The Hot Swamp, Robert Michael Ballantyne [types of ebook readers txt] 📗

would have guessed at once that the woman referred to her absent son, about whose good qualities she had been descanting at various times for several days past. The poor girl shuddered as the light broke in on her, and a feeling of dismay at her helpless condition, and being entirely in the power of these savages, almost overcame her, but her power of self-restraint did not fail her. She laughed, blushed in spite of herself, 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 when my 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. He wouldn't find it so easy," said the woman, with a sarcastic snort, "to run 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," remarked Branwen, anxious to change the subject.

The woman was pleased with the compliment. She was making a coat at the time, of a dressed deer-skin, using a fish-bone needle, with a sinew for a thread.

"Yes, it is a pretty one," she replied. "I'm making it for my younger son, 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 of the sinking heart.

"In a few days, I hope. Yes, you are right, my dear; the coat is a pretty one, and he is a pretty lad that shall wear it--not very handsome in the face, to be sure; but what does that matter so long as he's stout and strong and kind? I am sure his elder brother, Addedomar, will be kind to you though he _is_ a bit rough to me sometimes."

Poor Branwen felt inclined to die on the spot at this cool assumption that she was to become a bandit's wife; but she succeeded in repressing all appearance of feeling as she rose, and, stretching up her arms, gave vent to a careless yawn.

"I must go and have a ramble now," she said. "I'm tired of sitting so long."

"Don't be long, my dear," cried the old woman, as the captive left the hut, "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. But it was not her nature to remain in a state of inactive woe. Having partially 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 the very existence of the universe--her universe at least--that she should lift 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 reader shall find out all in good time.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.


THE PRINCE UNDERTAKES STRANGE WORK.

When Prince Bladud entered upon what he really believed would be his last journey, he naturally encountered very different experiences, being neither so ignorant, so helpless, nor so improvident as his helpless follower.

After a good many days of unflagging perseverance, therefore, he reached the neighbourhood of the Hot Swamp, in good spirits and in much better health than when he set out. He was, indeed, almost restored to his usual vigour of body, for the fever by which he had been greatly weakened had passed away, and the constant walking and sleeping in fresh air had proved extremely beneficial. We know not for certain whether the leprosy by which he had been attacked was identical in all respects with the fatal disease known in the East, or whether it was something akin to it, or the same in a modified form. The only light which is thrown by our meagre records on this point is that it began with fever and then, after a period of what seemed convalescence, or inaction, it continued to progress slowly but surely. Of course the manner in which it had been caught was more than presumptive evidence that it was at least of the nature of the fatal plague of the East.

Although his immunity from present suffering tended naturally to raise the 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 the disease should sap all his strength and finally dry up the springs of life.

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 the temptation passed quickly. He was too conscientious and too brave to do that; and had none of that moral cowardice which seeks escape from the inevitable in hoped-for oblivion. Whether his life was the gift of many gods or of one God, he held that it was a sacred trust which he was bound in honour to guard. Therefore he fought manfully against depression of spirits, as one of the destroyers of life, and even encouraged hope, frequently looking at the fatal white spot on his shoulder, and trying to persuade himself that it was not spreading.

In this state of mind Bladud arrived one day at the abode of the hunter of the Hot Swamp. It was not, indeed, close to the springs which caused the swamp, but stood in a narrow sequestered gully quite five miles distant from it. The spot had been chosen as one which was not likely to be discovered by wanderers, and could be easily defended if it should be 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 that every one kept carefully out of his way.

Sometimes this eccentric hunter appeared at the nearest village--twenty miles distant from his home--with some pigs to barter for the few commodities 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--if such it might be called.

It was a beautiful evening when the prince walked up to the door of the little hut, in front of which its owner was standing, eyeing him with a forbidding scowl as he approached.

He was in truth a strange and formidable man, such as one would rather not meet with in a lonely place. There appear to have been giants in those 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 of limb. A mass of black hair covered his head and chin; a skin hunting-shirt his body, and a hairy boar-skin was thrown across his broad shoulders. Altogether, he seemed to his visitor the very personification of ferocity. A huge bow, ready strung, leaned against his hut. As Bladud advanced with his own bow unstrung, the man apparently scorned to take it up, but he grasped and leaned upon a staff proportioned to his size.

Anxious to propitiate this mysterious being, the prince approached with steady, unaffected ease of manner, and a look of goodwill which might have 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 a moment banished the scowl. "I want no servant. I can serve myself well enough. And, truly, it seems to me that a man like you should be ashamed to talk of service. You are more fitted for a master than a servant. I trow you must have some bad motive for seeking service with a man like me. Have you murdered any one, that you flee from the face of 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 your victim?" asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; "for you will find that no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack your crown 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 after your cattle for occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from your dwelling, if you will let me serve you--my sole desire being, like your own, to live--and, if need be, to die--alone."

For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter's face as 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--not directly," returned Bladud.

"Hah!" exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification implied in the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, "did she tempt you on and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for another man?"

"You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one, labouring under a deadly disease."

On hearing this the hunter's softened look vanished, and his former scowl returned.

"Go!" he said, sternly; "I can take care of the cattle myself, without help. But stay, a man of your peaceful nature and humility may, perchance, not be too proud to take charge of pigs."

Bladud flushed--not so much because of the proposal as the tone of contempt in which it was uttered; but, remembering his condition and his object, he mastered his feelings.

"I am willing to take charge of your pigs," he said, in a quiet tone; "where do they feed?"

"A goodish bit from here. Not far from the Hot Swamp, that lies on the other side of the hill."

The man pointed to a high ridge, just visible beyond the gully in which his hut lay concealed, which was clothed from base to summit with dense forest.

"There are plenty of pigs there," he continued in a milder tone. "How many I don't know, and don't care. I brought the old ones here, and they have multiplied. If you choose to keep them together, you are welcome. I want only a few of them now and then. When I do, I hunt them together and drive them with my dogs. You may kill and eat of them as you please; but don't come nigh my hut, mind you, else will I put an arrow in your heart."

"Good, I will take care," returned the prince gravely. "And if you come nigh _my_ dwelling, is it understood that I am to put an arrow in _your_ heart? I could easily do it, for I am a fair marksman."

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