Well, they sped the work bravely for a while, and loud was the
laughter as the hoes smote the earth and the flint stones tinkled and
the cloud of dust rose up; the brocaded dung-bearer went up and down,
cursing and swearing by the White God and the Black; and one would say
to another, "See ye how gentle blood outgoes churls' blood, even when
the gentle does the churl's work: these lazy loons smote but one
stroke to our three." But the King, who worked no worse than any,
laughed not at all; and meanwhile the poor folk stood by, not daring
to speak a word one to the other; for they were still sore afraid, not
now of being slain on the spot, but this rather was in their hearts:
"These great and strong lords and knights have come to see what work a
man may do without dying: if we are to have yet more days added to our
year's tale of lords' labour, then are we lost without remedy." And
their hearts sank within them.
So sped the work; and the sun rose yet higher in the heavens, and it
was noon and more. And now there was no more laughter among those
toiling lords, and the strokes of the hoe and mattock came far slower,
while the dung-bearer sat down at the bottom of the hill and looked
out on the river; but the King yet worked on doggedly, so for shame
the other lords yet kept at it.
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