Sauron Defeated (48 page)

King Sheave.(103)

In days of yore out of deep Ocean to the Longobards, in the land dwelling that of old they held in the isles of the North, a ship came sailing, shining-timbered, without oar or mast, eastward floating. The sun behind it sinking westward with flame kindled the fallow water. Wind was wakened. Over the world's margin clouds grey-helmed climbed slowly up, wings unfolding wide and looming, as mighty eagles moving onward to eastern Earth, omens bearing.

Men there marvelled, in the mist standing of the dark islands in the deeps of time: laughter they knew not, light nor wisdom; shadow was upon them, and sheer mountains stalked behind them, stern and lifeless, evil-haunted. The East was dark.

The ship came shining to the shore driven, and strode upon the strand, till its stern rested on sand and shingle. The sun went down. The clouds overcame the cold heavens. In fear and wonder to the fallow water sad-hearted men swiftly hastened, to the broken beaches, the boat seeking gleaming-timbered in the grey twilight. They looked within, and there laid sleeping a boy they saw breathing softly: his face was fair, his form lovely; his limbs were white, his locks raven golden-braided. Gilt and carven with wondrous work was the wood about him. In golden vessel gleaming water stood beside him; strung with silver a harp of gold beneath his hand rested; his sleeping head was softly pillowed on a sheaf of corn shimmering palely, as the fallow gold doth from far countries west of Angol. Wonder filled them.

The boat they hauled, and on the beach moored it high above the breakers, then with hands lifted from the bosom its burden.

The boy slumbered. On his bed they bore him to their bleak dwellings, dark-walled and drear, in a dim region between waste and sea. There of wood builded high above the houses was a hall standing, forlorn and empty. Long had it stood so, no noise knowing, night nor morning, no light seeing. They laid him there, under lock left him lonely sleeping in the hollow darkness. They held the doors. Night wore away. New awakened, as ever on earth, early morning; day came dimly.

Doors were opened. Men strode within, then amazed halted; fear and wonder filled the watchmen. The house was bare, hall deserted; no form found they on the floor lying, but by bed forsaken the bright vessel dry and empty in the dust standing.

The guest was gone.

Grief o'ercame them. In sorrow they sought him, till the sun rising over the hills of heaven to the homes of men light came bearing. They looked upward, and high upon a hill hoar and treeless gold was glimmering. Their guest stood there with head uplifted, hair unbraided; harpstrings they heard in his hand ringing, at his feet they saw the fallow-golden corn-sheaf lying.

Then clear his voice a song began, sweet, unearthly, words in music woven strangely in a tongue unknown. Trees stood silent, and men unmoving marvelling harkened.

Middle-earth had known for many ages neither song nor singer; no sight so fair had eyes of mortal, since the earth was young, seen when waking in that sad country long forsaken. No lord they had, no king, nor counsel, but the cold terror that dwelt in the desert, the dark shadow that haunted the hills and the hoar forest: Dread was their master. Dark and silent, long years forlorn lonely waited the hall of kings, house forsaken without fire or food.

Forth men hastened from their dim houses. Doors were opened, and gates unbarred. Gladness wakened. To the hill they thronged, and their heads lifting on their guest they gazed. Grey-bearded men bowed before him and blessed his coming their years to heal; youths and maidens, wives and children, welcome gave him. His song ended. Silent standing he looked upon them.

Lord they called him; king they made him, crowned with golden wheaten garland: white his raiment, his harp his sceptre. In his house was fire, food and wisdom: there fear came not. To manhood he grew, might and glory.

Sheave they called him, whom the ship brought them, a name renowned in the North-countries ever since in song; but a secret hidden his true name was in tongue unknown of a far country, where the falling seas wash western shores, beyond the ways of men since the world worsened. The word is forgotten and the name perished.

Their need he healed, and laws renewed long forsaken.

Words he taught them wise and lovely: their tongue ripened in the time of Sheave to song and music. Secrets he opened, runes revealing. Riches he gave them, reward of labour, wealth and comfort from the earth calling, acres ploughing, sowing in season seed of plenty, hoarding in garner golden harvest for the help of men. The hoar forest in his days drew back to the dark mountains; the shadow lifted, and shining corn, white ears of wheat, whispered in the breezes where waste had been. The woods blossomed.

Halls and houses hewn of timber, strong towers of stone steep and lofty, golden-gabled, in his guarded city they raised and roofed. In his royal dwelling of wood well-carven the walls were wrought; fair-hued figures filled with silver, gold, and scarlet, gleaming hung there, stories boding of strange countries, were one wise in wit the woven legends to thread with thought. At his throne men found counsel and comfort and care's healing, justice in judgement. Generous-handed his gifts he gave. Glory was uplifted. Far sprang his fame over fallow water; through Northern lands the renown echoed of the shining king, Sheave the mighty.

'When he ended there was loud applause - loudest from those who understood least, so that men should perceive how well they could thread the old songs; and they passed a horn to Treowine's hand. But ere he drank, I rose up, and there where I stood I finished his song for him:

Seven sons he begat, sire (104) of princes, men great of mood, mighty-handed and high-hearted. From his house cometh the seed of kings, as songs tells us, fathers of the fathers, who before the change in the Elder Years the earth governed, Northern kingdoms named and founded, shields of their people: Sheave begat them: Sea-danes and Goths, Swedes and Northmen, Franks and Frisians, folk of the islands, Swordmen and Saxons, Swabians, Angles, and the Longobards, who long ago beyond Mircwudu a mighty realm and wealth won them in the Welsh countries, where AElfwine, Eadwine's son in Italy was king. All that has passed!

'And with that, while men still stared - for there were many that knew my name and my father's - I beckoned to Treowine, and we strode from the hall into the darkness and the wind.

'And there I think I must end for tonight,' said Lowdham, with a sudden change of tone and voice that startled us: we jumped like men waked suddenly from a dream. It seemed as if one man had vanished and another had sprung up in his place, so vividly had he presented AElfwine to us as he spoke. Quite plainly I had seen him standing there, a man very like Arry but not the same - rather taller and less thick, and looking older and greyer, though by his account he was just Arry's age it seemed; I had seen the glittering of his eyes as he looked round and strode out. The hall and the faces I saw in a blur behind him, and Treowine was only a dim shadow against the flicker of far candles as he spoke of King Sheave; but I heard the wind rushing above all the words.

'Next meeting Treowine and I will go on again, if you want any more of this,' said Lowdham. 'AElfwine's tale is nearly done; and after that we shall flit more quickly, for we shall pass further and further from what Stainer would call History - in which old AElfwine really walked, at least for the most part, I guess.

'If you haven't got a horn, fill me a mug! For I have done both AElfwine's part and Treowine's, and it is thirsty work, a minstrel's.'

Markison handed him a pewter tankard full. 'Beo thu blithe aet thisse beorthege!'(105) he said, for ancient English is only one of the innumerable things he knows.

Lowdham drained the tankard at a draught. And so ended the sixty-ninth night of the Notion Club. It was agreed to meet again in only one week's time, on October 2nd, lest the onset of term should hinder the further tales of AElfwine and Treowine.

WTJ. AAL MGR. RD. PF. RS. JM. JJR. NG.

Night 70. Thursday, 2 October, 1987.

Here the typescript text ends, not at the foot of a page; and here the manuscript ends also, without the date-heading for the next meeting.

It is certain that my father wrote nothing further. There are, however, two brief texts, written very fast in pencil but fortunately just about legible, which give a glimpse of what he had in mind. Though both obviously belong to the same time, it is not clear which preceded the other; the one that I give first was written on the back of a draft for the passage in E beginning 'It was then that Arry turned away from the sea' (p. 268).

The Danes attack Porlock that night. They are driven off and take refuge by swimming out to the ships and so to 'Broad Relic'.(106) A small 'cnearr' (107) is captured.

It is not well guarded. AElfwine tells Treowine that he has stores laid up. They move the boat and stock it the following night and set sail West.

The wind is from the East, and they sail on and on, and come to no land; they are exhausted, and a dreamlike death seems to be coming over them. They smell [? the] fragrance. Swete is blostma braep begeondan sae (108) says AElfwine, and struggles to rise. But the wind changes: great clouds come out of the West.

'Behold the Eagles of the Lords of the West coming over Numenor' said AElfwine, and fell back as one dead.

Treowine sees the round world [?curve] below, and straight ahead a shining land, before the wind seizes them and drives them away. In the gathering dark [or dusk] he sees a bright star, shining in a rent in the cloud in the West. Eala Earendel engla beorhtast. Then he remembers no more.

'Whether what follows is my direct dream,' said Jeremy, 'or the dreams of Treowine and AElfwine in the deeps of the sea I cannot say.'

I woke to find myself

Here this sketch tantalisingly breaks off. On the same page and fairly certainly written at the same time stands this note: The theory is that the sight and memory goes on with descendants of Elendil and Voronwe (= Treowine) but not reincarnation; they are different people even if they still resemble one another in some ways even after a lapse of many generations.

The second sketch is at first fuller (and may for that reason be thought to have followed the other), but then passes into an outline of headings and brief statements.

Danes attack that night but are driven off. AElfwine and Treowine are among those who capture a small ship that had ventured close inshore and stuck. The rest escape to 'Broad Relic'.

It is grey dawn ere all is over. 'Going to rest?' said Treowine to AElfwine. 'Yes, I hope so,' said AElfwine, 'but not in this land, Treowine! I am going - to seek a land, whence King Sheaf came, maybe; or to find Death, if that be not the name for the same place.'

'What do you mean?'

'I am sailing,' said AElfwine. 'The wind blows westward. And here's a ship that knows the sea. The king himself has given it to me. I have handled many such before. Will you come? Two could make shift to sail her.'

'We should need more; and what of water and victual?'

'I have all prepared,' said AElfwine, 'for this venture has long been brewing in my mind, and now at last chance and desire are matched. There is provision down in my house by the weir, and we'll find a couple of lusty men of Somerset whom I know.

They'll go as far as Ireland at the least, and then we'll see.'

'Yes, you'll find madmen enough there,' said Treowine, 'but I'll go with you so far at the least.'

When it was dark on the following night AElfwine brought along Ceola (of Somerset) and Geraint (of West Wales) and we stowed her, and thrust her off. The east wind freshened, and we set sail and drove out into the dark waters. There's no need to make long tale of it: we bent our course past the horns of Pembrokeshire and so out to sea. And then we had a change of weather, for a wild wind from the South-west drove us back and northward, and we hardly made haven upon a long firth in the South-west of Ireland. I'd never been there before, for I was younger than AElfwine. We sat out the storm there, and got fresh supplies, and then AElfwine spoke of his desire to Ceola and Geraint.

Treowine sees the straight road and the world plunging down. AElfwine's vessel seems to be taking the straight road and falls [sic] in a swoon of fear and exhaustion.

AElfwine gets view of the Book of Stories; and writes down what he can remember.

Later fleeting visions.

Beleriand tale.

Sojourn in Numenor before and during the fall ends with Elendil and Voronwe fleeing on a hill of water into the dark with Eagles and lightning pursuing them. Elendil has a book which he has written.

His descendants get glimpses of it.

AElfwine has one.

On the same slip of paper and written at the same time as this second text is a note saying that Edwin Lowdham's page 'should be in Anglo-Saxon straight, without some scraps of Numenorean', and that 'the Anglo-Saxon should not be written in Numenorean script'.