father I have seen another girl who is far more beautiful; far more
clever; more winning, in every way."
The woman looked sharply at the flushed countenance of her son.
"You love her?" she asked.
"Ay, that do I, as I never loved woman before, and, truly, as I think I
never shall love again."
"Then you must get her to wife, my son, for there is no cure for love."
"Oh, yes, there is, mother," was the light reply of the chief, as he
recommenced to pace the floor. "Death is a pretty sure and sharp cure
for love."
"Surely you would not kill yourself because of a girl?"
Gunrig burst into a loud laugh, and said, "Nay, truly, but death may
take the girl, or death may take me--for, as you know, there is plenty
of fighting among the tribes, and my day will surely come, sooner or
later. In either case love will be cured."
"Can you guess why this girl has fled?" asked the woman.
Gunrig's brows contracted, and a grim smile played on his lips as he
replied, after a brief pause--
"Well, I am not quite sure, mother. It may be that she is not too fond
of me--which only shows her want of taste. But that can be cured when
she finds out what a fine man I am! Anyhow, I will have her, if I
should have to hunt the forest for a hundred moons, and fight all the
tribes put together."
"And how do you propose to go about it, my son?"
"That is the very thing I want you to tell me. If it were fighting that
had to be done I would not trouble you--but this is a matter that goes
beyond the wisdom of a plain warrior."
"Then, if you would gain your end, my son, I should advise you to send a
message to King Hudibras by one of your most trusty men; and let the
message be that you are deeply grieved at the loss of his daughter's
hand; that--"
"But I'm nothing of the kind, mother, so that would not be true."
"What does it matter whether true or not, if the king only believes it
to be true?"
"I don't quite agree, mother, with your notions about truth. To my mind
a warrior should always be straightforward and say what he means."
"Then go, my son, and tell the king what you have just told me, and he
will cut your head off," replied the dame in a tone of sarcasm.
"If I act on that advice, I will take my warriors with me and carry my
sword in my hand, so that his head would stand as good a chance of
falling as mine," returned Gunrig with a laugh. "But go on with your
advice, mother."
"Well, say that you feel in honour bound to give up all claim to his
daughter's hand, but that, as you want a wife very much to keep your
house as your mother is getting too old, you will be content to take his
visitor, Branwen, and will be glad to help in the search for her. Will
you send that message?"
"It may be that I will. In any case I'll send something like it."
So saying the chief turned abruptly on his heel and left the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
A TERRIBLE CALAMITY.
It may be imagined that the return home of Prince Bladud was the cause
of much rejoicing in the whole district as well as in his father's
house. At _first_ the king, being, as we have said, a very stern man,
felt disposed to stand upon his dignity, and severely rebuke the son who
had run away from home and remained away so long. But an undercurrent
of tenderness, and pride in the youth's grand appearance, and great
prowess, induced him to give in with a good grace and extend to him
unreserved forgiveness.
As for the queen, she made no attempt to conceal her joy and pride, and
the same may be said of the princess.
There was instituted a series of fetes and games in honour of the return
of the prodigal, at which he was made--not unwillingly--to show the
skill which he had acquired from practising with the competitors at the
Olympic games, about which the islanders had heard from Phoenician
traders from time to time, and great was the interest thus created,
especially when he showed them, among other arts, how to use their fists
in boxing, and their swords in guarding so as to enable them to dispense
with a shield. But these festivities did not prevent him from taking an
interest in the search that his father and the hunters were still making
for Branwen.
When many days had passed, however, and no word of her whereabouts was
forthcoming, it was at last arranged that a message regarding her
disappearance should be sent to her father's tribe by a party of
warriors who were to be led by the prince himself.
"I will go gladly," he said to his sister, a day or two before the party
was to set out. "For your sake, Hafrydda, I will do my best to clear up
the mystery; and I think it highly probable that I shall find the
runaway safely lodged in her father's house."
"I fear not," returned Hafrydda, with a sad look. "It seems impossible
that she could have made her way so far alone through the wild forests."
"But she may not have been alone. Friends may have helped her."
"She had no friends in the town, having been here but a short time,"
objected the princess. "But do your best to find her, Bladud, for I
feel quite sure that you will fall in love with her when you see her."
The youth laughed.
"No fear of that," he said, "many a pretty girl have I seen in the East;
nevertheless I have, as you see, left them all without a thought of ever
returning again."
"But I did not say you would fall in love with Branwen because she is
pretty. I feel sure that you will, because she is sweet, and merry, and
good--yet thoughtful--wonderfully thoughtful!"
"Ay, and you may add," said the queen, who came into the room just then,
"that she is sometimes thoughtless and wonderfully full of mischief."
"Nay, mother, you are not just," returned the princess. "Her mischief
is only on the surface, her thoughtfulness lies deep down."
"Well, well, whatever may be the truth regarding her, I shall not
trouble my head about her; for I have never yet felt what men call love,
and I feel sure I never shall."
"I like to hear you say that, brother," rejoined Hafrydda; "for I have
noticed, young though I am, that when men say they will never fall in
love or marry, they are always pretty near the point of doing one or
both."
But poor Bladud was destined to do neither at that time, for an event
was hanging over him, though he knew it not, which was to affect very
seriously the whole of his after life.
For several days previous to the above conversation, he had felt a
sensation that was almost new to him--namely, that of being slightly
ill. Whether it was the unwonted exertions consequent on his efforts at
the games, or the excitement of the return home, we cannot say, but
headache, accompanied by a slight degree of fever, had troubled him.
Like most strong men in the circumstances, he adopted the Samsonian and
useless method of "shaking it off"! He went down into the arena and
performed feats of strength and agility that surprised even himself; but
the fever which enabled him to do so, asserted itself at last, and
finally compelled him to do what he should have done at first--pocket
his pride and give in.
Of course we do not suggest that giving in to little sensations of
ailment is either wise or manly. There are duties which call on men to
fight even in sickness--ay, in spite of sickness--but "showing off" in
the arena was not one of these.
Be this as it may, Bladud came at last to the condition of feeling
weak--an incomprehensible state of feeling to him. He thereupon went
straight home, and, flinging himself half petulantly on a couch,
exclaimed--"Mother, I am ill!"
"My son, I have seen that for many days past, and have waited with some
anxiety till you should come to the point of admitting it."
"And now that I have admitted it," returned the youth with a languid
smile, "what is to be done?"
The answer to that question was not the simple one of modern days, "Send
for the doctor," because no doctors worthy of the name existed. There
was, indeed, a solemn-visaged, long-headed, elderly man among King
Hudibras' followers who was known as the medicine-man to the royal
household, but his services were not often in request, because people
were seldom ill, save when they were going to die, and when that time
came it was generally thought best to let them die in peace. This
medicine-man, though a quack in regard to physic, was, however, a true
man, as far as his knowledge went in surgery--that is to say, he was
expert at the setting of broken bones, when the fractures were not too
compound; he could bandage ordinary wounds; he had even ventured into
the realm of experimental surgery so far as to knock out a decayed back
tooth with a bronze chisel and a big stone. But his knowledge of drugs
was naturally slight, and his power of diagnosis feeble. Still,
unworthy though he may be of the title, we will for convenience style
him the doctor.
"My poor boy," said the queen, in answer to his question, and laying her
hand on his hot brow, "I am so sorry that we cannot have the services of
our doctor, for he is away hunting just now--you know he is very fond of
the bow and line. Perhaps he may--"
"Oh, never mind the doctor, mother," said Bladud impatiently, with that
slighting reference to the faculty which is but too characteristic of
youth; "what do _you_ think ought to be done? You were always doctor
enough for me when I was little; you'll do equally well now that I am
big."
"Be not hasty, my son. You were always hot-headed and--"
"I'm hot-headed _now_, at all events, and argument won't tend to cool
it. Do what you will with it, for I can stand this no longer. Cut it
off if you like, mother, only use a sharp knife and be quick about it."
In those days, far more than in this our homeopathic era, it was the
habit of the mothers of families to keep in store certain herbs and
roots, etcetera, which, doubtless, contained the essences now held in
modern globules. With these they contrived decoctions that were
unquestionably more or less beneficial to patients when wisely applied.
To the compounding of something of this sort the queen now addressed
herself. After swallowing it, the prince fell asleep.
This was so far well; but in the morning he was still so far from well,
that the visit to Branwen's father had to be postponed. Several days
elapsed before the doctor returned from his hunting expedition. By that
time the fever had left the prince. He began to get somewhat better,
and to go about, but still felt very unlike his old self. During this
what we may style semi-convalescent period, Captain Arkal and little
Maikar proved of great use and comfort to him, for they not only brought
him information about the games--which were still kept up--but cheered
him with gossipy news of the town in general, and with interesting
reminiscences of their late voyage and the Eastern lands they had so
recently left.
One day these faithful friends, as well as the queen and princess, were
sitting by Bladud's couch--to which unaccountable fits of laziness
confined him a good deal--when the medicine-man was announced.
He proceeded at once to examine the patient, while the others stood
aside and looked on with that profound respect which ignorance
sometimes, though not always, assumes in the presence of knowledge.
The doctor laid his hand on Bladud's brow, and looked earnestly into his
eyes. Then he tapped his back and chest, as if to induce some one in
his interior to open a door and let him in--very much as doctors do
now-a-days. Then he made him remove his upper garments, and examined
his broad and brawny shoulders. A mark, or spot, of a whitish
appearance between the left shoulder and the elbow, at once riveted his
attention, and caused an almost startled expression on his grave
countenance. But the expression was momentary. It passed away and left
the visage grave and thoughtful--if possible, more thoughtful than
before.
"That will do," he said, turning to the queen. "Your treatment was the
best that could have been applied. I must now see his father, the
king."
"Alone?" asked the queen.
"Alone," replied the doctor.
"Well, what think ye of Bladud?" asked the king, when his physician
entered his chamber, and carefully shut the door.
"He is smitten with a fatal disease," said the doctor in a low, earnest
voice.
"Not absolutely fatal?" cried the king, with sudden anxiety.
"As far as I know it is so. There is no cure that I ever heard of.
Bladud is smitten with leprosy. It may be years before it kills him,
but it will surely do so at last."
"Impossible--impossible!" cried the king, becoming fierce and
unbelieving in his horror. "You are too confident, my medicine-man.
You may, you must, be mistaken. There is a cure for everything!"
"Not for leprosy," returned the doctor, with sad but firm emphasis. "At
least I never heard of a cure being effected, except by some of the
Eastern wise men."
"Then, by all the gods that protect our race and family, my son shall
return to the East and one of these wise men shall cure him--else--
else--Have ye told the queen?"
"Not yet."
"That is well. I will myself tell her. Go!" This summary dismissal
was nothing new to the doctor, who understood the king well, and
sympathised with his obvious distress. Pausing at the door, however, he
said--
"I have often talked with Phoenician captains about this disease, and
they tell me that it is terribly infectious, insomuch that those who are
smitten with it are compelled to live apart and keep away from men. If
Bladud remains here the disease will surely spread through the house,
and thence through the town."
Poor Hudibras fell into a chair, and covered his face with both hands,
while the doctor quietly retired.
It is impossible to describe the consternation that ensued when the
terrible fact was made known. Of course the news spread into the town,
and the alarm became general, for at various times the Phoenician
mariners had entertained the islanders with graphic descriptions of the
horrors connected with this loathsome disease, and it soon became
evident, that even if the king and his family were willing to run the
risk of infection by keeping Bladud near them, his people and warriors
would insist on the banishment of the smitten man.
To Bladud himself the blow was almost overwhelming--almost, but not
quite, for the youth was possessed of that unselfish, self-sacrificing
spirit which, in all ages of the world's history, has bid defiance to
misfortune, by bowing the head in humble submission to the will of God.
He knew well the nature of the dread disease by which he had been
attacked, and he shuddered at the thought that, however long he might be
spared to live, it would sap his strength, disfigure his person, and
ultimately render his face hideous to look upon, while a life of
absolute solitude must from that day forward be his portion. No wonder
that in the first rush of his dismay, he entertained a wild thought of
putting an end to his own existence. There was only one gleam of
comfort to him, and that was, the recollection that he had caught the
disease in a good cause--in the rescue of a poor old woman from
destruction. The comfort of the thought was not indeed great, still it
was something in the awful desolation that overwhelmed him at the time.
While travelling in the East, a short time previous to setting sail for
home, he had come across an old woman who was being chased by a wild
bull. Her flight would have been short-lived in any case, for there
chanced to be a steep precipice not far from her, towards which she ran
in her terror and scrambled hastily down until she reached a spot where
she could go no further without losing her foothold. To the rock she
clung and screamed in her despair.
It was her screams that first attracted Bladud's attention. Rushing
forward, he was just in time to see the bull--which could not check its
mad career--plunge over the cliff, at the bottom of which it was killed
by the fall.
Bladud at once began to descend to the help of the poor woman. As he
did so, the words "unclean! unclean!" met his ear. The woman was a
leper, and, even in her dire extremity, the force of habit caused her to
give the usual warning which the Eastern law requires. A shudder passed
through the prince's frame, for he knew well the meaning of the cry--but
as he looked down and saw the disfigured face and the appealing eyes
turned towards him, a gush of intense pity, and of that disregard of
self which is more or less characteristic of all noble natures, induced
him to continue his descent until he reached the poor creature.
Grasping her tightly round the waist, he assisted her up the perilous
ascent, and finally placed her in safety at the top of the cliff.
For a time Bladud felt some anxiety as to the result of the risk he had
run, but did not mention his adventure to any one. Gradually the fear
wore off, and at length that feeling of invulnerability which is so
strong in youth, induced him to dismiss the subject from his thoughts
altogether. He had quite forgotten it until the doctor's statement fell
upon him with the stunning violence of a thunder-clap.
It is usually when deep sorrows and great difficulties are sent to them,
that men and women find out the quality of their natures. Despair,
followed by listless apathy, might well have seized on one who, a few
days before, possessed all the advantages of great physical strength and
manly beauty, with what appeared to be sound health and a bright life
before him. But, instead of giving way, he silently braced himself for
a lifelong conflict. He did not turn, in his extremity, to the gods of
his fathers--whatever these might be--for he did not believe in them,
but he did believe in one good supreme Being. To Him he raised his
heart, offered an unspoken prayer, and felt comforted as well as
strengthened in the act.
Then, being a man of prompt action, he thoughtfully but quickly formed
his plans, having previously made fast his door--for well he knew that
although his strong-minded father might keep him at arm's-length, his
loving mother and sister would not only come to talk with him, but
would, despite all risks, insist on embracing him.
That he was not far wrong was proved the same evening, for when the king
revealed the terrible news to his wife and daughter, they went straight
to Bladud's door and knocked for admission.
"Who goes there?" demanded the prince.
"Your mother. Let me in, Bladud."
"I may not do so just now, dear mother. Tomorrow you shall know all.
Rest content. I feel better."
In the dead of night Bladud went out softly and sought the hut where
Captain Arkal and Maikar slept. He found them conversing in great
sorrow about the terrible calamity that had overtaken their friend when
he entered. They started up in surprise to receive him.
"Keep off," he said, shrinking back. "Touch me not! I know not whether
the disease may not be catching even at its present stage. Sit down. I
will stand here and tell you what I want you to tell my mother in the
morning."
The two men silently obeyed, and the prince continued.
"I am on the point of leaving home--it may be for ever. The Disposer of
all things knows that. The disease, as you know, is thought to be
incurable. If so, I shall die where no one shall find me. If health
returns I shall come back. It will be of no use to search for me; but I
think that will not be attempted. Indeed, I know that my father would
be compelled to banish me if I wished to remain at home. It is partly
to spare him the pain of doing so that I banish myself of my own accord;
and partly to avoid leaving infection behind me that I go without
farewell. Let my dear mother and sister understand this clearly--and--
comfort them if you can."
"But where will you go to and what will you do?" asked the captain
anxiously.
"That I do not yet know. The forests are wide. There is plenty of room
for man and beast. This only will I reveal to you. To-night I shall
call at the hut of Beniah the Hebrew. He is a wise man and will advise
me. If I send news of myself it shall be through him. But tell not
this to any one. It would only bring trouble on the old man. Farewell,
my comrades. I will remember you as brothers--always. May the
All-powerful One watch over us."
Unable to restrain himself, little Maikar sprang up with the obvious
intention of rushing at his friend and seizing his hand, but the prince
stepped back, shut the door against him, and, in another moment, was
gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
AN EAVESDROPPER IN THE CAVE.
An hour later Beniah the Hebrew, who had been obliged to postpone for a
time his journey to the North, was startled by hearing footsteps
approaching his hut in the dell. It was so unusual an event at that
hour of the night, that he arose quickly and grasped the six-foot staff
which was his only weapon.
At a much earlier hour Branwen had retired to rest in the inner cave,
and was buried in that profound sleep which proverbially accompanies
innocence and youth. The noise in the outer cave partially aroused her,
but, turning on her other side with a profound sigh, she prepared for a
little more of the perquisites of innocence and youth. Presently she
was startled into a condition of absolute wide-awakeness by the sound of
a well-known voice, but it suddenly changed into that of the Hebrew.
"I've dreamt it, I suppose," she muttered, in a tone of regret;
nevertheless, she listened.
"Come in," said Beniah, evidently to some one outside of his door.
"I may not enter--I am a leper," answered the first voice; and Branwen
sat up, with her great beautiful eyes opened to the utmost, and
listening intently, though she could not make out clearly what was said.
"It matters not; I have no fear. Come in. What! Prince Bladud!"
exclaimed Beniah in astonishment as our hero entered.
"Even so. But how is it that you know me?"
"I saw you once, and, once seen, you are not easily forgotten. But what
mean ye about being a leper?"
"Keep at a safe distance, and I will tell you."
Hereupon the prince began to give the old man an account of his illness;
the opinion expressed by the doctor as to its nature; and the
determination he had formed of forsaking home, and retiring to the
solitude of some unfrequented part of the forest for the remainder of
his life.
It would have been a sight worth looking at--had there been light to see
it--the vision of Branwen, as she stood in the passage in partial
_deshabille_, with her eyes wide, her lips parted, her heart beating,
and a wealth of auburn hair curling down her back, listening, as it
were, with every power of her soul and body. But she could not hear
distinctly. Only a disconnected word reached her now and then. In a
state of desperate curiosity she returned to her cave.
A few minutes later a noise was heard by the two men in the outer cave;
and a little old woman in a grey shawl was seen to thrust a plank over
the chasm and totter across towards them.
Poor Beniah was horrified. He did not know what to do or say. Happily
he was one of those men whose feelings are never betrayed by their
faces.
The old woman hobbled forward and sat down on a stool close to them.
Looking up in their faces, she smiled and nodded.
In doing so she revealed the fact that, besides having contorted her
face into an unrecognisable shape, she had soiled it in several places
with streaks of charcoal and earth.
"Who is this?" asked Bladud in surprise. Before the old man could
reply, the old woman put her hand to her ear, and, looking up in the
prince's face, shouted, in tones that were so unlike to her own natural
voice that Beniah could scarce believe his ears--
"What say you, young man? Speak out; I'm very deaf."
With a benignant smile Bladud said that he had merely asked who she was.
"Haven't you got eyes, young man? Don't you see that I'm a little old
woman?"
"I see that," returned the prince, with a good-humoured laugh; "and I
fear you're a deaf old woman, too."
"Eh?" she said, advancing her head, with her hand up at the ear.
"You seem indeed to be extremely deaf," shouted the prince.
"What does he say?" demanded the old woman, turning to the Hebrew.
By this time Beniah had recovered his self-possession. Perceiving that
the maiden was bent on carrying out her _role_, and that he might as
well help her, he put his mouth close to her ear, and shouted in a voice
that bid fair to render her absolutely deaf--
"He says he thinks you are extremely deaf; so I think you had better
hold your tongue and let us go on with our conversation."