Part 9

“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.