Rewards and Fairies - Penn State University

Rudyard Kipling
swished his glorious tail. They stopped together on the same and our reward was a flight of hunting-arrows which no man
note.
loves, and worse, a churl’s jibe over hard-fought, fair-lost
A hoarse shout answered them across the bare woods. Hastings fight. So, before the next beat, Hugh and I assembled
‘That’s old Hobden,’said Una.
and called the beaters over by name, to steady them. The greater
‘Small blame to him. It is in his blood,’ said Puck. ‘Did part we knew, but among the Netherfield men I saw an old,
your beaters cry so, Sir Richard?’
old man, in the dress of a pilgrim.
‘My faith, they forgot all else. (Steady, Swallow, steady!) ‘The Clerk of Netherfield said he was well known by re-
They forgot where the King and his people waited to shoot. pute for twenty years as a witless man that journeyed without
They followed the deer to the very edge of the open till the rest to all the shrines of England. The old man sits, Saxon
first flight of wild arrows from the stands flew fair over them. fashion, head between fists. We Normans rest the chin on the
‘I cried, “‘Ware shot! ‘Ware shot!” and a knot of young knights left palm. ‘“Who answers for him?” said I. “If he fails in his
new from Normandy, that had strayed away from the Grand duty, who will pay his fine?”
Stand, turned about, and in mere sport loosed off at our line ‘“Who will pay my fine?” the pilgrim said. “I have asked
shouting: “‘Ware Santlache arrows! ‘Ware Santlache arrows!” A that of all the Saints in England these forty years, less three
jest, I grant you, but too sharp. One of our beaters answered in months and nine days! They have not answered!” When he
Saxon: “‘Ware New Forest arrows! ‘Ware Red William’s arrow!” lifted his thin face I saw he was one-eyed, and frail as a rush.
so I judged it time to end the jests, and when the boys saw my ‘“Nay, but, Father,” I said, “to whom hast thou commended
old mail gown (for, to shoot with strangers I count the same as thyself—?” He shook his head, so I spoke in Saxon: “Whose
war), they ceased shooting. So that was smoothed over, and we man art thou?”
gave our beaters ale to wash down their anger. They were excus- ‘“I think I have a writing from Rahere, the King’s jester,”
able! We—they had sweated to show our guests good sport, said he after a while. “I am, as I suppose, Rahere’s man.”
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