While Magtelt was on her way to Halewyn, and when the first hour of her journey had already gone by, the lady Gonde questioned Sir Roel: “Sir,” she said, “do you know where our daughter may be?”

Sir Roel said that he knew nothing of it; and speaking to the Silent: “Son,” said he, “dost thou know where thy sister has gone?”

The Silent answered quietly: “Magtelt is a brave maid; whom God leads he leads well.”

“Sir,” said the lady Gonde, “do not put yourself to the trouble of questioning him further, for saying so much he has used up his words.”

But Sir Roel to Toon: “Son, dost thou not know where she is?”

“Magtelt,” answered he, “is a fair maid, and carries her crown straight.”

“Ah,” exclaimed the lady Gonde, “I am growing anxious; where is she then?”

And she went off to search the castle thoroughly.

But coming back she said to Sir Roel: “She is nowhere in the house; she has defied our orders and gone to Halewyn.”

“Wife,” said Roel, “that cannot be. Children, in this country, were always obedient to their parents.”

“Toon,” said she, “where is she? Toon, do you not know?”

“The Miserable,” he answered, “fears the beautiful maid; whom God leads he leads well.”

“Roel,” cried out the lady Gonde, “he knows where our Magtelt has gone!”

“Son, answer,” said Sir Roel.

The Silent answered:

“The sword of the crusade fell from the wall at the maid’s feet. Whom God guides succeeds in everything.”

“Toon,” cried the lady Gonde, “where is Magtelt?”

“The virgin,” he said, “rides without fear, she goes faster than the armed man: whom God leads he leads well.”

The lady Gonde groaned:

“Ah,” she said, “our Magtelt will be killed, even now she is stiff frozen, sweet Jesus! The sword of the crusade is of no avail against Siewert Halewyn.”

The Silent answered:

“He glories in his strength, thinking himself invincible, but when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows more easily.”

“Wicked son, how couldst thou think to send the little bird to the hawk, the virgin to the enemy of virgins?”

The Silent answered:

“She will come whither none looks to see her: whom God leads he leads well.”

“Sir,” said the lady Gonde to Roel, “you hear what he says; she has gone to Halewyn, and ’tis this wicked son that gave her leave.”

Sir Roel going to Toon:

“Son,” said he, “we had here but one joy, that was our Magtelt. Thou hast abused thy privilege in giving her leave to go thither. If she comes not back to us by nightfall I will curse thee and banish thee from my house. May God hear me, and take from thee, in this world bread and salt, and in the other thy portion in Paradise.”

“God,” said the Silent, “will guide the sword. Whosoever has done wrong, on him let fall the punishment.”

Gonde began crying out, weeping and making dole. Roel bade her be silent, and sent a goodly troop of men-at-arms in the direction she had taken.

But they came back without having seen anything of Magtelt, for they had not dared to go into the territory of Halewyn by reason of the spell.

XXVIII. The riding of the maid Magtelt

Singing and winding her horn, rides the noble damosel.

And she is beautiful with a beauty from heaven; fresh and rosy are her cheeks.

And straight she carries her crown.

And her little hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword of Roel the Lion.

And wide open are her fearless eyes, searching the forest for Sir Halewyn.

And she listens for the sound of his horse.

But she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

What is it makes the flame glow in her clear brown eyes? It is her high courage.

Why does she carry so straight her head and her crown? Because of the great strength in her heart.

What is it so swells her breast? The cruel thought of Anne-Mie, and her brother’s shame and the great crimes of Sir Halewyn.

And ceaselessly she looks to see if he be not coming, and if she can hear nothing of the sound of his horse.

But she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

And she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she sings.

Then, speaking to Schimmel, she said: “Together, good Schimmel, we are going to a lion. Canst not see him in his cavern, awaiting passers-by, and devouring poor maids?”

And Schimmel, hearing her, whinnied joyously.

“Schimmel,” said Magtelt, “thou art glad, I see, to be going to the revenge of Anne-Mie with the good sword.”

And Schimmel whinnied a second time.

And Magtelt sought Sir Halewyn everywhere as she went through the forest. And she listened well for the sound of his horse, and looked to see if he were nowhere coming.

And she saw nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white also the long road, and white also the leafless trees.

And she heard nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound of snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.

And she wound her horn.

XXIX. Of the crow and the sparrow, of the hound, the horse and the seven echoes

When she reached the middle part of the forest, she saw through the thick snowflakes Sir Halewyn coming towards her.

The Miserable had that day on his body a fine dress of blue cloth, on which was broidered in two colours his ugly arms. Round his waist he had a fair belt studded with lumps of gold, and at his belt the golden sickle, and over his dress a fair opperst-kleed of corn-coloured cloth-of-scarlet.

Riding on his roan horse he came up to Magtelt, and she saw that he was handsome.

Before his horse, barking and making a great noise, ran a hound like a wolf, which, on seeing Schimmel, leapt at him and bit him. But Schimmel, with a great kick which he let fly, set him dancing a sorry dance, and singing a pitiful song over his broken paw.

“Ah,” thought the maid, “God grant, brave Schimmel, that I may do better for the master than thou hast done for the dog.”

And the Miserable came to her:

“Salutation,” he said, “fair maid with clear brown eyes.”

“Salutation,” she said, “Siewert Halewyn the Invincible.”

But the Miserable: “What brings thee,” he said, “into my lands?”

“My heart,” said Magtelt, “bade me come, I wished greatly to see thee, and am content now that I can look at thee face to face.”

“So,” said he, “have done and shall do all virgins, even more beautiful than thou art.”

While they were talking together the wounded hound made a rush at the horse and hung on to Halewyn’s opperst-kleed as if he would drag him down to the ground.

Having done this, he went off and sat down in the snow beside the road, and there lifting up his muzzle howled most lamentably.

“See,” said he, “my hound crying out to death. Hast no fear, maid?”

“I go,” she said, “in God’s keeping.”

Having moved forward a little way, talking and riding together, they saw in the air above their heads, a crow of great size, on whose neck was perched an angry little sparrow, pecking him, clutching him, pulling out his feathers and piping furiously. Wounded, torn open, flying this way and that, right, left, upward, downward, banging against the trees blindly, and croaking with pain, this crow at length fell dead, with his eyes pecked out, across Halewyn’s saddle. Having looked at it a moment, he tossed it aside into the road; while the sparrow flew off to a bough, and there, shaking out his feathers merrily, fell a-piping at the top of his voice in celebration of his victory.

“Ah,” said Magtelt, laughing to the sparrow, “thou art of noble blood, little bird; come hither, I will find thee a fair cage and give thee thy fill of wheat, millet, hemp, and linseed.”

But Halewyn became mightily angry: “Common little insolent!” he cried, “would that I had thee in a snare! Shouldst not then sing for long thy victory over this noble crow.”

None the less the sparrow went on singing without a break, and in this wise seemed to mock at Halewyn, who said to Magtelt:

“Dost dare to applaud and give heart to this little animal, knowing that my shield bears on it the crow of my glorious ancestor Dirk! Knowest thou not that like him thou hast but little longer to sing?”

“I,” she said, “shall sing as long as it pleases God, my master.”

“There is for thee,” said he, “no other master than I, for here I rule alone.” Suddenly he turned very cold, for the heart of Anne-Mie, though it still beat, was become like ice in his breast. So, thinking that this heart was about to dry up, he said to Magtelt: “Thou comest in good season, fair virgin.”

“Whom God leads,” said she, “comes always in good season.”

“But,” he said, “who art thou, riding in my land, singing and winding the horn, who bringest hither such insolent talk?”

“I,” said she, “am the Lady Magtelt, daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”

“And,” said he, “art thou not chilled, riding thus in the snow?”

“None,” she said, “feels the cold in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”

“And,” said he, “hast thou no fear, here at my side and on my own land, where no one dares to set foot?”

“None,” she said, “knows of fear in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”

“Thou art,” said he, “a brave maid.”

“I,” she said, “am daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”

He answered nothing to that, and they went on a while without speaking.

Suddenly he said, lifting his head arrogantly: “Am I not truly the Invincible, the Beautiful, the Strong? Shall I not be so always? Yes, for all things come to my aid in the hour of victory. In former times I must needs sing, in cold, snow, wind, and darkness, to call virgins to me, but now the most proud, noble, and beautiful of maids comes hither in broad day without song to call her: sure sign of growing power. Who is my equal? None, save God. He has the heavens and I the earth, and over all living things triumph and mastery. Let come what may, armies, lightning, thunder, tempest; who can stand but I?”

“I!” answered to his hideous blasphemy seven voices speaking together.

Those voices were the echo of the Seven Giants, which sent back every sound seven times over with great force and volume.

But the Miserable: “Hark!” said he, “my Lord Echo dares to mock the Invincible.”

And he burst out laughing.

But the echo burst out laughing likewise, and laughed loud, long, and terribly.

And Halewyn appeared well pleased at the noise, and went on laughing, with the seven echoes after him.

And it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand men hidden in the forest.

And meanwhile the hound had taken fright and howled so desperately that it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand hounds in the forest crying out to death.

The Miserable’s horse had taken fright also, and was so terrified at his master’s laughter, the dog’s howls, and his own neighing, all ringing out together, that he plunged, reared, stood up on his hind legs like a man, laid back his ears with fear, and would, without doubt, have thrown Halewyn from his back, if, driving him onward with his spurs, he had not made him pass by force the place of the seven echoes.

But Schimmel had not moved at all, and this strangely enough, for he was a young horse, apt to be alarmed.

When the noise was over they rode on their way, speaking few words together as they rode.

And together they came to the Gallows-field.

XXX. How Magtelt came to the Gallows-field

There Magtelt saw the sixteen virgins hanging, and amongst them Anne-Mie, and all were covered over with snow.

Halewyn’s horse began again to rear, plunge, and lay back his ears as a sign of fear; but Schimmel neighed, and pawed the ground proudly with his hoof.

And Halewyn said to Magtelt: “Thou hast there an unfaithful friend, who can neigh happily at the hour of thy death.”

But Magtelt answered nothing, and looking steadfastly at those poor virgins prayed to the very strong God to help her in their revenge.

Meanwhile the Miserable alighted from his horse, and taking the golden sickle in his hand came towards Magtelt.

“It is,” he said, “the hour of thy death. Get down, therefore, as I have done.”

And in his impatience he would have lifted her from Schimmel’s back.

But Magtelt:

“Leave me,” she said, “to get down by myself; if I must die ’twill be without weeping.”

“Thou art a fine girl,” said he.

And she, having dismounted from her horse, said: “My lord, before thou strikest, doff thine opperst-kleed of the colour of corn, for the blood of virgins gushes fiercely, and if mine should stain thee I should be grieved.”

But before the opperst-kleed was off his shoulders, his head fell to the ground at his feet.

And Magtelt, looking at the body, said: “He strode confidently, thinking himself invincible; but when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows more easily.”

And she crossed herself.

XXXI. Of the sixteen deaths and of the Prince of the Stones

Suddenly the head spoke, saying: “Go thou to the end of the road, and sound my horn aloud, so that my friends may hear.”

But Magtelt:

“To the end of the road will I not go; thine horn will I not sound; murderer’s counsel will I not follow.”

“Ah,” said the head, “if thou art not the Virgin without pity, join me to my body, and with the heart that is in my breast anoint my red wound.”

But Magtelt:

“I am the Virgin without pity; to thy body will I not join thee, and with the heart that is in thy breast will I not anoint thy red wound.”

“Maid,” said the head, weeping and speaking with great terror, “maid, quickly, quickly, make on my body the sign of the cross, and carry me into my castle, for he is coming.”

While the head was speaking, suddenly came out of the wood the Prince of the Stones, and he came and seated himself on the body of the Miserable, and taking in his hands the head: “Salutation,” he said, “to the Ill-favoured one; art thou now content? What of thy triumphant bearing, my lord the Invincible? She whom thou calledst not came without a song: the virgin without fear, in whose hands is death. But thou must sing once again thy sweet song, the song to call virgins.”

“Ah,” said the head, “make me not sing, Lord Prince of the Stones, for I know well enough that at the end there is great suffering.”

“Sing,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, coward that hast never wept to do evil, and now weepest at the time of punishment: sing, Miserable.”

“Ah,” said the head, “have pity, Lord.”

“Sing,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, ’tis the hour of God.”

“My lord Prince,” said the head, “be not so hard in my evil hour.”

“Sing, Miserable,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, ’tis the hour of the reckoning.”

“Ah,” said the head, weeping, “I will sing, since you are my master.”

And the head sang the faery song.

And suddenly there spread abroad in the air a smell of cinnamon, frankincense, and sweet marjoram.

And the sixteen virgins, hearing the song, came down from the gallows and drew near to the body of Halewyn.

And Magtelt, crossing herself, watched them pass, but felt no fear.

And the first virgin, who was the daughter of the poor simpleton, Claes the Dog-beater, took the golden sickle, and cutting into the breast of the Miserable below the left nipple drew out a great ruby, and put this on her wound, where it melted into rich red blood in her breast.

And the head let a great pitiful cry of pain.

“So,” said the Prince of the Stones, “did the poor virgins cry out when thou madest them pass from life unto death; sixteen times hast thou brought death about, sixteen times shalt thou die, besides the death thou hast suffered already. The cry is the cry of the body when the soul leaves it; sixteen times hast thou drawn this cry from other bodies, sixteen times shall cry out thine own; sing, Miserable, to call the virgins to the reckoning.”

And the head sang again the faery song, while the first virgin walked away silently towards the wood like a living person.

And the second virgin came to the body of the Miserable and did to it as the first had done.

And she also walked away into the wood like a living person.

So did each of the sixteen virgins, and for each of them a ruby was changed into good red blood.

And sixteen times the head sang the faery song, and sixteen times gave the death-cry.

And one by one all the virgins went away into the depth of the wood.

And the last of all, who was Anne-Mie, came to Magtelt, and kissing her right hand wherein she had held the sword: “Blessed be thou,” she said, “who camest without fear, and, delivering us from the spell, leadest us into paradise.”

“Ah,” said Magtelt, “must thou go so far away, Anne-Mie?”

But Anne-Mie, without hearing her, passed like the others into the depth of the wood, walking silently over the snow like a living person.

While the head was weeping and uttering bitter plaints, came out from the forest the child of nine years old, whom the Miserable had killed first of all. Still wearing her shroud she approached and fell at the feet of the mannikin Prince of the Stones.

“Ah,” she said, kissing the head tenderly, stroking it, caressing it, and wiping away its tears, “poor Miserable, I will pray for thee to the very good God, who readily hears the prayers of children.”

And the girl prayed in this wise:

“Dear Lord, see how much he is suffering! Is it not payment enough that he should die sixteen times? Ah, Lord, sweet Lord, and you, Madam Mary, who are so kind, deign to hear me and grant him forgiveness.”

But the mannikin, starting up, pushed the child away and said harshly: “This head is mine, thy prayers avail nothing; be off, little ragamuffin, go back whence thou came.”

And the child went away like the other maids into the depth of the wood.

Then he thrust his hand into the breast of the Miserable and pulled out a heart of stone: then, in his rasping voice, which hissed like a viper and scraped like a thousand pebbles under the iron sole of an armed man, he said: “Ambitious heart, heart of stone, thou wast in thy lifetime cruel and a coward; thou couldst not be content with such ample gifts as God in His bounty had given thee, thou hadst no desire towards goodness, courage, or just dealing, but towards gold, power, and vain honours; thou hadst no love for anything, neither father, mother, brother, nor sister; and so, to get more power and higher jurisdiction, thou killedst the people of the land of Flanders, without shame: and so also thou didst set thyself to hurt the weak, sucking thy life from their life, and thy blood from their blood. So have done and so shall always do this reptile order of ambitious ugly men. Blessed be God, who, by the hands of this frail and winsome maid, has cut off thine head from thy neck and taken thee from the world.”

As he spoke he had thrown the heart down into the snow, and trampling over it with great despite, kicking it with his toe like a vile thing, and laughing bitterly, he spoke again in his rasping voice:

“Stone thou art, stone shalt thou be a thousand years, but a live stone, a suffering stone. And when men come and carve thee, cleave thee, grind thee to powder, thou shalt endure it all without being able to cry out. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed, my cousin.

“Thou hast starved poor folk, so shalt thou starve a thousand years; thou hast brought cold into their homes, thou shalt freeze in like manner. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed, my cousin.

“Thou shalt be a hearth-stone and burn with the heat; paving-stone, and let men walk over thee; stone of a church, and bear upon thee all the weight of the building; and thou shalt suffer every evil, pain, and anguish. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and endure, my cousin.”

Having said this the Prince of the Stones, driving before him with his foot the Miserable’s heart, disappeared among the trees of the forest.

Then Magtelt looked at the head, and saw that its eyes were open wide. She took it up and washed it with snow, then, carrying it with her, rode away on Schimmel, leaving near the body Halewyn’s horse and hound, the one moaning softly, the other watching it with sorrowful wonderment.

As she took up the head, the hound growled, but did not dare touch her.

And while she rode away, horse and hound stayed by the body, downcast and sad, and covered with the snow which fell without ceasing.

And they seemed to be guarding their master.