The Hot Swamp
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was a leading one.
"I should like it well," she replied, "if I had pleasant company to livewith."
"Of course, of course, my dear, you would need that--and what companycould be more pleasant than that of a good stout man who could keep youin meat and skins and firewood?"
Any one with a quarter of Branwen's intelligence would have guessed atonce that the woman referred to her absent son, about whose goodqualities she had been descanting at various times for several dayspast. The poor girl shuddered as the light broke in on her, and afeeling of dismay at her helpless condition, and being entirely in thepower of these savages, almost overcame her, but her power ofself-restraint did not fail her. She laughed, blushed in spite ofherself, and said she was too young to look at the matter in _that_light!
"Not a bit; not a bit!" rejoined Ortrud. "I was younger than you whenmy husband ran away with me."
"Ran away with you, Ortrud?" cried Branwen, laughing outright.
"Ay; I was better-looking then than I am now, and not nigh so heavy. Hewouldn't find it so easy," said the woman, with a sarcastic snort, "torun away with me now."
"No, and he wouldn't be so much inclined to do so, I should think,"thought Branwen, but she had the sense not to say so.
"That's a very, very nice hunting shirt you are making," remarkedBranwen, anxious to change the subject.
The woman was pleased with the compliment. She was making a coat at thetime, of a dressed deer-skin, using a fish-bone needle, with a sinew fora thread.
"Yes, it is a pretty one," she replied. "I'm making it for my youngerson, who is away with his brother, though he's only a boy yet."
"Do you expect him back soon?" asked the captive, with a recurrence ofthe sinking heart.
"In a few days, I hope. Yes, you are right, my dear; the coat is apretty one, and he is a pretty lad that shall wear it--not very handsomein the face, to be sure; but what does that matter so long as he's stoutand strong and kind? I am sure his elder brother, Addedomar, will bekind to you though he _is_ a bit rough to me sometimes."
Poor Branwen felt inclined to die on the spot at this cool assumptionthat she was to become a bandit's wife; but she succeeded in repressingall appearance of feeling as she rose, and, stretching up her arms, gavevent to a careless yawn.
"I must go and have a ramble now," she said. "I'm tired of sitting solong."
"Don't be long, my dear," cried the old woman, as the captive left thehut, "for the ribs must be nigh roasted by this time."
Branwen walked quickly till she gained the thick woods; then she ran,and, finally sitting down on a bank, burst into a passion of tears. Butit was not her nature to remain in a state of inactive woe. Havingpartially relieved her feelings she dried her tears and began to think.Her thinking was seldom or never barren of results. To escape somehow,anyhow, everyhow, was so urgent that she felt it to be essential to thevery existence of the universe--her universe at least--that she shouldlift herself out of the Impossible into the Stick-at-nothing. The thing_must_ be done--by miracle if not otherwise.
And she succeeded--not by miracle but by natural means--as the readershall find out all in good time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE PRINCE UNDERTAKES STRANGE WORK.
When Prince Bladud entered upon what he really believed would be hislast journey, he naturally encountered very different experiences, beingneither so ignorant, so helpless, nor so improvident as his helplessfollower.
After a good many days of unflagging perseverance, therefore, he reachedthe neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp, in good spirits and in much betterhealth than when he set out. He was, indeed, almost restored to hisusual vigour of body, for the fever by which he had been greatlyweakened had passed away, and the constant walking and sleeping in freshair had proved extremely beneficial. We know not for certain whetherthe leprosy by which he had been attacked was identical in all respectswith the fatal disease known in the East, or whether it was somethingakin to it, or the same in a modified form. The only light which isthrown by our meagre records on this point is that it began with feverand then, after a period of what seemed convalescence, or inaction, itcontinued to progress slowly but surely. Of course the manner in whichit had been caught was more than presumptive evidence that it was atleast of the nature of the fatal plague of the East.
Although his immunity from present suffering tended naturally to raisethe spirits of the prince, it did not imbue him with much, if any, hope,for he knew well he might linger for months--even for years--before thedisease should sap all his strength and finally dry up the springs oflife.
This assurance was so strong upon him that, as we have said, he once--indeed more than once--thought of taking his own life. But thetemptation passed quickly. He was too conscientious and too brave to dothat; and had none of that moral cowardice which seeks escape from theinevitable in hoped-for oblivion. Whether his life was the gift of manygods or of one God, he held that it was a sacred trust which he wasbound in honour to guard. Therefore he fought manfully againstdepression of spirits, as one of the destroyers of life, and evenencouraged hope, frequently looking at the fatal white spot on hisshoulder, and trying to persuade himself that it was not spreading.
In this state of mind Bladud arrived one day at the abode of the hunterof the Hot Swamp. It was not, indeed, close to the springs which causedthe swamp, but stood in a narrow sequestered gully quite five milesdistant from it. The spot had been chosen as one which was not likelyto be discovered by wanderers, and could be easily defended if it shouldbe found. Moreover, its owner, as Bladud had been warned, was a fierce,morose man, who loved solitude and resented interference of any kind,and this was so well known in the thinly-peopled neighbourhood thatevery one kept carefully out of his way.
Sometimes this eccentric hunter appeared at the nearest village--twentymiles distant from his home--with some pigs to barter for the fewcommodities which he wanted from time to time; but he and his horse,cow, and dogs ate up all the remaining produce of his small farm--ifsuch it might be called.
It was a beautiful evening when the prince walked up to the door of thelittle hut, in front of which its owner was standing, eyeing him with aforbidding scowl as he approached.
He was in truth a strange and formidable man, such as one would rathernot meet with in a lonely place. There appear to have been giants inthose days; for this hunter of the Hot Swamp was nearly, if not quite,as tall as Bladud himself, and to all appearance fully as strong oflimb. A mass of black hair covered his head and chin; a skinhunting-shirt his body, and a hairy boar-skin was thrown across hisbroad shoulders. Altogether, he seemed to his visitor the verypersonification of ferocity. A huge bow, ready strung, leaned againsthis hut. As Bladud advanced with his own bow unstrung, the manapparently scorned to take it up, but he grasped and leaned upon a staffproportioned to his size.
Anxious to propitiate this mysterious being, the prince approached withsteady, unaffected ease of manner, and a look of goodwill which mighthave conciliated almost any one; but it had no effect on the hunter.
"What want ye here?" he demanded, when his visitor was near enough.
"To enter your service."
"_My_ service!" exclaimed the man with a look of surprise that for amoment banished the scowl. "I want no servant. I can serve myself wellenough. And, truly, it seems to me that a man like you should beashamed to talk of service. You are more fitted for a master than aservant. I trow you must have some bad motive for seeking service witha man like me. Have you murdered any one, that you flee from the faceof your fellows and seek to hide you here?"
"No, I am not a murderer."
"What then? Are you desirous of becoming one, and making me yourvictim?" asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; "for you will findthat no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack yourcrown for coming here to disturb my solitude!"
"Two can play at that game," replied Bladud, with a seraphic smile."But I am truly a man of peace. I merely want to look a
fter your cattlefor occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from yourdwelling, if you will let me serve you--my sole desire being, like yourown, to live--and, if need be, to die--alone."
For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter's faceas he asked, in a tone that had something almost of sympathy in it--
"Is there a woman at the bottom of this?"
"No. Woman has nothing to do with it--at least, not exactly--notdirectly," returned Bladud.
"Hah!" exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification impliedin the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, "did she tempt youon and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for anotherman?"
"You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one,labouring under a