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Then each of the four damsels went up to the swain and kissed his mouth; and Redesman drew the bow across the strings, and the four damsels sang together, standing round about the young warrior: It was but a while since for earth's sake we trembled, Lest the increase our life-days had won for the Dale, All the wealth that the moons and the years had assembled, Should be but a mock for the days of your bale.
So now Redesman fell to caressing his fiddle with the bow till it began to make sweet music, and therewith the hearts of all danced with it; and presently words come into his mouth, and he fell to singing; and the damsels answered him: Earth-wielders, that fashion the Dale-dwellers' treasure, Soft are ye by seeming, yet hardy of heart!
So they went on again as the evening was waning, and when they were gotten within a furlong of the Gate, lo! there was come the minstrelsy, the pipe and the tabor, the fiddle and the harp, and the folk that had learned to sing the sweetest, both men and women, and Redesman at the head of them all.
And now Redesman turned about to the music and drew his bow across his fiddle, and the other bows ran out in concert, and the harps followed the story of them, and he lifted up his voice and sang the words of an old song, and all the singers joined him and blended their voices with his.
But amidst of the chaffer was now a great ring of men; and in the midst of the ring stood Redesman, fiddle and bow in hand, and with him were four damsels wondrously arrayed; for the first was clad in a smock so craftily wrought with threads of green and many colours, that it seemed like a piece of the green field beset with primroses and cowslips and harebells and windflowers, rather than a garment woven and sewn; and in her hand she bore a naked sword, with golden hilts and gleaming blade.
Again the song fell down till they were well on the western way down Silver-dale; and then Redesman handled his fiddle once more, and again the song rose up, and such-like were the words which were borne back into the Market-place of Silver-stead: And yet what is this, and why fare ye so slowly, While our echoing halls of our voices are dumb, And abideth unlitten the hearth-brand the holy, And the feet of the kind fare afield till we come?
Then once more Redesman and his mates took up the song: Come tell me, O friends, for whom bideth the maiden Wet-foot from the river-ford down in the Dale? For whom hath the goodwife the ox-waggon laden With the babble of children, brown-handed and hale? Come tell me for what are the women abiding, Till each on the other aweary they lean?
Wilt thou not drink a draught, O Redesman, and then stand up and set thy fiddle-bow a-dancing, and cause it draw some fair words after it? For my cousin's face hath grown sadder than a young maid's should be, and my son's eyes gleam with thoughts that are far away from us and abroad in the wild-wood seeking marvels.
But when they of the foremost of the Host were gotten so far forward that the men of the Face could begin to move, lo! there was Redesman with his fiddle amongst the leaders; and he had done a man's work in the day of battle, and all looked kindly on him.
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