and moreover, if I had in any wise promised her to thee, which methinketh I never did, but always forbade, then still by law of old time among our people, by thy not coming to claim and have the damsel, thy right is forfeit. Therefore the thane Osbert, who hath wrought much for us with sword and with counsel given, must have the lady.”
“Thou, Sigmund, hast called thyself a Christian, and hast endured many strokes for thy faith, yet thou wouldst sacrifice thine own daughter against her will in worse wise than ever men were sacrificed to false gods by Druid or at the death of chiefs of thine own race in days past. The law of thy land is not the law of mine, for there the wives are taken into the counsel of the men and have nobler station, and I will not bide by thy law who belong not to thy land, but rather will I fall here.”
“Nay, be not rash, good Feargus; little worship will there be in the slaying of warriors.”
“Then let the thane give bond for his men and you also give bond for fair field to both, and let the twain of us find justice at the sword’s point.”
But Sigmund minded him of Osbert’s brethren and kin, and feared worse might befall by Osbert’s death than by his presence.
Then said Osbert: “Nay, the lady is mine without fighting by the king’s own showing; if I may not take mine own in peace then will I bring my men and thou shalt bring thine, and he that wins the field shall have the lady.”
Then said Sigmund: “Thou, Feargus, art an overmatch for any man I have yet seen, save it might be Penda in his youth, though he was of lesser stature, or thine own captain Duncan, and little worship would be thine in the slaying of the thane in single fight.”
“Three times hath my foot been upon his throat, yet I have spared him for Penda’s and for thy sakes, for all he hath ever done hurt to me and mine, the like of which did to me no other man. Canst thou then wonder that my soul thirsteth for his blood? And I know that the world would be the better of his killing, for troth kept he never since breath he drew. So if he will not let me forth the hall with Torfrida, let his men fall to.”
Thus saying, Feargus fitted an arrow to his bow and drew the string.
Then said Torfrida: “Now, king, and thou, Osbert, if ye have aught of good in ye spare these men’s lives; for an ye should not, ye will stand in heavy need of them in some right battle ere the days of ye be over.”
Feargus wrenched the sword from Osbert’s hand and struck him to the earth.
But Osbert was now wroth, and the more so that he saw his men had dread of him whom they deemed a madman; for they knew him to be the greatest swordsmith in all the land. And when Osbert shouted, “Now fall upon him!” unwillingly the captain stepped forward with his men. And Feargus, who knew him to be a brave man erstwhile of the host of Penda, little liked to slay him, so, letting his bow drop, he suddenly gripped him by the middle and flung him at his follower, and the follower fell among the remainder of them, causing confusion, and so in the strife Feargus gained the side of Osbert by a mighty leap. Taking him unwares, he wrenched the sword from his hand and struck him to the earth, and laying a foot on his breast held his sword to his throat.
“Now,” said he, “if a man among ye move the thane shall die, and if you, king Sigmund, give not thine oath and the thane himself his oath that ye will leave the lady Torfrida and me unmolested till I list to depart from among ye Osbert shall die.”
After long pause the thane cried, “I swear.”
And the king swore and all the warriors were witness thereof. Then Torfrida passed out, and Feargus as he followed bent and picked up the sword of the captain of Osbert’s host and handed it to him saying: “Thou wert ever a true man. I little liked to have blows with thee or to put thee to shame, but no worship hast thou lost, for never man but had his better.” And Osbert’s sword he left lying so that the thane had to stoop to lift it. And the captain was well pleased to be counted of so great worth by the captain of Penda.
So Torfrida went to her own hall and Feargus lay outside across the gate.
For many months Feargus dwelt at the court of king Sigmund, and went wheresoever he listed about the city, and Sigmund was much puzzled as to how he might get out of so great a difficulty, for Osbert was ever at his side with complaints of Feargus and Torfrida. And so one night it chanced that Feargus sat late with Torfrida, for her maidens were singing songs and holding great merriment among themselves. When at last he went to be down outside the gate as was his wont, he found an arrow sticking fast at the foot of the door where his body would have been had he left Torfrida earlier. The next day he told Torfrida of this, but no other person. And he saw that he must soon be flitting, yet wotted not how he might depart with Torfrida, for he knew she would not leave her father. So he lingered, and ever Osbert urged the king to rid himself of his troublesome guest and let him take Torfrida to wife. But Sigmund would not hear of any breaking of the bond he had given to Feargus. When, after Feargus had found the arrow, Osbert came to talk with her, Torfrida denied him admittance altogether, and he went to Sigmund threatening him with war unless he would slay Feargus. Then heartily the old king wished that the two would settle their differences between them. So thereafter when he heard that Osbert was making a trap to catch his enemy, he took no heed. It chanced at this time that Sigmund called a great hunting in the forest, and Torfrida with Feargus and Osbert and many others attended. When night fell the party set their tents up in the forest and lit their fires and made merry. Some way apart from all the others was the tent of Torfrida, outside of which Feargus lay keeping guard. It was about the middle of the darkness that he found himself sitting up half awake, and behold, before him was a bear of huge size, and he saw that it was held on either side by a leash through which means it had been led to where he lay. No sooner did Feargus see the creature than he was wide awake, and, starting to his feet, seized his sword and thrust it down the beast’s mouth, then stepping aside stabbed it with his skene dhu and ran swiftly out among the trees, hoping to find some of his would-be assassins, but quickly and silently as he had acted, those who had driven the beast on had been more swift and had fled. On the morrow he told Torfrida and again asked her to fly with him, and she was much troubled lest between them they should slay him, but still she refused to leave her father.
“Now of a surety thy father hath a hand in this.”
“Nay, say not so; my father would not break oath with thee or any man; hath he not lost enough and fought enough for the truth?”
“I am certain, Torfrida, that thy father hath at least some knowledge of this thing, and unless thou wilt fly with me they will slay me by these unmanly means, and Osbert will wed thee first and overcome thy father and brother afterwards.”
“Nay, if I were to leave with thee then would the thane more surely slay the old man.”
Feargus then saw that her mind was set and said no more, but kept ever watchful, and let no man see that he had any fear or suspicion, but was open with all. And the thane Osbert waxed more friendly than he had ever been, and even sought out Feargus and spoke of him to all men as the greatest warrior of Britain, and Feargus wondered why he was thus friendly, and grew weary with very watchfulness. And when a thane, one Edmund, professed great friendship for him Feargus was fain to believe him sincere and he even went to his hall with him to sup. So on a day Edmund was giving a feast, and, thrown off his guard by his good-fellowship, Feargus went with him and sat in his hall that lay in the fens below the city of Lindum where they were then staying. They had much jollity and most of them drank deep. Now Feargus drank little at all times, yet in the middle of the feast he was overcome by the little he had taken and fell beneath the board. Then, at a signal, the revellers arose and left the hall, but Feargus was unable to follow though he tried to raise himself, and fitted an arrow to his great bow lest any should attack him. When he saw the hall empty he could move neither hand nor foot, but fell asleep, and woke not till it was past midnight and the stars shone amidst black clouds without. He felt sore and stiff and sick, like as he had never been before, and he knew not where he was, till he thought of Torfrida and looked around and saw that the hall was not hers, and he felt that the place was filled with smoke.
“Now,” said he, “is the reek of a hundred fires turned into this hall or whatever it be, and I am like to smother,” and then the noise of burning caught his ear and he knew that the place was on fire. Half stupid still, he arose to his feet and staggered across the floor to the table and found water, and drank, for his throat seemed all aglow like to a furnace. As best he might he went stoitrin across the hall and felt along the walls for the door, but when he came to it found that it was locked. Then he pushed against it with his shoulder, but it stood steadfast, and he sank down beside it and sat upon the ground, for his brain was not quick, and he could not think what to do to get forth. Again he arose and went round the hall and found at length a pole-axe; with this he tried to prise the door open, but in vain. Then, seeing the fire so quickly growing, he took the axe by the heft and began to hew at the stout oak. His strokes were at first feeble, but at length the work stirred the life in him and the blows soon fell with regular stroke and grew in weight, so that the planks sent forth a shower of splinters and rent and parted till at length there was a great hole yawning in the middle of them. Then Feargus became aware that there were men outside, for a dozen burning faggots were shot in through the hole. At this he was wrath and remembered what had passed, seeing that he had been poisoned and betrayed. He fastened the buckles of his byrny, and, finding there were so many foes at the door, climbed up to one of the windows and looked forth, but the fire had now a hold on the more part of the hall, and only the hole in the door kept him from suffocation. Outside he saw men stationed around the burning building to prevent his escape, and the chiefs themselves standing around the door. Among them were Edmund and the brothers of Osbert, and they had heaped faggots up against the walls all round the building. He returned to the hall and, lifting the skins which lay as a covering on the seats, he wrapped them about his arms and legs and feet and body and, tying them securely, took a huge faggot which the thanes had cast into the hall, and went to the door and struck a few blows with the pole-axe. He then mounted to the window on the side opposite to that on which the thanes stood, and sprang outside among the burning faggots. The skins kept his feet from scath, and it was but a moment before he had dashed through them, and, gripping the burning brand in the one hand and the axe in the other, he ran lightly round the corner of the building and, with fragments of burning wood sticking to his helm, and the hairy skins which covered him alight in many places, with a fierce cry burst like a demon of the fire upon his astonished foes. There were Osbert’s brethren, Thorkill and Osric, standing with the traitor thane, Edmund, while two soldiers of the lowest class stood one on either side the doorway. As they turned to meet him Feargus thrust the red faggot into the face of his nearest foe, and struck the traitor Edmund to the earth with his axe. Osric and Thorkill then rushed upon him, but the one, Thorkill, was much hurt with the faggot thrust, and, calling out for his men, fell back into the fire, while Osric, not being able to reach Feargus, owing to the length of his weapon, in trying to avoid it was caught about the middle and wounded. Feargus paused to pluck the body of Thorkill from the fire and then dashed headlong at the soldiers. These seeing one clad in skins and all afire coming to meet them, turned and fled.
“Alack!” said Feargus, as he freed himself from his hairy covering, “alack for so much slaughter. Gladly would I have spared thee, Thorkill, for methinks thou wert gentler than thy deeds, but he that herds with traitors must fare with them also.” And so saying he laid the two bodies and the wounded man side by side in a row for Osbert.
Feargus took his way home with a heavy heart. “Of a surety they will yet compass my death,” said he. “The king wots well of this thing, and it is unworthy of the Sigmund, who fought against Penda for Christ. Penda the heathen would have scorned such like traitorous work. Woe is me for the house of Sigmund, for ruin is before it, whether I be slain or not, and were I to kill the thane, as I have his brother, then would his kill come against us if they do not now, and without warriors I could do little.” So he reached Torfrida’s hall and lay under the lintel but slept not. And when Osbert, passing in the morning, saw the Pict still alive, terror seized him, and Feargus eyed him sternly and spoke.
“If thou wilt turn thy face eastward towards the fens to the hall of Edmund thy servant, thou wilt find the thane with two of thine own kin awaiting thee.”
Then Osbert rode on northward up the brae that made the centre of the town, and as soon as he was out of sight of Feargus he looked and saw smoke issuing from the hall of Edmund. With sore misgivings he turned his beast eastward. When he reached Edmund’s land he found a few blackened timbers standing, and those two lying on the green sward stark dead and the wounded beside them. That day Feargus went and told Torfrida of the trap that had been set for him, and her fear was great lest they should slay him, and he asked her again to fly, but yet she would not.
“Then, Torfrida, thou wilt come with me and take Edwy’s counsel,” and she was not unwilling. So they sent a messenger that day to Edwy, and the next they hied them together in the early morn and found him in the forest.
And when he knew of the burning of Edmund’s hall, “Surely,” he said, “my father hath a knowledge of this thing. He must be in his dotage, and in his old age is doing that which in his youth he would have scorned. It seemeth to me that ye must fly together, and the sooner the safer, for the thane will not long leave his kin unavenged.”
“Now, Torfrida, hearken ye to Edwy’s rede.”
Then she looked dark, and said she, “If I fly my father will be slain and thou also, Edwy.”
“And if thou stayest here then surely will Feargus be slain, and Osbert will wed thee.”
“Nay, that will he never.”
“Once wed, Sigmund and Edwy will not be long before they follow Feargus, and then Osbert’s hand will be uppermost in the land of the Lindiswaras; for Lindesey he will join on to the land of his fathers and the house of Sigmund will be no more.”
Then Torfrida wept.
“Nay, do not weep, sister; if thou wilt fly with Feargus thou mayst have a good journey to the land of the Albanich, and Feargus will return again with his father’s men, and maybe our mother’s kin forbye, and they will come and smite the traitor.”
“Nay, I cannot leave my father, for he hath but one daughter.”
“Though he hath wronged me and driven me forth,” said Edwy, “yet do I love him; but he hath broken oath with Feargus, and hath come to break that law which is held most sacred amongst soldiers.”
Much more did he say but to no purpose, and they departed for home, and Torfrida was sullen and would not speak more to Feargus that day, but wept all the way. Before they had parted Edwy took Feargus aside, and said he: “Farewell, and keep and mark well my counsel—thou must fly with my sister, and as she will not listen to our rede thou must take her without her will.” And so on the ride homewards Feargus thought of the counsel Edwy had given.
Three nights afterwards, having got the Pictish tire-woman who waited upon Torfrida to keep her mistress up late, he arose at midnight, and taking four fleet horses and many other things, put an old cloak about his byrny and went and knocked softly at the gate. Then the tire-woman, who had been in the train of Torfrida’s mother, opened the door and let him in, and he found Torfrida sitting in the hall in the firelight, and when she saw him she was angered.
“Now what bringeth thee here, thou tiresome fellow? Enough have I not seen of thee this day, that thou shouldst come in at midnight forsooth? Get thee hence or thou wilt have my name in the mouths of all the town’s wives.”
“Torfrida, there is no rest for me here, and there is no gain to any by thy staying. Though the ways to Alban are long and full of dangers of beasts and robbers and tempests and cold and hunger and weariness, yet not more merciless or fierce are they than Osbert and thy father; for the danger of them is open and declared, but the king and his thane work ever in secret. My beasts are without; let us fly to-night.”
“That will I never, and full often have I told thee so,” said she. “Get thee gone, I tell thee.”
“Speak not so unkindly, Torfrida.”
“Then get thee gone.”
“Thou canst not love me, Torfrida.”
“Get thee hence.”
“Nay, tell me thou lovest me.”
“I have told thee.”
“Nay, tell me again or I will think that thou hast changed, so harsh is thy speech.”
“I love thee—when thou dost not worry me—there.”
Then he went to her and kissed her brow, and taking a kerchief stepped to the back of her and suddenly bent forward; as he did so the old tire-woman came forth and caught her by the hands and held her, while Feargus took the end of the kerchief and tied them that she could not speak, then tied her hands together. Then the tears fell from Torfrida’s eyes and she sank into a seat and struggled to free herself.
“Nay, struggle not, lest thou hurt thyself, sweet Torfrida; for I swear to thee, an thou canst not trust me, that no ill shall befall thee, but to-night we will take the way to Alban. Nay, I cannot see thee struggle so; thou wilt break my heart. Here, tire-woman, an she struggles so, thou must tie her feet together else will she do herself a mischief.”
And then he tried to kiss her, but she turned her head from him, till at length he caught her and kissed her brow and wept.
“Be not angry,” said he, “and greet not, for great is my love for thee, and I swear again that harm shall not come near thee as long as my body hath life to be thy shield. And I swear ever to worship thee both with my body and my soul.”
Then he kissed her again, for that he could not help himself, so had she bewitched him, and putting a great cloak about her he bid the tire-woman good-bye and taking Torfrida in his arms went out and mounted his horse, holding her before him on the saddle, and they rode away. In his hand he held his great bow with an arrow fitted thereto, and as they descended the hill and reached the last gate of the city a spy of Osbert’s started up and made to blow his horn to arouse the watch. Then the bow twanged, the arrow sped and the man fell, and Torfrida shuddered. All the night they rode away northward and in the early morning entered the woodlands. Then, escape being hopeless, Feargus untied the handkerchief from her mouth and freed her hands and lifted her on to her own horse, but she would not look at him but kept her head down and turned from him and wept. Then his heart smote him—what if he had offended her past forgiveness!
And she wept all that day, and neither ate nor drank. And all that week they rode on, though Torfrida would not ride aside of him, but kept aloof and sighed and wept anon. At length Feargus broke silence, and begged her to ride in front, for he wished that she might be ever in his eye though he gave reason to her that he might see if harm befell her. So she rode in front, and his soul was full with gazing on her, so great was her loveliness. And thereafter she found him so merry therewith that she was angered the more at seeing him so content to ride without her. So she threw many hard sayings back to humble him; then the big man was almost like to weep, for the sight of her drew him one way and her high words drew him another, till the heart within him was nigh drawn asunder between the sweetness of her look and the sharpness of the words she spoke.
Then at length she said, “No longer will I ride in front of thee to be gazed upon in this wise,” and she turned towards the rear.
Then said Feargus, “Nay, now, if I may not even see thee, I will die here where I stand.”
“Thou mayst die when thou listeth, but the season is ill chosen for my comfort; it seems thou hast brought me here to desert me and leave me to the wolves—I would have fared better at the hands of Osbert or of —— but ride not over me I pray thee!” For Feargus had drawn near in his eagerness to hear the name she had on her lips; then he fell back and thought much of her words, and had great fear, so that at length he rode forward and cried, “Torfrida!” And she answered coldly, “And who asked thee to ride aside of me?”
“Sweet Torfrida, ’twas but to ask thee the name of him whose name was now almost on thy lips.”
Then she tossed her head half-saucily, half-tearfully, and made no answer, but struck her beast so that he leapt a good two lengths ahead. So they rode on and one night took up their quarters at a woodman’s cottage, and after having eaten Feargus went out in the moonlight to look around and found the woodman, and soon learnt from him that they had yet gone but a little way, and were still within easy reach of the horsemen of Sigmund and Osbert. As he was returning he happened to look to the left of him and there among the trees caught sight of a party of men resting upon the ground. Then a feeling of hopelessness came upon him, his hands shook, his knees trembled, and he sat down perforce on a piece of fallen timber; when he had recovered himself he arose and crept near to where the party was camping, and saw that surely enough they were the men of Osbert. Then he hied him back to the woodman’s cottage and stripped off his trappings, helm and sword and byrny, and took them in his hands and bade the wife rouse Torfrida. And when she had arisen she came out and eyed him coldly without speaking. Then said he to her in Gaelic—
“Know, Torfrida, that I have been out into the forest, and there lighted upon a party of warriors of thy father and Osbert, who are doubtless seeking us.”
Then Torfrida’s face turned pale as death, for seldom had she seen him look so sad.
“And now, Torfrida, here is the noble sword thou gavest me and here my good bow which I cut from the forest trees in my days of darkness when I had broken my oath through trysting with thee and so brought ruin upon king Penda. Here too is my byrny that belonged to thy noble mother’s kin and like to which there is none other.”
Then Torfrida’s heart swelled and she said softly, “What meanest thou? Put on thy byrny lest the foe come and have thee at advantage.”
“Nay, never more will I wear byrny or wield brand: never had I pleasure in killing; unless some noble quarry were in sight the hunt had little to draw me. Take the sword and give it to him whom thou lovest, and send the woodman to the warriors of thy father and they will take thee to Sigmund, and thou canst leave me or render me up that they may do as they list with me, and thou wilt return to Sigmund and wed him whose name was so lately on thy lips, for whom thou hast been weeping; for I little thought to part true lovers.”
Then Torfrida gave a sharp cry like a wounded bird and threw her arms around his neck, and with tears and kisses nigh strangled him. And she knelt down to lift his byrny, but he would not suffer her so to do but raised her by the hand. She fastened the byrny about him and begged him to get the horses that they might depart. So his heart was filled with joy and gladness as they rode away, and ever after, among all their troubles, and though oft-times he blamed himself for bringing her into so many perils, yet did she never upbraid him but always helped, so far as she might, and was ever sweet and gentle.
And so they saddled their beasts and sped through the forest ever thinking that the men of Sigmund were upon them, and when night fell still they rode on, until at length Torfrida was utterly weary and like to fall from her horse. This Feargus saw, though she complained not, so that he drew up and dismounted. Then he set about to make her a tent with bushes and sticks, over which he stretched the plaid he carried. And she lay down inside the tent and he fitted an arrow to his bow and stood outside hard by. At about the midnight he was startled by the baying of a hound in the rear whence they had come. So he saddled the tired beasts, but judging their enemies to be yet a long way off, left Torfrida resting and went deeper into the forest till he came upon a sleeping stag which he slew, and cutting the skin therefrom fastened pieces on to the feet of their horses, judging that the hounds were following the horses’ track and not that of the deer. Then he went to Torfrida’s tent and said, “Sorry am I to arouse thee; full well I know thou art weary, but arise I pray thee, for now have they brought hounds to track us and we must away.”
She arose and came out and he lifted her into the saddle half asleep, and they went on, and in their rear could be heard the baying of dogs and movements of men and horses, and Torfrida was sore afraid and trembled. Then, further to hide the track of them, Feargus steered their way westward through the wood, till after many hours’ riding they won the river Trent, and taking a grip of Torfrida’s bridle he caused the beasts to plunge in and they swam strongly till they reached the shore. They entered there the forest of Sherwood, which was deeper than that through which they had come and full of swamps and devious ways and beasts and robbers. Little he liked to enter it, and he wrapped the cloak close around Torfrida as though she were a youth and put a man’s bonnet on her brow and bound a white cloth about her forehead, as though she were sick of a wound. Then out of his wallet he took an old dress, much worn but strong, like to the habit of a medicine man, and set it over his byrny, and such a sorry couple they made as it little would profit to rob. So they held on laboriously for three days, not daring to linger long in one place, but striking ever northwards through the greenwood. On the fourth day so weary was Torfrida that Feargus would have her to rest well, and in the dusk of evening they came to a stand in a glade of wondrous beauty nigh to where a burn ran, and were for resting there. He made the tent for Torfrida and cooked and ate of the stag’s flesh which he had slain and drank of the burn. Then, having eaten, Feargus took his sword and bow and went to look around, following the burn. He had gone but a stone’s throw from where they had set their camp when to his great amaze he saw a sheet of water stretching before him; he looked to the right hand and to the left down the broad stream. On the opposite bank was a forest, but of not such density as the Sherwood in which he stood. Where had he seen that place before? His heart leapt, for lo! they had come again to the spot at which they had crossed Trent water four days since! Then his courage failed him and he leant against a tree and nigh wept. So long he stood that Torfrida, wondering what kept him, followed his track yet visible in the soft earth, and came upon him and marvelled, so still he stood, till she beheld the water and knew the place, and threw herself upon his neck, and they stood there long together without speech.
“Better would it be, Torfrida, for thee if thou didst cross once more Trent water and seek thy father, for great travail will be ours or we win the land of the bens, if ever we reach it; for much I doubt whether we may win so far north.”
“Nay, then thou wilt have an arrow for each of us.”
“An thou art so bravely minded, to-morrow we will rest and the next day hold on, and methinks here is a clear space by Trent side and, though if we ride along the water we will go too far to the east, I can here see the heavens and may pilot our way by the stars.” So they rested and then on for many a league, going oftentimes miles about for want of a path, and for fear of moss and water and thicket impassable. It chanced as they were riding one evening by Trent they saw a small boat flit from under the opposite bank and strike across towards them. In it were three men clad in forest green, so that it was hard to tell them amongst the green leaves. Feargus sprang aground and ran swiftly forward, ere they knew him ware of their presence. Then with bow fixed he hailed them. “Ho! ye men in green. I give ye warning that he who but a bow raises shall lift bow no more for many days—halt, I say.”
He who sat in the bow seized his arrows, however, and fitted one, then Feargus let his arrow forth and lo! it struck the man through the hand, and his bow had hardly slipped from his grasp ere another struck the side of the boat and pierced it.
“Now canst thou see what manner of bowman am I? hold, therefore, or by my next shot you will find yourselves in Trent. Then will I slay ye as ye swim to land.”
Then said he of the wounded hand, “This is no mortal man but a giant; saw ye ever the like or bow of so great size? Little profit were it to fight with him.” Then he said to Feargus, “Now, good master, what wilt thou of us? thou art a goodly bowman and we would land, for our boat hath a rent in her such as no bowman of mine could have made in so stout a craft.”
“I ask a safe free passage through the forest.”
“That we promise thee.”
“I lack a guide also to lead me, and another with him as a surety for his good faith and that of thy men. And if he betray me then will I cut the throats of ye both.”
“Thou hast shot me through the hand, I would avail little against my own foes.”
“Thou shalt not lack such defence as I can give thee against thine enemies as long as thou servest me.”
“Thou speakest fair, an thou wilt let us land we will take thy terms.”
“Then let the three of ye land, and give me thy troth and let thy men do likewise.”
“I swear by the old gods and by the new God.”
“And I.” “And I.”
So they landed, and Feargus tied the man’s hands behind him, but the wounded captain he let free, after binding his wound. And he made them walk before him and kept an arrow in his hand ready. And so at last they left the Trent and struck north and west through the forest, towards the lands of the Northern English beyond Mansfield. When they reached the forest marge, Feargus gave the captain his bow to defend him with, and let the green men go free. And they rode out through the lands of the North English who were once Penda’s men, and soon found themselves well out of the forest and won a good road and followed it and came to a turning and there found a hostel where wayfarers might find rest and meat. So they entered and ate heartily. But soon a crowd collected outside, so wild were their looks, and so giant-like Feargus and rode such a monstrous beast, though the creature had little else to recommend him to a stranger, for Feargus had let him run wild and left him mud-stained to hide his worth, though food or other care he never lacked and ate ever before his master had eaten. Then the people gan asking Torfrida who her master might be and much ado she had to silence them, and Feargus began to fear that they might not safely stay in that hostel. Yet he little liked turning out again into the night, he being heavy for lack of sleep, for while the green men were with them he had got no rest, but ever had to watch that they did not betray them. And so as they supped it chanced that, hearing of the strange people who had come into the town, there entered some soldiers who had fought for Penda, and Feargus knew them quickly. And they eyed him askance. And one of them, Godfree by name, had been a captain in Feargus’s host in former days, and he had intelligence beyond the others, though his temper was evil. This man now came and stood near to them with knitted brow, as though thinking to solve some difficulty, and so till Feargus spoke; when he heard his voice the man started as though the earth had opened at his feet. Then with mouth agape and eyes starting from their sockets he backed to the door. All those that stood there looked on amazed.
“What seest thou?” said they.
“I see the ghost of him who betrayed our king, the mighty Penda,” he gasped, “Feargus the Pict; but it is surely no ghost—it is Feargus, men. Slay him, the traitor! Down with him!”
Then Torfrida thought that all was lost, but Feargus arose with a bound and won the door before they could reach it and there stood with bow drawn, but he wished not to slay any, for he well knew that they would then follow him, and, turning to Torfrida, he said in Gaelic, “Canst thou run and fetch the beasts to the door; no danger thou wilt meet, for none shall leave this hostel to tell those without till thou returnest.”
“That can I,” said Torfrida, and soon came back with the beasts and waited without. When Feargus reached the door and faced the men who were for leaving the hostel, his mighty bow drawn and a huge wooden table standing before him as a barrier, the captain, Godfree, stayed in his course, so likewise the others, looking to him for the lead. Godfree well knew the strength of Feargus and what things he had done, and the fame of him held the others in awe also. For they knew that though they might slay him, there would be few of their company left after it was done.
Then said he, “Hearken to me—never did Feargus betray Penda, but it is of common knowledge and was witnessed by many that he met the prince Osbert in a wood, and albeit he wished not to fight lest he should be too late to come up and keep tryst with Penda, Osbert forced him to it, and so the king failed for lack of men. Never did I betray him, for that I loved the king.”
“He lies,” roared Godfree, recovering himself. “He hath ruined Mercia,” and then they all came forward clamouring, and so great was the noise that the townspeople came out and lined the road. Then Feargus knew that he must wait no longer, but strode through the door, and it had hardly closed on the heel of him ere he was astride his horse, and the two dashed down the street midst a shower of stones from the houses. As no one knew save the men behind why they fled or who they were no one stopped them, so they won the moor outside the town, and there drew up. Then Feargus turned to Torfrida and sighed, for she looked pale for want of rest, and frightened, and he took her by the hand, saying, “Once more, Torfrida. Thanks to thee.”
“Nay, without thy quickness and thy courage I could have done nothing.”
“And now, Torfrida, I see not which way there is left for us to turn; for if the North Angles knew me so also will the men of Elmet[7] and Northumbria. But an we do not enter Northumbria there remains nothing but the wilds that lie to the north-west in South Strathclyde and Cumbria, where no man is, nor food, nor bield nor bush to shelter us from the wind, nor anything but moss and moor. We have been many days in coming this little gate, and if the rest of the way is as long to tread, then will winter be upon us ere we enter the wild country.”
“Then let us still try Northumbria, for there at least are men and women and we may get through.”
“So shall it be, Torfrida, an thou art so brave to bear the risk.”
So they turned them north again and held on till they came upon a town. This time, not entering any hostel, they bought food and took it with them, with fodder for the beasts, and found a small wood that stood on the outskirts. Feargus here made Torfrida her tent again and set a fence around about with prickly whin and other bushes and brought the two beasts inside. And he lay down by his own horse and watched and ever and again rose and walked round and saw that all was still, but slept not, such little sleep as he got being by day when Torfrida could sit watching. So it fell that he was in sore need of rest and they stayed there three days. As soon as morning broke Torfrida would rise and go outside and watch while Feargus fell to sleeping, and sweet was that rest to him. On the fourth day while Torfrida was watching she noticed that some men of the village were looking down upon them. At length, seeing no one stirring, they drew nearer and beheld Feargus, and gazed at him, agape at his thew and sinew.
“Now, good master, tell us what manner of man is this, for never yet saw we the like of him—surely he is more of warrior than of leech.”
“Go ye not too near unto him, lest ye disturb his sleep, for little might the twain of ye do against him ah ye hurtled with him.”
“Nay, young master, but we are many; he is one.”
“Nay, I see but two of ye.”
“Aye, but others fill the forest and they have sent us to ask of him whether it be true as they say, that he is Feargus through whom king Penda was slain, for so we are told by men of the North English.”
Then Torfrida turned and went within the barrier, saying, “Surely he will best answer you himself.” And so she said to Feargus in Gaelic, “Arise, beloved one, for our troubles seem but begun; arise and lift with thee thy bow with arrow ready, for our foes are about us on every hand. Safer I doubt we would be among the wolves of the west than here.”
Then Feargus arose and stood before his enemies.
“What dost want?” said he, “that I may not be left in peace here in the greenwood?”
“They say thou art Feargus the Pict, the captain of king Penda.”
“And what if I be Feargus: what is’t that I owe thee?—nothing. Forget ye not that Osbert would not wait but forced me to fight, and so we both broke tryst with the king at the last, yet I served him right well—as well as the best of ye his own kin; and my men, who knew that Feargus would never desert his master, thought me dead and all died for Penda and stood to him saving his name when his own Mercians fled and left him. And what did Feargus himself do? Did not the king say that he it was who won the fight with king Sigmund by Trent water and at Mansfield town, and he had no small share in the victory at Camulodunum over king Anna of the East Anglians. So what is’t that he owes ye?”
“Aye, but Feargus lost the cause at the last, so that all his deeds were of little profit. He is a traitor and we will slay him.”
“Then gather all thy comrades that are about the forest together, and when ye are all gathered then hear me; and if I cannot prevail on ye, ye must slay me.”
“Nay, we will not gather them together, lest they being withdrawn ye might escape.”
“Then move ye not a hand but set ye your minds in order.”
“And why so, master?”
“Because an ye call not your comrades together they shall call not you so sound will ye both sleep, for these arrows shall fly to the hearts of ye. Ye wot Feargus was ever a man of his word save only that once when he failed through fate to tryst with Penda. Nay, an ye call for help or move ye shall die e’er help can reach ye.”
“Spare us, noble Feargus, for we are men who have wives and young bairns.”
“Gather your townsmen or die ere this stone reaches earth again, and if any man of yours lifts bow or brand I will slay thee,” said he, throwing high a great pebble.
“We will do as ye command,” said they.
So they wound their horns and in from every quarter came soldiers and villagers, each man armed to the teeth, for as Feargus had seen, they had surrounded them and left to the chief man of the town the work of bearding the noble quarry. Then, when they were all gathered, Feargus, with bow stretched, whistled soft, and as if by his own will his great white horse arose and came to him, and then said he to Torfrida in the Gaelic, “Now run to thy beast and mount; leap then the fence and ride straight into the forest, the road is clear, and when thou canst just see me in the distance, wait, that I may not lose thee.”
Then before the astonished soldiers could stir she leapt the bushes in the rear, gathering her plaid and tent up as she went, and made for the wood, and in a moment was out of sight. There was a slight movement among the villagers, and some shouted, “Take him, he will escape.” But Feargus drew back the string of that mighty bow till the chief man’s son cried, “Stay, stay, or he will slay my father!” while the old man trembled. Then Torfrida blew her whistle, and promptly Feargus leapt on to his horse and, sitting with back to the beast’s head, kept his arrow fixed on the old man. Then, speaking a word to the beast, it dashed through the fence in the track of its fellow; and the angry villagers saw them depart, but might not follow for fear of that terrible bow. When he had quite disappeared they took horse and lifted horn and rode after him, for greatly were they put to shame at being outwitted through fear for one man. So they rode and ran and raised a great hue and cry. But Feargus and Torfrida rode on nor stopped until Torfrida was faint for very weariness. Then said Feargus, “Here let us draw up, for thou art much distressed, and so withal are the poor beasts. To-morrow we must on again—little rest is there for us or them.” He gathered whin in the open and other bushes and made a fence and put Torfrida and also the beasts within, kindling a fire to scare the wild creatures. Then he went forth to gather food for the horses, sweet grasses, and corn which he had bought in the village. And he came upon a deer and shot it and cut it up and cooked it, and they ate with great heartiness. And the beasts lay still beside him, so tame were they grown, and so keen were their ears they could tell from afar the coming of any wild creature, and then Feargus would rise up with his sword and lift a faggot to scare it. But so keen did Feargus himself soon become that no sound or mark escaped him. So it was that he kept out of the track of men, until after wandering through mire and moss they drew out of the lands of the North English, thinking to enter the great wild which lay between Lune and Wharfe and stretched well nigh to Solway and the western seaboard. And they struck across the moorlands of Wharfe towards Cumbria, but so heavy was the road that the days came and went and saw them but little on their path. Oft-times they despaired of ever seeing Alban, and their hearts were heavy when they thought of all the gate they had yet to go. And ever the winter drew nearer and filled Feargus with dread. So they strayed among the glens, and every night he would find a place of safety for Torfrida. Sometimes he would make her a tent among the whins and bracken, sometimes would stretch over the heather the skins of the many animals he had slain; at times in caves or ’mongst the rocks of some mountain or cataract he stretched her tent on stakes of wood and there she would sleep serene. Then he would set forth on foot in search of food. So on they sped, lying now on the bare brae side, now in wild glens, ever faring northward. And the nights grew cold and the snell wind swept keen up the glens or over the bleak braes, and now the wolves and wild beasts drew nearer at night, for the frost fell upon the earth and left them scant of food.