The House of Walderne | Page 6

gathered in the woods or grown in the small plot of cultivated
ground around the buildings; which the men leave entirely, as do all
semi-savage races, to the care of the women.
There is plenty of room to sit round this fire, and several men, besides
women and boys, are basking in its warmth--some sit on three-legged
stools, some cross-legged on the floor--and amidst them, with a
charming absence of restraint, are many huge-jawed dogs, who slobber
as they smell the fumes from the pot, or utter an impatient whine from
time to time.
Their chieftain, a man of no small importance judging from his dress
and manner, sits on the seat of honour, a species of chair, the only one
in the building, and is perhaps the most notable man of the party. He is
tall of stature, his limbs those of a giant, his fist ponderous as a sledge
hammer; a tunic of skins confined around the waist by a belt of
untanned leather, in which is stuck a hunting knife, adorns his upper
story: short breeches of skin, and leggings, with the undressed fur of a
fox outside, complete his bedecking.
A loud barking of dogs was heard, then a trampling of horses; some
looked astonished, others rose to their feet, and opening the door

looked out into the storm.
"What folk hast thou got there, Kynewulf?"
"Some travellers I met outside as I was returning home from the chase,
having got caught in the storm myself," replied a gruff voice; "they had
seen our light, but were trying in vain to get into our nest."
"How many?"
"Two, a knight and a squire."
"Bring them in, in God's name; all are welcome tonight.
"But for all that," said he, sotto voce, "it may be easier to get in than
out."
A brief pause, the horses were stabled, the guests entered.
"We have come to crave your hospitality," said the knight.
"It is free to all--sit you down, and in a few minutes the women will
serve the supper."
They seated themselves--no names were asked, a few remarks were
made upon that subject which interests all Englishmen so deeply even
now--the weather.
"Hast travelled far?" asked the chieftain.
"Only from Pevensey; we sought Michelham, but in the storm we must
have wandered miles from it."
"Many miles," said a low, sweet voice.
The knight then noticed the woman for the first time--he might have
said lady--who sat on the right of this grim king. Her features and
bearing were so superior to her surroundings that he started, as men do
when they spy a rich flower in a garden of herbs. By her side was a boy,

evidently her son, for he had her dark features, so unlike the general
type around.
"How came such folk here?" thought De Montfort.
The meal was at length served, the stew poured into wooden bowls; no
spoons or forks were provided. The fingers and the lips had to do their
work unaided, in that day, at least in the huts of the peasantry. Bread, or
rather baked corn cakes, were produced; herbs floated in the soup for
flavouring; vegetables, properly so called, were there none.
Many a time had our travellers partaken of rougher fare in their
campaigns, and they were well content with their food; so they ate
contentedly with good appetite. The wind howled without, the snow
found its way in through divers apertures, but the warmth of the central
fire filled the hovel. Their hosts produced a decoction of honey, called
mead, of which a little went a long way, and soon they were all quite
convivial.
"Canst thou not sing a song, Stephen, like a gallant troubadour from the
land of the sunny south, to reward our hosts for their entertainment?"
And Stephen sang one of the touching amatory ballads which had
emanated so copiously from the unfortunate Albigenses of the land of
Oc. The sweet soft sounds charmed, although the hosts understood not
their meaning.
"And now, my lad, have not thy parents taught thee a song?" said the
knight, addressing the boy.
"Sing thy song of the Greenwood, Martin," added the mother.
And the boy sang, with a sweet and child-like accent, a song of the
exploits of the famous Robin Hood and Little John:
Come listen to me, ye gallants so free, All you that love mirth for to
hear; And I will tell, of what befell, To a bold outlaw, in
Nottinghamshire.

As Robin Hood, in the forest stood, Beneath the shade of the
greenwood tree, He the presence did scan, of a fine young man, As fine
as ever a jay might be.
Abroad he spread a cloak of red, A cloak of scarlet fine and gay, Again
and again, he frisked over the