Tales From Cornwall: A History Of The Hubelaires

3. Raymond The Golden

This is the third of the Cornwall series, which Dr. Keller arranged into a single book, to be read in chronological order. And, of course, even when a "history” is such charming — and sometimes horrifying — fantasy, protocol requires that we pretend it really happened; thus, as a good historian, the author provides us with an "argument from dates” indicating the high spots of what has gone before, both in the earlier stories and in the "times between”; for this is the old-fashioned, storybook sort of history where each and every detail of each and every year is not gone into exhaustively, but the best "stories” are told

Anthon, Lord of the Hubelaires, asked his grandson, Raymond the Golden, to go with him to the shore of the Hungry Sea. As they sat on the sands he said, "You are my only grandson, Raymond. When I die you will be ruler. I wish you could inherit wealth, prosperity and fame, but we are a little people and there is nothing I can leave you save pride.

"But there is somewhat I must tell you. Before we came to the Isle of Lundy we lived across the Hungry Sea in a land called Cornwall. There we held a mighty building called a castle, the like of which you have never seen. The Cambrians frequently tried to take it but never succeeded; however, frequent wars and disease so weakened us that we were forced to leave it. Before so doing, our Lord hid some of our treasures in a lower room and walled the door shut so none might find it. Because he had the vain hope that some day our people would return and once again become great in Cornwall, he drew a map showing where those treasures were. This chart has passed in succession from Lord to Lord. Now I give it to you. Cherish it greatly. Your oldest son must have it and know its meaning. In turn he must tell his son and thus the secret will always be known to the Lord of the Hubelaires." He handed Raymond a small parchment.

"They must be great treasures," mused Raymond.

"Not what you think," his grandsire replied. "Neither gold, silver nor precious jewels. The tale, as handed down from father to son, is that long since our folk lived in a far land called Jutland and their Lord was a mighty man named Balder. He had a weapon called the Thor hammer, with which he killed a giant and thus won his bride. When he returned home he brought the giant's spear as trophy. Later we lived in Armorica and our Lord Edward owned a most unusual sword with a haft at either end. The story of his use of this sword is so magical that I can scarce believe it. For many generations these three weapons, the Thor hammer, the spear and the sword were venerated, and finally they were hidden as I have told you."

"We are at peace," Raymond said. "The weather is pleasant and the Hungry Sea at rest. I could sail there and bring these wonderful weapons back to Lundy. It would not take long."

”No. The time has not yet come. We will soon rejoice in the springtime sacrifice. I hope you will marry then for I cannot die in peace till I know you have a son. The Hubelaires must live on and on, for something as fine as our family must never perish. Since your father died in battle against the Rathlings you have been my only hope. Have you decided which of our maidens you wish to mate with? There are only three old enough, but any one of them would make you a lovely bride. Before this our young men always married outside the family, and that was good; but now that cannot be done."

“Perhaps none of them would want me, Grandfather."

"Why not? Your long golden hair shines in the sunlight. You are clean of limb and strong. You can play on the harp and sing sweetly. None of our men can excel you in the use of the battle axe or long sword. Yet, withal, you have a tender way in caring for our lambs, and the wild deer come at the sound of your voice."

"All that may be true," Raymond replied with a laugh, "but methinks a woman wants more than all of this. And just what a woman needs to satisfy her I cannot say."

Thus he spoke, because he did not want to tell his grandfather a longing in his heart which he had kept secret from even his kindly mother, Matje.

At the west of the island was a place called Mistland, and what was there or why, or who lived there, none knew; for in the curling white vapors none could find his way, but, walking circlewise, ever came out as he came in and was none the wiser. Follwar, the fisherman, had told Raymond tales of the Mist, and how, from his boat on the waves of the Hungry Sea, he had seen the high peaks and heard the wailing of the sea gulls and the white foam of the surf caressing the rocks. The fisherman had added that it was a good place to stay away from, if you wanted to return safely at nightfall. Also, Raymond had heard Lord Anthon and the other oldlings tell tales of wanderers lost in the white air, and, finally, arriving at the place of their outseting.

A year before, Raymond, filled with a desire to succeed where all had failed, had left his home one morning. Cheese and bread were in his wallet, his sword was lashed to his belt, and his three-stringed harp was tied to his back. He walked along the beach till he came to Skullery Mountain, where the sands changed to sharp rocks. Around him was the white, seething mist that hid all before it and covered the skin with the cold, wet hand of the Deathlings.

Now, always before this those attempting to enter Mistland had gone through the low pastures, fearing the surf and the sharp rocks and holding Skullery Mountain to be impassable. But now the Golden One, with the salt ocean at his back and the gulls flying friendly around him, climbed like a goat till he reached the topmost crag, and then, pausing, looked down. From this. point of vantage he saw what had never before been seen by any Hubelaire. After that he came often but told no one what he had seen. However, his hair became more golden and his songs sweeter.

Then came late spring: the first strawberries had blossomed and fruited and all prepared for the yearly sacrifice. The Hubelaires wended their way in gay procession to offer the gods the best of their fruit, honey, wine and grain. Lord Anthon preceded the family while Raymond, with flowers in his hair, led those who played on the harp and flute. The little children ran with chains of daisies. Doves fluttered in the air, tied with one foot to the babes who were carried in their mother's arms. Right glad were all hearts for the coming of another year and the mercy shown them by the great gods who ruled them from the sky. All were in festive garb, their arms and war harness being left in their homes.

With trembling hand the aged Lord laid fire to the sacrifice on the altar. Then the three and thirty souls of the House of Hubelaire sang the songs which had been sung by their ancients at the Balar of Balder in Jutland, the land that was far away and long ago. And, of those who played on the harps, none made sweeter or more mirthful music than Raymond the Golden, while, high in the sky, a lark trilled.

Lord Anthon made the sacrificial prayer and all knelt, each asking for that he most desired, with pure hearts and last-shut eyes. As thus they prayed, the Rathlings rushed upon them from all sides.

The lark ceased singing in the sky; the sun darkened behind thickening clouds of ominous gray; the wind blew biting cold from off the Hungry Sea. Three of the Hubelaire men lay dead on the dark earth; while all living Hubelaires, bound with ropes and earth-stained, lay in a pile.

Sardain, King of the Rathlings, laughed loudly and, as he laughed, threw filth on the sacred altar and horse dung in the faces of the three dead men. All that day the Hubelaires died, and as each one died, the living, bound and helpless, lay watching. For their soul-letting was not clean and peaceful, but was accomplished by all the tortures the barbarians could devise and determine in their twisted souls. So all the men and women younglings and even the babies at the breast were soul-letted till finally only one of the thirty and three, who had gone so happily to the yearly sacrifice, was alive.

Then the bonds of Raymond were loosed and he was led face-to-face before Sardain. The King's hands and all his hairy body were red with blood and to the right and left and under his feet were a multitude of pieces of what had once been the House of the Hubelaires.

"The battle is over, Raymond!" he shouted, while the blood-streaked spittle dripped from his mouth.

The Golden One laughed defiantly. "No! It has just begun!"

"How say you so? Thus far I have spared you. A whim of mine. I wanted you to see the others suffer. Was it not clever how I used the wild horses? Did you ever see anything as comical as the way the hot sword had its will with your virgins? One of my men is a clever worker with colors. He will put the story down on parchment — picturing how each of you died. I will have the paintings bound in a book. You will join the others; the last page is reserved for you. I have a few fine plans for you. But first I will grant you one request. Ask me your desire — but beware that you ask not too much — it must not come between me and my pleasure."

Raymond the Golden looked at him, and his heart grew cold, but not from fear. He prayed to the Gods he wot of, but not for mercy, and then be spake.

"Allow me to be gone from here till the third day; then I will return here or to your house on the other side of the island. Then you may do with me as you will, if only you leave me go till the third day."

"Good!" replied Sardain. "Whatever happens will be good. We have all the boats and it is too far for you to swim to Cornwall. If you come back it will be well, and if you think you can hide on Lundy it will be rare sport for my young men and deerhounds to hunt for you. All the hours you are away I will perfect my plans for my greatest pleasure. We will wait for you here where we have a fire and plenty of fresh meat. We have not had such fine meat for many a year. Let him go! In three days we will see him. I wish I could tell which of those pieces of carrion belonged to the bitch who dropped him. I would save some of her for him to eat on his return."

The circle opened. Raymond bounded away like a frightened rabbit; but he was not afraid.

It was dusk when he reached the base of Skullery Mountain, and so he bathed in the ocean and then lay on the wet sand till the fill moon rose out of the Hungry Sea. Because he treaded familiar paths and haste impelled him, he climbed the crags till he reached the topmost and then dropped down on the other side into the dark forest of Mistland. Running along a well-worn path he came to the end of his journey. There in a green meadow, bathed in moonlight and free of the mist that elsewhere hung heavily, stood a round tower, and about it, cud-chewing, lay some cattle.

There Raymond stood and sang a song of his own making, and never had he sung the song save under this tower. Thus he sang:

Then from the tower came a damsel and she ran to him and pressed him to her while two great wolfhounds fawned on him and licked his hands and a broad-shouldered servant came with a torch in one hand and a mace in the other. All together entered the tower.

"I have a thousand questions to ask you," she said.

"For the love you bear me," he replied, "give me bread and wine and a little cheese and let me sleep by the fire on the bear skin, for I am very tired and my spirit is cold within me. When I wake on the morrow I will tel you all."

These things she did, and, while he rested, murmuring in his broken sleep, she and the carl and the great hounds watched over him and over on the hearth the fire was kept brightly burning.

Morning came at last and with it the sunbeams breaking like lances through the rolling mists, and the damsel brought ale and warmed it and a piece of savory fish. When Raymond awoke she nourished him. Then they went hand-in-hand to the ocean and there bathed while the wolfhounds sported between them in the waves. So they came back and sat them on a great mound of moss in the sun at the foot of the stone tower. There, quietly and calmly, for he was very much of a man, he told her all the happenings of the least day, and how he came to be with her. Because she was high-born, she heard his tale in silence, though there was a twisting of her hands, and, as he spoke, she grew older and her skin ivory for all the body-blood drawing towards her heart.

After he had finished with the speaking, they sat very quiet, and the dogs lay at their feet, their noses between their paws and their eyes sorrowful, for they were fine-bred and could comprehend much of the. emotions of their loved ones.

Finally the damsel spoke; "So this is the end?"

"An you look on life as I do and cherish me as I do you, it will be but the beginning of the House of the Hubelaires, instead of a sad and final ending," he replied, "for nothing as fine as our House can die and come to an ending. The Golden Sun which we worship has been swallowed by the Hungry Sea and seems to be dead, but always, on the next morn, it comes alive once more. So it will be with us. I cannot believe that for evermore the Rathlings shall live without punishment for the dark work of yesterday, and there must be another dosing of the story."

Then the blood left her heart and all her face turned rosy. "Years ago," she answered him, "my lather's ship was wrecked on these rocks and only Walling, our house carl, some dogs and a little childling came alive to the shore. Here we lived in Mistland till you came and found me. Since then I have but lived till the time of your next coming. With you away, Mistland was dark and cold. Because I know you, I know you will wend your way back to your soul-going and leave me alone; and I am not sure I can live without you, but whatever you plan will be also of my wanting. Only spare me some hours so I can brew for you a simple that I know of, and, ere you come to your ending, drink it for my sake; for well I know that it will ease the pain and help you the better to meet the soul-letting that is being prepared for you."

This Raymond the Golden promised and she went into the tower, but Walling and the last of the Hubelaires walked down to the beach, and, at the end of the talking, the house carl made a sacred promise and swore to it by all the gods he wot of. The old man and the young drew blood from their arms and mixed it, and at that time.no one but the two of them knew of the sayings on the sand.

After supper, Raymond the Golden took the damsel by the hand and they walked on the beach listening to the waves murmuring to the sands till the moon was hill and they looked upon the golden ball with longing. At last they returned to the thick moss at the base of the tower and there, in the moonlight, they sat down. "Sing to me!" the woman said.

Then Raymond the Golden sang!

He paused.

"And what then?" whispered the damsel.

"The rest cannot be sung," replied Raymond the Golden.

So they lay with each other, silent.

Later in the night, she woke, sobbing, and she whispered,

"Sing to me, beloved, for my comforting."

And he sang a song that, thus tar, he had never sung to anyone:

moss, telling Walling the house earl, to watch against her wakening. He told Walling of the greatness of the Hubelaires and how the family must not die. He gave him the parchment showing where the treasures were hid in the castle in Cornwall and said that it must be given to his son and that the carl must never let the lad forget that he was a Hubelaire. Then, with the flask of simples in his wallet, he went his way but he left his heart and life with the damsel.

Thus the Rathlings bad to deal only with the body of Raymond and, though Sardain did his uttermost, it was all too soon done with and the barbarian was greatly discontented. He commanded bis artist to make a picture of the soul-letting of Raymond the Golden and put on the last page of the book, to show that this man was the last of the Hubelaires. After that the Rathlings left the altar and the remaining meat around it to the wolves and from that time on they lived in the houses of the Hubelaires. Now when the damsel had spent the fill number of days, she went to her couch and there was delivered of a boy child with flaxen hair. Walling, who minded and tended her, washed the child and brought him to her to suckle.

"It is a man child and will do what is required of him," he said, and the damsel was pleasured at the strong tug of the babe and said, "I will call him Raymond and he shall be a true Hubelaire and when the hour comes he shall do the thing for which he was made."

The child slept.

But soon the damsel cried in anguish and when Walling reached her, he found another child, born of her travail, and this baby was small and twisted and very dark. Walling took the child to bathe it and was minded to kill it, but the mother read his mind, "This only also came from the seed of my dead husband, so I will nurse him too and they will grow up company for each other; and I will call him Doom."

Summers passed and fifteen winters howled over Mistland. One night after the lads were asleep, the white-haired woman called the house carl to the fireplace.

"Walling, you have more than a carl to me, and would that I could pay you, but the tale of your service is not yet told. The time draws near when we must have the Book, and well I know that in the getting of it you may lose your life and leave all the finishing of the task to me; yet, get the Book we must. It will — soon be time for the Spring Festival; mayhaps the Rathling will be drunken with wine in memory of that day, and you can get the Book without harm. But, oh, be sure to return, for I would not know how to struggle on without thy help." And the woman laid a tender hand on the old man's head.

Then Sardain, King of the Rathlings, commanded that the Book be brought before him, and he and all his followers made merry over what the artist had painted on the pages. They drank till they slept, and last of all the King slept, after vomiting on the last page, whereon was pictured the soul-letting of Raymond the Golden.

When he woke, the Book was gone; and fear fell on him because of the going of the Book. After that none dared speak to him of it, and always he walked with his eyes glancing backward over his shoulder. Yet, in bravado, he drank his slumber drink from a certain skull he had cleansed that fateful day and tried to satisfy himself that it all had really happened and that there was no cause for fear.

From then on Walling, the house earl, worked daily with the golden youth, teaching him all he knew of the use of the sword and shield and mace; how to thrust and guard. Month by month the lad grew and finally he could toy with the earl and do with him as he would. The little twisted lad would clap his hands at the sights he saw when the two men fought. He loved his wonderful brother with a great love.

At night the white-haired woman sat by the fire while the carl and the twinlings lay on skins at her feet. Then she told them of their lather and explained that they were the last of the House of the Hubelaires. She told of the bravery and gentleness of the House and how their father had loved her ere he died. When the moon was fill she sang them the songs that Raymond had sung, though always with a sob in her throat. Finally she told them of the last days and opened the Book and made young Raymond place his hand with hers on the last page and swear that he would purge the land of the blot on it and revenge his people; but she would never let the little, twisted dark lad swear.

"No, Doom," she would answer to his pleadings. "This is not a task for you. You are to stay here and guard me, and look after the cattle and be my man."

Then, Doom would hug and kiss her, while Raymond went out to walk in the moonlight with Walling and the hounds till his heart beat more slowly and the blood desire left him; for lull well he realized the thing that must be done and eager he was to do it, knowing he would never rest till it was done.

Thus the twinlings came to their manhood, but Doom remained small, like a little child. That winter Walling, the house carl, came to his ending and Raymond laid him in a dry cave, setting at his feet a jug of wine. Within a few weeks the woman said to her giant son, "The time that your father and I dreamed of years ago has come."

"I cannot leave you in your sickness and age," he demurred.

Doom heard them talking. That night, after she slept, he crept to her couch, kissed her hand gently, and went out into the night. All that night he walked slowly, guided by the light of the moon; when morning. came he paused on the heather to eat bread and cheese. There he was joined by a little dark man. "My little lad, what is your name and what brings you out on these mountains all alone?" he asked.

"I am not a little lad," replied Doom, "for I am now of age and therefore a man. My name is Doom, son of Raymond the Golden of the House of Hubtlaires, and I am going to avenge the murder of my father and his people, who were so foully put to death by the Rathlings before I was born."

“How can you do that? There are so many of them and you are but one."

“That is true, yet I am the only one to do it. There are but three of us, my mother, and my brother Raymond, and me. Brother had to stay with Mother, for she is not strong and needs his care, so I left them. Though I am only one, somehow I will find a way to accomplish that which must be done."

"Since you are so determined," the little man replied, “I will help you. There are other ways of fighting than with the sword or battle axe." Then very slowly he explained how Doom, though small, could accomplish that which he desired. After saying his say, he vanished.

Raymond was puzzled by the absence of his brother but nourished his failing mother, tended the fire and cared for the cattle. She now spent all her days before the fire, never speaking of the desire that was uppermost in her heart. In a few weeks she slept away and her son placed her by the side of Walling. At her feet he placed some golden curls that she, cherishing, had cared for during many weary years. Then he loosed the cattle, put his harness on, with sword in belt, and started on the path to do that which needed to be done.

Biding time, as the moon was not yet full, he stopped at the place where the Hubelaires had died and, gathering the bones, piled them before the altar and covered them with rocks. All that day he went foodless, praying to the only gods he wot of. Then by night, calm and certain of the ending of this adventure, he went to the great house and hid on the thatched roof, parting the rushes so he could overlook the hall and the banquet table, and here he stayed.

Once again, at the Spring Festival, the Rathlings were gathered in the great hall, and counting all, from Sardain the King down to the newest suckling, there were few over two hundred souls; and. there were no more, for lacking other enemies they had fought now and then, these twenty-two years, among themselves. This week they were at peace and all gathered for three days of feasting and drinking. Carefully through the years they had saved three firkins of wine, grown old in the cellars of the house.

After much drinking the first night many of the men and all the women and younglings were drunk, so Raymond bit his thumb and waited. Early on the second night Sardain commanded that the three old firkins be brought from the wine vault and that all should drink from them. He said that it was the wine of their enemies, and he boasted that he had combined with it the blood of Raymond the Golden, who, dying, had been bled like a pig. Hubelaire wine savored by rich red blood of the last of their enemeis! And once again he commanded that all should drink and that wine should be poured into the mouths of even the smallest ones. This was done as he had ordered, and soon most of the Rathlings tell asleep.

Then the yellow-haired giant on the roof knew that his hour had come. Sliding to the ground he entered the Great Hall, and none stopped him or gave him pause. He walked to the throne of King Sardain. The King looked from him to the skull from which he had just drunk, and so great a fear overcame him that he died.

Inside the hall all was quiet, while outside a wolfhound whined and ran from that place with terror at his haunches.

Then, from the shadows, came a little twisted shape and slipping quietly toward the golden-haired man, fell at his feet with arms around his legs and cried. Raymond picked up the little one and held him close as a mother would her babe. "Oh, Doom, where have you been and what have you done?” he asked.

"Oh, Raymond, my twinling, I feared for you," the little one spoke between sobs. "And one against so many was not right. He was my father, Raymond, as well as yours. If anything happened to me I could be spared better than you, and you had to stay and care for Mother. So I came here, to do that which had to be done."

Raymond but held him tighter, as he crooned over him. "Oh, Doom, my little, gentle brother! How could you be so brave and how came you all the way, over the mountain and through the Mist? What did you do? For it seems to me they are all dead. Even the babies have fallen to the floor. Oh, Mother! I did not know it would be like this when I swore! What did you do, Doom? What did you do?"

The little one made no answer but pleaded to be carried from that place of death. Raymond took up his father's skull and wrapped it in the gown that the damsel had worn that night a golden lad had sung to her, and placed it carefully in his wallet. Carrying the little one in one arm and his naked sword in his right hand he walked around the great hall, but there was no need of the sword, for Death had breathed on all the Rathlings.

Raymond carried the sleeping Doom into the pure air and went his way back to Mistland. After resting and caring for the cattle, he took the gown and what was wrapped in it and laid it at the feet of his sleeping mother.

Then he built a currach in which he determined to sail across the Hungry Sea to Cornwall and recover the treasures of his family, long hid in the Castle of the Hubelaires. He had the parchment showing where it was secreted, and remembered well all that Walling had told him concerning these weapons used by the great Hubelaires in past years. But when he and Doom eased the currach from the shore, a strong wind blew from the north and after some days they landed on the cost of Armorica. Then Raymond knew that the gods bad decreed that this adventure was not tor him but that some other Hubelaire would, in the years to come, sail to Cornwall and recover the treasure.

In Armorica Raymond became great and married the daughter of a Prince and established a little principality in the dark forest; and this land he called Walling, in memory of the house carl. Babies were born to Raymond and his lovely wile and they were cared tor and loved by little, twisted Doom.

Raymond locked the Book in a wooden chest.

Many years passed. Then one night Lord Raymond, beset by memories and compulsion, took the Book from out the chest. Never once had be opened it since his mother had dosed it, but now he could no longer withhold the story from his grandchildren.

So he told them all the tale and showed them the pictures, page by page, till he cam to the page with the dried vomit splashed over the painting of the death of Raymond the Golden.

Something was more newly drawn in one corner of that page. An oddish mushroom; and written beneath it were these words: