The Alderman's face was as of one pleased and proud; yet was
its joy shadowed as it were by a cloud of compassion. Face-of-god
sat like the very image of the War-god, and stirred not, nor looked
toward the Sun-beam; for still the thought of the after-grief of
battle, and the death of friends and folk that loved him, lay heavy
on his heart, for all that it beat wildly at the shouting of the men.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. OF THE GREAT FOLK-MOTE: ATONEMENTS GIVEN, AND MEN
MADE SACKLESS
Amidst the clamour uprose the Alderman; for it was clear to all men
that the Folk-mote should be holden at once, and the matters of the
War, and the Fellowship, and the choosing of the War-leader, speedily
dealt with. So the Alderman fell to hallowing in the Folk-mote: he
went up to the Altar of the Gods, and took the Gold-ring off it, and
did it on his arm; then he drew his sword and waved it toward the
four airts, and spake; and the noise and shouting fell, and there was
silence but for him:
'Herewith I hallow in this Folk-mote of the Men of the Dale and the
Sheepcotes and the Woodland, in the name of the Warrior and the
Earth-god and the Fathers of the kindreds.
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