Every man started up in his saddle, and the cheers they had held back upon leaving camp burst forth now with added zest. Peering over her captor’s shoulder, Randalin looked forward anxiously.
Below the plain in whose centre the old elm held up its blasted top to be silvered by the sun, the land dipped abruptly toward the river, to rise beyond in a long low hill. Rolling green meadows lay at its foot, and warm brown fields dotted with thatched farm-houses; and its sides were checkered with patches of woodland and stretches of golden barley. Just below the crest, the tower of the Lords of Ivarsdale reared its gray walls above the surrounding greenery. Far away, a speck through the dark foliage, the great London road gleamed white; but wooded hills made a sheltering hedge between, and all around spread the great beech forest that fostered the markmen’s herds. It was a kingdom to itself, with the light slanting warmly upon its fertile slopes and the forest standing like a strong army at its back.
Because it was so peacefully lovely, and because of her utter weariness, tears welled up under the girl’s heavy lids as she looked. She said unsteadily, “Saw I never a fairer cage, lord.”
But the Etheling’s eager glance had travelled on; for the first time the sun was shining out brightly in his face.
“The sight has more cheer than has wine,” he said. “I cannot comprehend my folly in wanting to leave it. To live one’s own master on one’s own land, that is the only life!” He looked back at the yeomen with a sudden smile. “Noise!” he ordered. “Cheer again! it expresses the state of my feelings. And let your horn sound merrily, Kendred, that they may know we are coming.”
Amid a joyous tumult, they swept over the terrace-like plain and broke ranks around the old elm. Evidently it was the disbanding place, for the yeomen-soldiers, one and all, came crowding around their leader to press his hand and speak a parting word.
“You have fought with the sword of your tongue, chief!”... “as worthy a battle as when you strove against the Danes!”... “The spirit of the old days is not dead while you are alive, Oswald’s son.”... “None now are born thereto save you alone!”... “Till that time when you send for us, my chief.”... “One eye on our ploughs and one watching for your messenger.”... “God keep you in safety, young lord!”
In the meadows beyond the stream, little shepherd boys had heard the horn and were swarming, spider-like, over the hedges, sending up shrill shouts. And now women came running across the fields from the farmhouses, waving their aprons. More children raced behind them; and then a dozen old men, limping and hobbling on crutches and canes. A moment, and they were all over the foot-bridge and up the slope; and the sweet clamor of greetings was added to the tumult. Now it was a crowd of little brothers throwing themselves upon a big one; now a blooming lass flinging her arms around her sweetheart’s neck; and again, a farmer’s little daughter leaping joyously into her father’s embrace.
In the midst of it, the Lord of Ivarsdale looked around and found that Fridtjof the page was crying as though his heart would break.
“How! Tears, my Beowulf!” he said in amazement.