Now came all that host [to the river Ascar], and their array was thus: first a number of unladen Dwarves most fully armed, and amidmost the great company of those that bore the treasury of Glómund, and many a fair thing beside that they had haled from Tinwelint’s halls; and behind these was Naugladur, and he bestrode Tinwelint’s horse, and a strange figure did he seem, for the legs of the Dwarves are short and crooked, but two Dwarves led that horse for it went not willingly and it was laden with spoil. But behind these came a mass of armed men but little laden; and in this array they sought to cross Sarn Athrad on their day of doom.
Morn was it when they reached the hither bank, and high noon saw them yet passing in long-strung lines and wading slowly the shallow places of the swift-running stream. Here doth it widen out and fare down narrow channels filled with boulders atween long spits of shingle and stones less great. Now did Naugladur slip from his burdened horse and prepare to get him over, for the armed host of the vanguard had climbed already the further bank, and it was great and sheer and thick with trees, and the bearers of the gold were some already stepped thereon and some amidmost of the stream, but the armed men of the rear were resting awhile.
Suddenly is all that place filled with the sound of elven horns, and one [? brays] with a clearer blast above the rest, and it is the horn of Beren, the huntsman of the woods. Then is the air thick with the slender arrows of the Eldar that err not neither doth the wind bear them aside, and lo, from every tree and boulder do the brown Elves and the green spring suddenly and loose unceasingly from full quivers. Then was there a panic and a noise in the host of Naugladur, and those that waded in the ford cast their golden burdens in the waters and sought affrighted to either bank, but many were stricken with those pitiless darts and fell with their gold into the currents of the Aros, staining its clear waters with their dark blood.
Now were the warriors on the far bank [? wrapped] in battle and rallying sought to come at their foes, but these fled nimbly before them, while [? others] poured still the hail of arrows upon them, and thus got the Eldar few hurts and the Dwarf-folk fell dead unceasingly. Now was that great fight of the Stony Ford . . . nigh to Naugladur, for even though Naugladur and his captains led their bands stoutly never might they grip their foe, and death fell like rain upon their ranks until the most part broke and fled, and a noise of clear laughter echoed from the Elves thereat, and they forbore to shoot more, for the illshapen figures of the Dwarves as they fled, their white beards torn by the wind, filled them with mirth. But now stood Naugladur and few were about him, and he remembered the words of Gwendelin,* for behold, Beren came towards him and he cast aside his bow, and drew a bright sword; and Beren was of great stature among the Eldar, albeit not of the girth and breadth of Naugladur of the Dwarves.
Then said Beren: ‘Ward thy life if thou canst, O crook-legged murderer, else will I take it,’ and Naugladur bid him even the Nauglafring, the necklace of wonder, that he be suffered to go unharmed; but Beren said: ‘Nay, that may I still take when thou art slain,’ and thereat he made alone upon Naugladur and his companions, and having slain the foremost of these the others fled away amid elven laughter, and so Beren came upon Naugladur, slayer of Tinwelint. Then did that aged one defend himself doughtily, and ’twas a bitter fight, and many of the Elves that watched for love and fear of their captain fingered their bow-strings, but Beren called even as he fought that all should stay their hands.
Now little doth the tale tell of wounds and blows of that affray, save that Beren got many hurts therein, and many of his shrewdest blows did little harm to Naugladur by reason of the [? skill] and magic of his dwarfen mail; and it is said that three hours they fought and Beren’s arms grew weary, but not those of Naugladur accustomed to wield his mighty hammer at the forge, and it is more than like that otherwise would the issue have been but for the curse of M?m; for marking how Beren grew faint Naugladur pressed him ever more nearly, and the arrogance that was of that grievous spell came into his heart, and he thought: ‘I will slay this Elf, and his folk will flee in fear before me,’ and grasping his sword he dealt a mighty blow and cried: ‘Take here thy bane, O stripling of the woods,’ and in that moment his foot found a jagged stone and he stumbled forward, but Beren slipped aside from that blow and catching at his beard his hand found the carcanet of gold, and therewith he swung Naugladur suddenly off his feet upon his face: and Naugladur’s sword was shaken from his grasp, but Beren seized it and slew him therewith, for he said: ‘I will not sully my bright blade with thy dark blood, since there is no need.’ But the body of Naugladur was cast into the Aros.
Then did he unloose the necklace, and he gazed in wonder at it—and beheld the Silmaril, even the jewel he won from Angband and gained undying glory by his deed; and he said: ‘Never have mine eyes beheld thee O Lamp of Fa?ry burn one half so fair as now thou dost, set in gold and gems and the magic of the Dwarves’; and that necklace he caused to be washed of its stains, and he cast it not away, knowing nought of its power, but bore it with him back into the woods of Hithlum.
To this passage from the Tale of the Nauglafring there corresponds only the few words of the Quenta cited in the extract cited on p. 235:
In that battle [Sarn Athrad] the Green Elves took the Dwarves at unawares as they were in the midst of their passage, laden with their plunder; and the Dwarvish chiefs were slain, and well nigh all their host. But Beren took the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves, whereon was hung the Silmaril . . .
This illustrates my observation on p. 231, that my father ‘was drawing down into a brief compendious history what he could also see in a far more detailed, immediate, and dramatic form.’
I will conclude this short excursion into the Lost Tale of the Necklace of the Dwarves with a further quotation, origin of the story as told in the Quenta (pp. 236–7) of the deaths of Beren and Lúthien, and the slaying of Dior, their son. I take up this extract with words between Beren and Gwendelin (Melian) when Lúthien first wore the Nauglafring. Beren declared that never had she appeared so beautiful; but Gwendelin said: ‘Yet the Silmaril abode in the Crown of Melko, and that is the work of baleful smiths indeed.’