VII

In winter, when the year burns low As fire wherein no firebrands glow, And winds dishevel as they blow The lovely stormy wings of snow, The hearts of northern men burn bright With joy that mocks the joy of spring To hear all heaven's keen clarions ring Music that bids the spirit sing And day give thanks for night.

Aloud and dark as hell or hate Round Balen's head the wind of fate Blew storm and cloud from death's wide gate: But joy as grief in him was great To face God's doom and live or die, Sorrowing for ill wrought unaware, Rejoicing in desire to dare All ill that innocence might bear With changeless heart and eye.

Yet passing fain he was when past Those lands and woes at length and last. Eight times, as thence he fared forth fast, Dawn rose and even was overcast With starry darkness dear as day, Before his venturous quest might meet Adventure, seeing within a sweet Green low-lying forest, hushed in heat, A tower that barred his way.

Strong summer, dumb with rapture, bound With golden calm the woodlands round Wherethrough the knight forth faring found A knight that on the greenwood ground Sat mourning: fair he was to see, And moulded as for love or fight A maiden's dreams might frame her knight; But sad in joy's far-flowering sight As grief's blind thrall might be.

"God save you," Balen softly said, "What grief bows down your heart and head Thus, as one sorrowing for his dead? Tell me, if haply I may stead In aught your sorrow, that I may." "Sir knight," that other said, "thy word Makes my grief heavier that I heard." And pity and wonder inly stirred Drew Balen thence away.

And so withdrawn with silent speed He saw the sad knight's stately steed, A war-horse meet for warrior's need, That none who passed might choose but heed, So strong he stood, so great, so fair, With eyes afire for flight or fight, A joy to look on, mild in might, And swift and keen and kind as light, And all as clear of care.

And Balen, gazing on him, heard Again his master's woful word Sound

sorrow through the calm unstirred By fluttering wind or flickering bird, Thus: "Ah, fair lady and faithless, why Break thy pledged faith to meet me? soon An hour beyond thy trothplight noon Shall strike my death-bell, and thy boon Is this, that here I die.

"My curse for all thy gifts may be Heavier than death or night on thee; For now this sword thou gavest me Shall set me from thy bondage free." And there the man had died self-slain, But Balen leapt on him and caught The blind fierce hand that fain had wrought Self-murder, stung with fire of thought, As rage makes anguish fain.

Then, mad for thwarted grief, "Let go My hand," the fool of wrath and woe Cried, "or I slay thee." Scarce the glow In Balen's cheek and eye might show, As dawn shows day while seas lie chill, He heard, though pity took not heed, But smiled and spake, "That shall not need: What man may do to bid you speed I, so God speed me, will."

And the other craved his name, beguiled By hope that made his madness mild. Again Sir Balen spake and smiled: "My name is Balen, called the Wild By knights whom kings and courts make tame Because I ride alone afar And follow but my soul for star." "Ah, sir, I know the knight you are And all your fiery fame.

"The knight that bears two swords I know, Most praised of all men, friend and foe, For prowess of your hands, that show Dark war the way where balefires glow And kindle glory like the dawn's." So spake the sorrowing knight, and stood As one whose heart fresh hope made good: And forth they rode by wold and wood And down the glimmering lawns.

And Balen craved his name who rode Beside him, where the wild wood glowed With joy to feel how noontide flowed Through glade and glen and rough green road Till earth grew joyful as the sea. "My name is Garnysshe of the Mount, A poor man's son of none account," He said, "where springs of loftier fount Laugh loud with pride to be.

"But strength in weakness lives and stands As rocks that rise through shifting sands; And for the prowess of my hands One made me knight and gave me lands, Duke Hermel, lord from far to near, Our prince; and she that loved me--she I love, and deemed she loved but me, His daughter, pledged her faith to be Ere now beside me here."

And Balen, brief of speech as light Whose word, beheld of depth and height, Strikes silence through the stars of night, Spake, and his face as dawn's grew bright, For hope to help a happier man, "How far then lies she hence?" "By this," Her lover sighed and said, "I wis, Not six fleet miles the passage is, And straight as thought could span."

So rode they swift and sure, and found A castle walled and dyked around: And Balen, as a warrior bound On search where hope might fear to sound The darkness of the deeps of doubt, Made entrance through the guardless gate As life, while hope in life grows great, Makes way between the doors of fate That death may pass thereout.

Through many a glorious chamber, wrought For all delight that love's own thought Might dream or dwell in, Balen sought And found of all he looked for nought, For like a shining shell her bed Shone void and vacant of her: thence Through devious wonders bright and dense He passed and saw with shame-struck sense Where shame and faith lay dead.

Down in a sweet small garden, fair With flowerful joy in the ardent air, He saw, and raged with loathing, where She lay with love-dishevelled hair Beneath a broad bright laurel tree And clasped in amorous arms a knight, The unloveliest that his scornful sight Had dwelt on yet; a shame the bright Broad noon might shrink to see.

And thence in wrathful hope he turned, Hot as the heart within him burned, To meet the knight whose love, so spurned And spat on and made nought of, yearned And dreamed and hoped and lived in vain, And said, "I have found her sleeping fast," And led him where the shadows cast From leaves wherethrough light winds ran past Screened her from sun and rain.

But Garnysshe, seeing, reeled as he stood Like a tree, kingliest of the wood, Half hewn through: and the burning blood Through lips and nostrils burst aflood: And gathering back his rage and might As broken breakers rally and roar The loud wind down that drives off shore, He smote their heads off: there no more Their life might shame the light.

Then turned he back toward Balen, mad With grief, and said, "The grief I had Was nought: ere this my life was glad: Thou hast done this deed: I was but sad And fearful how my hope might fare: I had lived my sorrow down, hadst thou Not shown me what I saw but now." The sorrow

and scorn on Balen's brow Bade silence curb him there.

And Balen answered: "What I did I did to hearten thee and bid Thy courage know that shame should rid A man's high heart of love that hid Blind shame within its core: God knows, I did, to set a bondman free, But as I would thou hadst done by me, That seeing what love must die to see Love's end might well be woe's."

"Alas," the woful weakling said, "I have slain what most I loved: I have shed The blood most near my heart: the head Lies cold as earth, defiled and dead, That all my life was lighted by, That all my soul bowed down before, And now may bear with life no more: For now my sorrow that I bore Is twofold, and I die."

Then with his red wet sword he rove His breast in sunder, where it clove Life, and no pulse against it strove, So sure and strong the deep stroke drove Deathward: and Balen, seeing him dead, Rode thence, lest folk would say he had slain Those three; and ere three days again Had seen the sun's might wax and wane, Far forth he had spurred and sped.

And riding past a cross whereon Broad golden letters written shone, Saying, "No knight born may ride alone Forth toward this castle," and all the stone Glowed in the sun's glare even as though Blood stained it from the crucified Dead burden of one that there had died, An old hoar man he saw beside Whose face was wan as woe.

"Balen the Wild," he said, "this way Thy way lies not: thou hast passed to-day Thy bands: but turn again, and stay Thy passage, while thy soul hath sway Within thee, and through God's good power It will avail thee:" and anon His likeness as a cloud was gone, And Balen's heart within him shone Clear as the cloudless hour.

Nor fate nor fear might overcast The soul now near its peace at last. Suddenly, thence as forth he past, A mighty and a deadly blast Blown of a hunting-horn he heard, As when the chase hath nobly sped. "That blast is blown for me," he said, "The prize am I who am yet not dead," And smiled upon the word.

As toward a royal hart's death rang That note, whence all the loud wood sang With winged and living sound that sprang Like fire, and keen as fire's own fang Pierced the sweet silence that it slew. But nought like

death or strife was here: Fair semblance and most goodly cheer They made him, they whose troop drew near As death among them drew.

A hundred ladies well arrayed And many a knight well weaponed made That kindly show of cheer: the glade Shone round them till its very shade Lightened and laughed from grove to lawn To hear and see them: so they brought Within a castle fair as thought Could dream that wizard hands had wrought The guest among them drawn.

All manner of glorious joy was there: Harping and dancing, loud and fair, And minstrelsy that made of air Fire, so like fire its raptures were. Then the chief lady spake on high: "Knight with the two swords, one of two Must help you here or fall from you: For needs you now must have ado And joust with one hereby.

"A good knight guards an island here Against all swords that chance brings near, And there with stroke of sword and spear Must all for whom these halls make cheer Fight, and redeem or yield up life." "An evil custom," Balen said, "Is this, that none whom chance hath led Hither, if knighthood crown his head, May pass unstirred to strife."

"You shall not have ado to fight Here save against one only knight," She said, and all her face grew bright As hell-fire, lit with hungry light That wicked laughter touched with flame. "Well, since I shall thereto," said he, "I am ready at heart as death for me: Fain would I be where death should be And life should lose its name.

"But travelling men whose goal afar Shines as a cloud-constraining star Are often weary, and wearier are Their steeds that feel each fret and jar Wherewith the wild ways wound them: yet, Albeit my horse be weary, still My heart is nowise weary; will Sustains it even till death fulfil My trust upon him set."

"Sir," said a knight thereby that stood, "Meseems your shield is now not good But worn with warrior work, nor could Sustain in strife the strokes it would: A larger will I lend you." "Ay, Thereof I thank you," Balen said, Being single of heart as one that read No face aright whence faith had fled, Nor dreamed that faith could fly.

And so he took that shield unknown And left for treason's touch his own, And toward that island rode alone, Nor heard the blast against him

blown Sound in the wind's and water's sound, But hearkening toward the stream's edge heard Nought save the soft stream's rippling word, Glad with the gladness of a bird, That sang to the air around.

And there against the water-side He saw, fast moored to rock and ride, A fair great boat anear abide Like one that waits the turning tide, Wherein embarked his horse and he Passed over toward no kindly strand: And where they stood again on land There stood a maiden hard at hand Who seeing them wept to see.

And "O knight Balen," was her cry, "Why have ye left your own shield? why Come hither out of time to die? For had ye kept your shield, thereby Ye had yet been known, and died not here. Great pity it is of you this day As ever was of knight, or may Be ever, seeing in war's bright way Praise knows not Balen's peer."

And Balen said, "Thou hast heard my name Right: it repenteth me, though shame May tax me not with base men's blame, That ever, hap what will, I came Within this country; yet, being come, For shame I may not turn again Now, that myself and nobler men May scorn me: now is more than then, And faith bids fear be dumb.

"Be it life or death, my chance I take, Be it life's to build or death's to break: And fall what may, me lists not make Moan for sad life's or death's sad sake." Then looked he on his armour, glad And high of heart, and found it strong: And all his soul became a song And soared in prayer that soared not long, For all the hope it had.

Then saw he whence against him came A steed whose trappings shone like flame, And he that rode him showed the same Fierce colour, bright as fire or fame, But dark the visors were as night That hid from Balen Balan's face, And his from Balan: God's own grace Forsook them for a shadowy space Where darkness cast out light.

The two swords girt that Balen bare Gave Balan for a breath's while there Pause, wondering if indeed it were Balen his brother, bound to dare The chance of that unhappy quest: But seeing not as he thought to see His shield, he deemed it was not he, And so, as fate bade sorrow be, They laid their spears in rest.

So mighty was the course they ran With spear to spear so great of span,

Each fell back stricken, man by man, Horse by horse, borne down: so the ban That wrought by doom against them wrought: But Balen by his falling steed Was bruised the sorer, being indeed Way-weary, like a rain- bruised reed, With travel ere he fought.

And Balen rose again from swoon First, and went toward him: all too soon He too then rose, and the evil boon Of strength came back, and the evil tune Of battle unnatural made again Mad music as for death's wide ear Listening and hungering toward the near Last sigh that life or death might hear At last from dying men.

Balan smote Balen first, and clove His lifted shield that rose and strove In vain against the stroke that drove Down: as the web that morning wove Of glimmering pearl from spray to spray Dies when the strong sun strikes it, so Shrank the steel, tempered thrice to show Strength, as the mad might of the blow Shore Balen's helm away.

Then turning as a turning wave Against the land-wind, blind and brave In hope that dreams despair may save, With even the unhappy sword that gave The gifts of fame and fate in one He smote his brother, and there had nigh Felled him: and while they breathed, his eye Glanced up, and saw beneath the sky Sights fairer than the sun.

The towers of all the castle there Stood full of ladies, blithe and fair As the earth beneath and the amorous air About them and above them were: So toward the blind and fateful fight Again those brethren went, and sore Were all the strokes they smote and bore, And breathed again, and fell once more To battle in their sight.

With blood that either spilt and bled Was all the ground they fought on red, And each knight's hauberk hewn and shred Left each unmailed and naked, shed From off them even as mantles cast: And oft they breathed, and drew but breath Brief as the word strong sorrow saith, And poured and drank the draught of death, Till fate was full at last.

And Balan, younger born than he Whom darkness bade him slay, and be Slain, as in mist where none may see If aught abide or fall or flee, Drew back a little and laid him down, Dying: but Balen stood, and said, As one between the quick and dead Might stand and speak, "What good knight's head Hath won this mortal crown?

"What knight art thou? for never I Who now beside thee dead shall die Found yet the knight afar or nigh That matched me." Then his brother's eye Flashed pride and love; he spake and smiled And felt in death life's quickening flame, And answered: "Balan is my name, The good knight Balen's brother; fame Calls and miscalls him wild."

The cry from Balen's lips that sprang Sprang sharper than his sword's stroke rang. More keen than death's or memory's fang, Through sense and soul the shuddering pang Shivered: and scarce he had cried, "Alas That ever I should see this day," When sorrow swooned from him away As blindly back he fell, and lay Where sleep lets anguish pass.

But Balan rose on hands and knees And crawled by childlike dim degrees Up toward his brother, as a breeze Creeps wingless over sluggard seas When all the wind's heart fails it: so Beneath their mother's eyes had he, A babe that laughed with joy to be, Made toward him standing by her knee For love's sake long ago.

Then, gathering strength up for a space, From off his brother's dying face With dying hands that wrought apace While death and life would grant them grace He loosed his helm and knew not him, So scored with blood it was, and hewn Athwart with darkening wounds: but soon Life strove and shuddered through the swoon Wherein its light lay dim.

And sorrow set these chained words free: "O Balan, O my brother! me Thou hast slain, and I, my brother, thee And now far hence, on shore and sea, Shall all the wide world speak of us." "Alas," said Balan, "that I might Not know you, seeing two swords were dight About you; now the unanswering sight Hath here found answer thus.

"Because you bore another shield Than yours, that even ere youth could wield Like arms with manhood's tried and steeled Shone as my star of battle-field, I deemed it surely might not be My brother." Then his brother spake Fiercely: "Would God, for thy sole sake, I had my life again, to take Revenge for only thee!

"For all this deadly work was wrought Of one false knight's false word and thought, Whose mortal craft and counsel caught And snared my faith who doubted nought, And made me put my shield away. Ah, might I live, I would destroy That castle for its customs: joy There makes of grief a

deadly toy, And death makes night of day."

"Well done were that, if aught were done Well ever here beneath the sun," Said Balan: "better work were none: For hither since I came and won A woful honour born of death, When here my hap it was to slay A knight who kept this island way, I might not pass by night or day Hence, as this token saith.

"No more shouldst thou, for all the might Of heart and hand that seals thee knight Most noble of all that see the light, Brother, hadst thou but slain in fight Me, and arisen unscathed and whole, As would to God thou hadst risen! though here Light is as darkness, hope as fear, And love as hate: and none draws near Save toward a mortal goal."

Then, fair as any poison-flower Whose blossom blights the withering bower Whereon its blasting breath has power, Forth fared the lady of the tower With many a lady and many a knight, And came across the water- way Even where on death's dim border lay Those brethren sent of her to slay And die in kindless fight.

And all those hard light hearts were swayed With pity passing like a shade That stays not, and may be not stayed, To hear the mutual moan they made, Each to behold his brother die, Saying, "Both we came out of one tomb, One star-crossed mother's woful womb, And so within one grave- pit's gloom Untimely shall we lie."

And Balan prayed, as God should bless That lady for her gentleness, That where the battle's mortal stress Had made for them perforce to press The bed whence never man may rise They twain, free now from hopes and fears, Might sleep; and she, as one that hears, Bowed her bright head: and very tears Fell from her cold fierce eyes.

Then Balen prayed her send a priest To housel them, that ere they ceased The hansel of the heavenly feast That fills with light from the answering east The sunset of the life of man Might bless them, and their lips be kissed With death's requickening eucharist, And death's and life's dim sunlit mist Pass as a stream that ran.

And so their dying rites were done: And Balen, seeing the death-struck sun Sink, spake as he whose goal is won: "Now, when our trophied tomb is one, And over us our tale is writ, How two that loved each other, two

Born and begotten brethren, slew Each other, none that reads anew Shall choose but weep for it.

"And no good knight and no good man Whose eye shall ever come to scan The record of the imperious ban That made our life so sad a span Shall read or hear, who shall not pray For us for ever." Then anon Died Balan; but the sun was gone, And deep the stars of midnight shone, Ere Balen passed away.

And there low lying, as hour on hour Fled, all his life in all its flower Came back as in a sunlit shower Of dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power On life less sweet and glad to be. He drank the draught of life's first wine Again: he saw the moorland shine, The rioting rapids of the Tyne, The woods, the cliffs, the sea.

The joy that lives at heart and home, The joy to rest, the joy to roam, The joy of crags and scaurs he clomb, The rapture of the encountering foam Embraced and breasted of the boy, The first good steed his knees bestrode, The first wild sound of songs that flowed Through ears that thrilled and heart that glowed, Fulfilled his death with joy.

So, dying not as a coward that dies And dares not look in death's dim eyes Straight as the stars on seas and skies Whence moon and sun recoil and rise, He looked on life and death, and slept. And there with morning Merlin came, And on the tomb that told their fame He wrote by Balan's Balen's name, And gazed thereon, and wept.

For all his heart within him yearned With pity like as fire that burned. The fate his fateful eye discerned Far off now dimmed it, ere he turned His face toward Camelot, to tell Arthur of all the storms that woke Round Balen, and the dolorous stroke, And how that last blind battle broke The consummated spell.

"Alas," King Arthur said, "this day I have heard the worst that woe might say: For in this world that wanes away I know not two such knights as they." This is the tale that memory writes Of men whose names like stars shall stand, Balen and Balan, sure of hand, Two brethren of Northumberland, In life and death good knights.