The Fool (Bailey)/Chapter 18

N the morning he was afoot betimes and out with Siward to be schooled in the work of the hammer. He saw the great smoking mound where the raw ore was built up with layers of charcoal and burnt till it fell into small pieces which could be fed into the great furnace. He saw that sandstone furnace in which the fire burnt half a year and more which was fed with ore twice in a day and from which the molten metal flowed to make sows of crude iron. He saw the fineries in which the sows were put again through fire and hammered into the square masses which Siward called blooms and heated yet again to be beaten into the bars called anconies. He saw the chafery where the anconies went once more into fire to be made longer and rounded off. He saw the waterwheel on the great pond of his ducking which drove the untiring hammers. And neither the heat nor the abounding noise troubled him or stayed the flood of his questions.

"Good faith, my lord, you will know my craft by heart," Siward smiled gravely.

"To know every man's craft, that is the craft of a King. Nay, but this is all new to me. It was in my mind that one man here and there, each with his little furnace, burnt out iron and it was enough. But here you have a township and many men's work and great engines."

"It is new, my lord. Till you gave the land peace, naught was done but in a little way. And till there was peace, the land had use for but little. Now we cannot make enough. And so it grows."

"And there is no end to it."

"I see none in my day nor in my children's. That is your work, my lord."

"And the work breeds good men," he clapped his hand on Siward's broad shoulder.

"Here be many men where naught was but beasts of chase and beasts of warren. So it goes, my lord. But for me, I make iron."

"Nay, God's my life, you make England," the King said. "But where does your iron go, Siward?"

"Here we fashion it in bars and spades and horseshoes and nails and"

"And crossbow bolts, cousin?" said Bran.

"Aye, in many things," Siward glanced at him. "I will show you, if you please. And many anconies we sell to the smiths and the armourers."

"There is one seeking you, cousin," Bran said.

Siward turned: "It is Sir Gilbert of Ockley," he said carelessly. "Will you see the store, my lord?"

And while Sir Gilbert talked loud to Siward's placid son, to the store they went. The King was still busily curious, but Bran lingered and dallied and having found some arrow heads sat him down and played with them, dropping them into the floor between his feet and juggling with them. At this Siward found him and surveyed him with some contempt. "My iron is keen, friend."

"Yea, yea. But I have my craft too." He had two bolts in the air at once and let them fall between the fingers of one hand behind his head and caught them in the other. "I can shoot two at once. Is it these pretty things Sir Gilbert seeks?"

"He buys of me," Siward said carelessly. Through the dull beat of the hammers men's voices were rising loud. He strode to the door.

The King swung Bran round: "What is in your head now?" he whispered.

"He is a deep man, he."

"And honest, I will warrant him."

"Who had the bolts that slew the deer? Honest Siward stores them here."

"He rob the forest! Not he."

"Sooth, sooth. Where the harts fell, there they lay, he came not to steal who came to slay."

"Why then, in God's name? What use to Siward? You are too wise, brother Bran. He is no wild rogue, no man less."

"Nay, he is a deep man, he. Where is he, brother?"

"God's my life, the man is gone!" the King cried and went to the door.

Away before the house Sir Gilbert and Sir Walter were horse to horse and loud in a quarrel. "Nay, faith, this asks for me, I think," the King laughed and was going, but Bran stayed him.

"Look and listen and learn, brother. The Sieur Siward hath this in his hand."

Neither gentleman indeed, to do them justice, had come with the thought of quarrelling or with any sinister intent. Sir Gilbert was there, even as Bran opined, with the single purpose of buying crossbow bolts, Sir Walter to recover his King, and neither expected to meet the other. The shock of meeting was the more violent. Sir Gilbert exploded in a jibe about Sir Walter's wondrous courage in daring to leave his castle. Sir Walter, with the outrage on his own coverts and the King's spoilt hunt still heating him, boiled over. Sir Gilbert found himself accused of that very wrong whereof he complained and having with difficulty understood the charge was beside himself. So they were rating each other, jostling each other horse to horse, hands were at sword hilts when Siward came.

"My good lords, you do me wrong," he said and took their horses' heads. "You have honoured me much. Do me no dishonour now,I pray you."

"Stand off, man," Sir Gilbert cried. "You have naught to do here."

"I am a poor man to you, my lord, and hold but little, yet what I hold is mine and who does violence here on my land puts me to shame. But I pray you, what wrong has fallen here to inflame you? Tell me and I will answer for it."

"God save you, Siward," Sir Walter gave an angry laugh, "it is no fault in you or yours."

"Yet here you take swords. You who are great lords, and my very good masters. Do me reason, my lords, what is left of me, if you fight upon my land. I am the earthen pot that is crushed between two iron cauldrons," and standing there between their two horses he looked mildly from one angry man to the other.

Sir Gilbert was compelled to laugh. "The poor Siward! He hears his ribs crack, A wise fellow."

"Please you, my lord, this is no jest to me. You have known me both and known me true, I hope. And I have done you both honest service. But if there is feud between you there is an end of me. If the castles are at war I must pack and go!"

The two knights looked at each other and each bethought him of the good iron which the Hammer furnished him, of the good marks in the year which the Hammer stood for on the manor roll.

"Sooth it is," Siward shook his head sadly, "of both I hold and betwixt both I lie and if one is against other I am destroyed. You know it well, my lords."

They did know it and pondered and then "Betwixt both you be!" Sir Gilbert cried. "A true word! And an honest man are you. Tell me true then, and you, Walter, hear him, have you seen Sir Walter's men come to kill on my land?"

"I? My lord, not I." Siward was duly aghast.

"No, nor Gilbert's men come killing here," Sir Walter said. "But so it is. A hart of ten, with one of Gilbert's arrows in it across the King's chase."

"And a hart of ten, deep in my coverts, killed by a bolt of yours two days since. You struck first."

"God's death, do you own the shot then?"

"My lords, my lords," Siward spread out his hands between them. "More wrong will not make wrong right. Nay, who will believe that either did other wrong? I have seen naught, not I. But I hold little land and far beyond my holding your coverts march. That is the evil. Men mark not where they ride nor where they shoot. Honestly unknowing, or knowing but in the heat of the chase, your foresters cross their own bounds or the stricken beast runs on and dies far from the bowman. So it must be while your coverts march."

"Here is good comfort!" quoth Gilbert. "What, must I build me a wall about my land, because there are cursed bad woodmen beyond?"

"Look to your own, Gilbert," Sir Walter said. "Nay, my lords, there is naught in this for ill blood. By St. Mary, I could promise you peace if I dared."

"Speak out, wise man," Sir Walter said.

"I have ventured before and you liked it not. Aye, and with you too, my lord. Yet it is a little thing and will bear you good silver in the year. Set apart land, each cut a strip and there is a clear bound betwixt your coverts and give it me to my holding and I will fence it and burn it for charcoal. Nor beast nor man will cross then and you shall have profit of it beside."

The two knights looked at each other: "How now?" said Sir Walter. "He talked of this before and I would not hear. But I never knew that he asked your land too."

"I would not give it," says Sir Gilbert. "No more than you. But faith, I knew not that he had asked yours," and he began to laugh.

Siward smiled discreetly. "Proud lords you are and stubborn. It is well seen this day. Why should I tell either that the other had denied me? That helps not me. Good faith, my lord, it is true I want the land, for I need more fuel to the hammer. But true it is also that it serves you well to grant the land, which before you would in nowise believe. Call friends, my lords, and mark off your bounds."

Then away in the storehouse: "God's my life," said the King, "here was the mark for his bolts, brother Bran. A cunning craftsman he. And I—I toil and sweat to make my barons do the realm service and here is this smith and his smithy orders them at his will."

"Yea, yea, the craftsman's need is the land's good speed," said Bran.

The two knights were reckoning up the matter and each other between long looks, something shame-faced, and each waited for the other to speak. "How say you, Walter?" cried Sir Gilbert at last. And Sir Walter, the wiser man, put his pride away. "Let us give him his land, Gilbert," he said with a good grace enough. "He is right. We shall establish our peace so. It must be done together. What one grants let the other grant."

"You have said," Gilbert was satisfied if the other was first to yield. "Be it so. What! Who comes here?"

Ursula came and young Walter and between them holding a hand of each was the child Ia: "But where is Bran?" she was pleading. "You have not found me Bran."

"Ursula and young Walter! And very tenderly withal," Gilbert laughed loud. "Goodman and goodwife, faith. What, are they wed already and a child to their house? Give you joy, Grandsire Walter."

"Here is a scullion's jest," Sir Walter flushed. "It is the child of the King's fool."

And young Walter forsook his lady and the child and strode forward. "Do you mock at me, my lord? Then come apart with me and you shall be answered."

"Oh no, no, no. I praise you, young sir. A good eye you have for a woman and well-matched you are. And"

"I would have no man jest with my daughter's fame, my lord," Siward struck in. "I cannot tell why you should mean me ill."

"Ill, good faith, not I," Gilbert laughed. "I say she is very worthy of him."

"Then you say well, my lord," said young Walter fiercely, and turned to his father. "My most dear lord, this you should have heard of me alone. But since this gallant knight would make evil of it I must speak now for her honour and mine. I am this lady's true servant for ever, and I seek her to wife."

"Siward's daughter?" his father cried.

"This is no more of my seeking than of yours, my lord," said Siward. "Be sure that I crave nothing of any man for my daughter."

Then the child said, "Why are they all angry, Ursula," and stroked her timidly.

And in the storehouse "Alack the wise Siward," the King laughed. "A woman has undone all his wit. The man is but a man after all. Shall I strike in, brother?"

"Peace, peace. They want none but a fool," said Bran, and slouched out.

The child saw him and cried out and ran to him. "Bran, Bran, they are all angry and she is sad," she said, and clung to his arm that was about her.

"Nenny, nenny, they play a game that big folks play," Bran said. "An old, old game."

But when the child had left her Ursula came forward and took young Walter's hand and she looked up calmly at his father.

"Good morrow, wise folks," Bran said. "Do you lack a fool?"

"God's body," Sir Walter cried. "Do you brave me, girl?" "I stand here because I must, my lord," she said.

"And by St. Paul, a gallant wench!" Gilbert laughed.

"And so I stand, my father," young Walter said, "do us right."

"Free man and free maid, naught to them is gainsaid," Bran droned.

"Aye, the fool is your right friend. You are mad, boy."

"To-day to you, whatever the sorrow, read you true, theirs is to-morrow."

"God is my witness, must I hear a fool's jangle? Speak out, Siward. There is naught in this but folly and shame. You know it well."

"I know not that, my lord," Siward said. "It is no more my work than yours, but I cannot bind what is free."

"Then go your ways, you and your girl, I will have none of it."

"You are my lord and I hold of you. But if you break with me I go. What I have done here I can do on other land."

"Wherever I go this maid is mine, my lord," young Walter said.

Bran counted on his fingers and muttered to himself and sang: "Four men be here and four wise men and a maid withal I see, but who of them all is most worth to all is dark to a fool like me."

Then Sir Gilbert, whose mind, no bright one, was very sure of the use of the Hammer and its rents, cried out: "What, Siward, would you quit and go?"

"I hold of no lord who bears me ill."

"Now God have mercy, Walter, we must not lose him."

"Aye, my good friend are you!"

"What wrong is done, sir?" young Walter cried. "Here is honest blood and true and the fairest lady in the shire and wise and my heart is for her and my soul."

"I am a lonely man this day," Sir Walter said heavily.

"That shall not be, my lord. Oh, trust me."

"You are my son," he held out his hand. "I would have nor you nor she forget that."

The young man took the hand and kissed it and held it for Ursula to kiss.

"Peace be with you." It was the King called to them. The King came with his brisk, rolling gait. "God save the good company." Hats came off embarrassed heads. "Nay, never heed me. You have no need of me. I am come but to kiss the bride." And heartily he did so. "Never grudge me, lad." He gave her back to Walter. "God's my life, wise men are you all, but the young one is wisest." He put his hands one on Walter's shoulder, one on Ursula's. "Aye faith, here is my England. Make her men such as your fathers." And he came back to old Sir Walter. "Give me your sword, old friend. Kneel, Siward. Bend your stiff knee. Aye, that is hard. Now rise, Sir Siward."

"I am your man, my lord. How shall I thank you? You have made me what I never thought to be."

"You have made yourself, man."

"Give you joy, sir knight," Gilbert laughed.

Sir Walter put out his hand. "Let us hold together, Siward. I promise you, I fear you."

So they went in to drink wine on it and the King plucked Siward apart. "Shall I blazon you a coat of arms, Sir Siward? I will give you two crossbow bolts gules upon vert. Oh rogue!"

Siward smiled in his beard. "And two knights enraged proper. Nay, good my lord, a beggar on horseback should be my crest. But you are too wise for me. I pray you keep my secret. What is a man to do when men will not see their own good?"

"Nay, faith, that is ever the King's riddle. But I did not guess your secret, wise man, it was my fool."

"I owe him the more, my lord, who kept a still tongue. And he was the wise man when all went awry."

"Where is he, my Bran?" the King looked round.

Bran was away by Siward's wife and she had the child on her knee. "Aye, that is Elfrida," Siward smiled. "She never passed by one that is lonely or little or weak."

"Well the child knows that: see!" For Ia was nestling to the deep bosom.

Siward went to them. "Welcome, little one."

"This is a kind house," Ia said, watching him with big eyes. "And you were not angry, you. Not very angry." Siward put his hand on Bran's shoulder. "Will you come to my house sometimes, little maid?"

The child looked up into his wife's face. "Please come," Dame Elfrida said.

Bran turned. "You see clear, you. I am a homeless man."

"I am in your debt, friend. Here is home at your need." "I am Bran's one," the child cried out.

"Yea, always Bran's one," Dame Elfrida kissed her. "And here is home for Bran's one and Bran."

"What is home?" the child said.

"You shall know. Be very sure you shall know," said Siward. "You and he," and he gave his hand.

But afterwards when the King and his fool rode alone, "Brother Bran, brother Bran, what need have I to be King of this people of mine? They do their own work. They are grown."