“I'm teaching Eleanor all the birds' names,” went on Roger, quite at his ease, munching a bit of flag-root. “They don't have the same names here that they do in Normandy, you know. Old Jehan—the gardener that used to know Eleanor's grandfather—taught me all their names when I was there. The nuthatch is Pic Macon, and the mum-ruffin is Pendolin, and the robin is Marie-Godrie. I'm going to show Eleanor the nest next time we come, if you don't mind.”
To the surprise of everybody old Izan rode up the castle mount one day on a borrowed donkey. “Howel he loaned it to me,” she explained dryly. “Seems like he has less fear of witches since little Gwillym began to fat up. I have secret things to speak of to my lord, Master Roger. Will 'ee take him word?”
In private, with only Sir Walter and Lady Philippa to hear, the old woman told her secret.
“'Tis the Fairies' Well that drags down your wall,” said she. “My grandfather told me the tale, and he had it from his father. The outlet is a hidden stream that runs underground to the river, and not the stream in the marsh as folk think. The underground channel goes under a corner of your mount. When the snows melt and the waters are strong in mountain and in valley, then rises the water in this channel, deep under the mount, and heaves at the rocks above it and throws down your wall. That is all the witchcraft of it. So long as 'twas your stones and battlements that fell I cared no whit, but when my lady told me that she would have her garden there I could not bear to think of the peril for her and the younkets. I am no witch, my lord, unless it be Satan that gives us to know more than others. But I have hated the Normans who came here to steal our land, and have helped my people to harass them in years gone by. All but you and Sir Hugh l'Estrange, they have despoiled and plagued the folk. But build no wall above the stream, for 'twill fall—'twill fall—'twill fall. The waters will pull it down.”
The knight sat thinking, his hands on the arms of his tall carved chair. “I am not so sure,” he said. “Maybe we can lift the curse on the mount and make the wall secure. You shall dwell in peace by your well so long as you may live, and your children after you, if you will show me where this channel goes and keep the secret. Tis in my mind that it is best to keep it secret still.”
The old woman looked up with bright inquiring eyes.
“See you,” the knight went on, “if we dig a channel to let the waters run to the river by a shorter swifter way there will be no more trouble. I think that we will make an excuse of draining the marsh. Then if we can, when the underground way is no more the channel of the stream, we will wall it in to make a secret passage from the castle in time of need. You have kept the secret so long that I may trust it with you—and there will be no more talk of the powers of evil taking toll of my people.”
Sir Walter rose and went his way, and in due time consulted with his head mason about the canal to the river. But Lady Philippa came and took both old Izan's work-hard hands in hers, and thanked her, with tears in her eyes. Thereafter no more masonry fell above the hidden waters, and the cottage by the Fairies' Well was left in peace.
LULLABY OF THE PICT MOTHER
Hush thee, my baby O! never thee cry,
Cradled in wicker, safe nested so high.
Never gray wolf nor green dragon come near,—
Tree-folk in summer have nothing to fear.
Hee-o, wee-o, hear the wild bees hummin',
See the blackcock by the burnie drummin',—
Wattle-weaving sit we snug and couthie,—
Hee-o, wee-o, birdling in our boothie!
Hush thee, my baby O! dark is the night—
Cuddle by kiln-ring where fire burns bright.
Trampling our turf-roof wild cattle we hear—
Cave-folk in winter have nothing to fear.
Kling-klang, ding-dong, hear the hammers clinking—
Stone pots, iron kettles, copper cups for drinkin'!
Elf-shots for bowmen plough a mighty furrow—
Hee-o, wee-o, foxling in our burrow!
Hush thee, my baby! The Beltane's aglow,
Making the deasil the wiseacres go.
Brewing our heather-wine, dancing in round—
Earth-folk are we, by her spells are we bound.
Hee-o, wee-o, hear the pipes a-croonin',
Like the dragon's beetle-wings a-droonin',
Dyeea guard us from the Sword-man's quellin',—
Hee-o, wee-o, bairnie in our dwellin'!
Hush thee, my baby O! hear the dogs bark,
Herdin' the lammies home out o' the dark.
Cradled and christened frae goblin's despite,
House-folk we hear the kirk bells through the night.
Hee-o, wee-o! hear the cricket chirrin',
Hear auld Bawthrens by the ingle purrin',—
Christ us keep while daddie's gone a-huntin'!
Hee-o, wee-o, bonnie Babie Buntin'!
The winds and the waters our Father shall praise,
The birds, beasts and fishes shall tell o' His ways.
By seashore and mountain, by forest and ling,
O come all ye people, and praise ye our King!