your ship, if ye will give me aught I will take it with a good will; and chiefly if ye have a fair knife or two and a roll of linen cloth, that were a good refreshment to me.  But in any case what I have to give is free to you and welcome.”

The shipmaster laughed: “Friend,” said he, “we can thee mickle thanks for all that thou biddest us.  And wot well that we be no lifters or sea-thieves to take thy livelihood from thee.  So to-morrow, if thou wilt, we will go with thee and upraise the hunt, and meanwhile we will come aland, and walk on the green grass, and water our ship with thy good fresh water.”

So the old carle went back to his house to make them ready what cheer he might, and the shipmen, who were twenty and one, all told, what with the mariners and Arnold and Walter’s servants, went ashore, all but two who watched the ship and abode their turn.  They went well-weaponed, for both the master and Walter deemed wariness wisdom, lest all might not be so good as it seemed.  They took of their sail-cloths ashore and tilted them in on the meadow betwixt the house and the ship, and the carle brought them what he had for their avail, of fresh fruits, and cheeses, and milk, and wine, and cyder, and honey, and there they feasted nowise ill, and were right fain.

CHAPTER VI: THE OLD MAN TELLS WALTER OF HIMSELF.  WALTER SEES A SHARD IN THE CLIFF-WALL

But when they had done their meat and drink the master and the shipmen went about the watering of the ship, and the others strayed off along the meadow, so that presently Walter was left alone with the carle, and fell to speech with him and said: “Father, meseemeth thou shouldest have some strange tale to tell, and as yet we have asked thee of nought save meat for our bellies: now if I ask thee concerning thy life, and how thou camest hither, and abided here, wilt thou tell me aught?”

The old man smiled on him and said: “Son, my tale were long to tell; and mayhappen concerning much thereof my memory should fail me; and withal there is grief therein, which I were loth to awaken: nevertheless if thou ask, I will answer as I may, and in any case will tell thee nought save the truth.”

Said Walter: “Well then, hast thou been long here?”

“Yea,” said the carle, “since I was a young man, and a stalwarth knight.”

Said Walter: “This house, didst thou build it, and raise these garths, and plant orchard and vineyard, and gather together the neat and the sheep, or did some other do all this for thee?”

Said the carle: “I did none of all this; there was one here before me, and I entered into his inheritance, as though this were a lordly manor, with a fair castle thereon, and all well stocked and plenished.”

Said Walter: “Didst thou find thy foregoer alive here?”

“Yea,” said the elder, “yet he lived but for a little while after I came to him.”

He was silent a while, and then he said: “I slew him: even so would he have it, though I bade him a better lot.”

Said Walter: “Didst thou come hither of thine own will?”

“Mayhappen,” said the carle; “who knoweth?  Now have I no will to do either this or that.  It is wont that maketh me do, or refrain.”

Said Walter: “Tell me this; why didst thou slay the man? did he any scathe to thee?”

Said the elder: “When I slew him, I deemed that he was doing me all scathe: but now I know that it was not so.  Thus it was: I would needs go where he had been before, and he stood in the path against me; and I overthrew him, and went on the way I would.”

“What came thereof?” said Walter.

“Evil came of it,” said the carle.

Then was Walter silent a while, and the old man spake nothing; but there came a smile in his face that was both sly and somewhat sad.  Walter looked on him and said: “Was it from hence that thou wouldst go that road?”

“Yea,” said the carle.

Said Walter: “And now wilt thou tell me what that road was; whither it went and whereto it led, that thou must needs wend it, though thy first stride were over a dead man?”

“I will not tell thee,” said the carle.

Then they held their peace, both of them, and thereafter got on to other talk of no import.

So wore the day till night came; and they slept safely, and on the morrow after they had broken their fast, the more part of them set off with the carle to the hunting, and they went, all of them, a three hours’ faring towards the foot of the cliffs, which was all grown over with coppice, hazel and thorn, with here and there a big oak or ash-tree; there it was, said the old man, where the venison was most and best.

Of their hunting need nought be said, saving that when the carle had put them on the track of the deer and shown them what to do, he came back again with Walter, who had no great lust for the hunting, and sorely longed to have some more talk with the said carle.  He for his part seemed nought loth thereto, and so led Walter to a mound or hillock amidst the clear of the plain, whence all was to be seen save where the wood covered it; but just before where they now lay down there was no wood, save low bushes, betwixt them and the rock-wall; and Walter noted that whereas otherwhere, save in one place whereto their eyes were turned, the cliffs seemed wellnigh or quite sheer, or indeed in some places beetling over, in that said place they fell away from each other on either side; and before this sinking was a slope or scree, that went gently up toward the sinking of the wall.  Walter looked long and earnestly at this place, and spake nought, till the carle said: “What! thou hast found something before thee to look on.  What is it then?”

Quoth Walter: “Some would say that where yonder slopes run together up towards that sinking in the cliff-wall there will be a pass into the country beyond.”

The carle smiled and said: “Yea, son; nor, so saying, would they err; for that is the pass into the Bear-country, whereby those huge men come down to chaffer with me.”

“Yea,” said Walter; and therewith he turned him a little, and scanned the rock-wall, and saw how a few miles from that pass it turned somewhat sharply toward the sea, narrowing the plain much there, till it made a bight, the face whereof looked wellnigh north, instead of west, as did the more part of the wall.  And in the midst of that northern-looking bight was a dark place which seemed to Walter like a downright shard in the cliff.  For the face of the wall was of a bleak grey, and it was but little furrowed.

So then Walter spake: “Lo, old friend, there yonder is again a place that meseemeth is a pass; whereunto doth that one lead?”  And he pointed to it: but the old man did not follow the pointing of his finger, but, looking down on the ground, answered confusedly, and said:

“Maybe: I wot not.  I deem that it also leadeth into the Bear-country by a roundabout road.  It leadeth into the far land.”

Walter answered nought: for a strange thought had come uppermost in his mind, that the carle knew far more than he would say of that pass, and that he himself might be led thereby to find the wondrous three.  He caught his breath hardly, and his heart knocked against his ribs; but he refrained from speaking for a long while; but at last he spake in a sharp hard voice, which he scarce knew for his own: “Father, tell me, I adjure thee by God and All-hallows, was it through yonder shard that the road lay, when thou must needs make thy first stride over a dead man?”

The old man spake not a while, then he raised his head, and looked Walter full in the eyes, and said in a steady voice: “No, it was not.”  Thereafter they sat looking at each other a while; but at last Walter turned his eyes away, but knew not what they beheld nor where he was, but he was as one in a swoon.  For he knew full well that the carle had lied to him, and that he might as