Kitabı oku: «The Hot Swamp», sayfa 10
Chapter Twenty
A Strange Abode and a Wild Visitor
Bladud’s idea of a palace worthy of a prince was not extravagant. He erected it in three days without assistance or tools, except the bronze axe and knife—Brownie acting the part of superintendent of the works. Until it was finished, he slept with the forest trees for a shelter and the sky for a canopy.
The edifice was nothing better than a small hut, or booth, constructed of long branches bent in the shape of semi-hoops, the ends of which were thrust into the ground. The whole was thatched with dried grass and bound down with ropes made of the same material. It was further secured against the possible influence of high winds, by heavy branches being laid across it and weighted with stones. Dried grass also formed the carpeting on the floor.
Of course it was not so high that its architect could stand up in it, but he could sit in it erect, and could lie down at full length without showing his heels outside. There was no door, but one end was left unfinished as a substitute. Neither was there a fireplace, the space in front sufficing for a kitchen.
While engaged in its erection, Bladud was too busy to indulge in gloomy thoughts, but as soon as it was finished and he had lain down to rest under its shade, the terrible, almost incredible, nature of his position rushed upon him in full force. The opening of the hut had been so arranged as to present a view of the wide-spreading valley, and he gazed upon scenes of surpassing loveliness, in which all the sights that met the eye breathed of beauty and repose, while the sounds that broke upon the ear were suggestive of bird and beast revelling in the enjoyment of the gifts and sunshine of a bountiful Creator. But such sights and sounds only enhanced the misery of the poor man, and he started up, after a few minutes’ contemplation, and rushed outside in the vain hope of escaping from his misery by energetic action.
“This will drive me mad,” he thought, as he paused and stood for a few minutes irresolute. “Better far to return to the East where tyrants reign and people dare not call body and soul their own, and die fighting in the front rank for liberty—but—but—who would let me join them, knowing my disease? ‘Unclean!’ I may not even come within touch of my kind—”
His head sank on his breast and he tried to banish thought altogether. At the same moment his eyes met the meek, patient look of Brownie.
“Ah, pup,” he exclaimed, stooping to fondle the soft brown head as he muttered to himself, “you teach me a lesson and put me to shame, despite your want of speech. You are awaiting my commands, ready to give unquestioning obedience—whether to go to the right, or left, or to lie down. And here am I, not only a prince, but supposed to be a reasoning man, rebelling against the decree of my Maker—my Spirit-Father! Surely there must be One who called my spirit into being—else had I never been, for I could not create myself, and it must be His will that I am smitten—and for a good end, else He were not good!”
For a few minutes longer he continued to meditate in silence. Then he turned quickly and picked up the axe which lay at the entrance of the hut.
“Come, pup,” he cried, cheerfully, “you and I must build another house. You see, we shall have plenty of game and venison soon to guard from the wolves, and it would be disagreeable to keep it in the palace along with ourselves—wouldn’t it? So, come along, Brownie.”
Thus appealed to, the pup gave its assent by some violent tail activities, and, in a few minutes, had resumed its former post as superintendent of the works, while its master toiled like a second Samson in the hope of driving mental distress away through the pores of his skin.
He was not indeed altogether unsuccessful, for so intimate is the mysterious connection between spirit and matter that he felt comparative relief—even to the extent of cheerfulness—when the muscles were in violent action and the perspiration was streaming down his brow; but when the second hut, or larder, was completed his depression returned in greater power than before.
Then he took to hunting with tremendous energy, a plan which was highly approved of by his canine companion. He also devoted himself to his specific duties as swine-herd; collected the animals from all quarters into several large herds, counted them as well as he could, and drove them to suitable feeding-grounds. On retiring each day from this work, into which he threw all his power, he felt so fatigued as to be quite ready for supper and bed.
Gradually he became accustomed to the life, and at length, after a considerable time of it, a feeling of resignation to his fate began to tell upon him.
The effect of prolonged solitude also began even to numb the powers of his mind. He was fully aware of this, and tried to shake it off, for he shuddered more at the thought of mental than of physical decay. Among other things, he took to talking more frequently to Brownie, but although the pup was, in many respects, a most valuable and sympathetic companion, he could not prevent the conversation from being rather one-sided.
By degrees the summer merged into autumn; the foliage assumed the tints of green and gold. Then it became russet, and finally the cold bleak winds of a northern winter shrieked through the valley and swept the leaves away.
During all this time no human being had gone near that region, or paid the forlorn prince a visit, except once when the hunter of the Hot Swamp made his appearance.
The rebellious tribes retained too vivid a recollection of the slaughter that had taken place during and after the fight with King Hudibras, to risk a second encounter with that monarch, so that the place was at that time absolutely deserted by human beings—though it was sufficiently peopled by the lower animals. On the occasion when the hunter unexpectedly appeared, he demanded of Bladud an account of his stewardship. The report was so satisfactory that the hunter became, for him, quite amiable; commended his swine-herd and drove off a number of the pigs to market. On his return, laden with the few household goods for which he had bartered them, he paid the prince another visit, and even condescended to accept an invitation to enter his hut and partake of a roast of venison which was at the time being prepared for the mid-day meal. He was still, however, very brusque and taciturn.
“No one has been near me during the whole summer or autumn but yourself,” observed Bladud with an involuntary sigh.
“You must be pleased at that,” returned the hunter, sharply; “you said you came here for solitude.”
“Truly I did; but I had not thought it would be so hard to bear.”
“Why do you seek it, then, if you don’t like it?” asked the hunter in the same brusque, impatient manner which characterised all his words and actions.
“I am forced to seek it by a Power which may not be resisted with impunity.”
“There is no such power!” exclaimed the hunter with a wild, demoniac laugh. “I can resist any power—all powers. There is nothing that I cannot resist and overcome.”
The gigantic man, with his dishevelled locks and shaggy beard, looked so fierce and powerful, as he sat on the opposite side of the fire glaring at his host, that Bladud became impressed with a hope that the maniac—for such he evidently was—would not attempt to prove his resistless power there and then. In order to avert such a catastrophe, he assumed an air of the most perfect ease and indifference to the boast, and asked him with a bland smile if he would have another slice of venison.
The hunter seemed to be disconcerted by the question, but, being a hungry man and a ravenous eater, he accepted the offer and began to eat the slice in moody silence.
“Your good pup has been a real blessing to me,” resumed the prince a few minutes later, during which time he had devoted himself to his own portion of food, “not only in the way of helping me to hunt and drive the pigs, but as a companion who can do all but speak.”
“He could speak if you would let him,” returned the hunter. “I speak to my dogs continually, and they always answer—not with their tongues, for that is not dog-language, but with their eyes—and I know every word they speak. You would wonder how clever they are, and what droll things they say sometimes.”
He burst into a wild hilarious laugh at this point, as if the thought of the canine pleasantries were too much for him; then suddenly became grave, and scowled furtively at his host, as if he felt that he had committed himself.
“You are right,” replied Bladud, affecting not to observe the scowl. “My pup often speaks to me with his eyes, but I am not so good at understanding the language as you appear to be. No doubt I shall acquire it in time.”
“Then you don’t like being alone?” said the hunter, after a pause, during which Bladud saw that he was eyeing him keenly, though he pretended not to observe this.
“No, I don’t like it at all, but it can’t be helped.”
“Well, it might have been helped, for I could have sent them to you.”
“Sent whom?”
“A man and a boy. They were not together, but came to my hut at different times inquiring for you, but, knowing your desire for solitude, I turned them away on the wrong scent.”
“I’m glad you did,” returned the prince, “for I want to be troubled by neither man nor boy. Yet I wonder who they could be. Did they say why they wanted to find me?”
“No, they did not say, and I would not ask; what cared I about their reasons?”
“Yet you care enough for me, it appears, to say you would have sent them to me if you knew I had been lonely. What was the appearance of the man?”
“He was old, but very strong, though not so big as me—or you. His hair was long and white; so was his beard. He wore a long dark robe, and carried a very big staff.”
Bladud had no difficulty in recognising the description of his friend the Hebrew.
“And the boy; what was he like?”
“Like all boys, active and impudent.”
“I am afraid,” returned the prince with a slight smile, “that your acquaintance with boys cannot have been extensive—they are not all active and impudent.”
“Most of those that have crossed my path are so. At all events, this one was, for when I pointed out the direction you had gone—which was just the opposite way from here—he said, ‘I don’t believe you!’ and when I leaped on him to give him his deserts, he dodged me, and fled into the woods like a squirrel. It was as well, for I should have killed him.”
“I am not sorry he escaped you, then,” said Bladud, with a laugh, “though I scarcely think you would have killed the poor lad even if you had caught him.”
“Oh yes, I would. And I’ll kill you if you venture to doubt my word.”
As he said this the hunter sprang to his feet, and, drawing his knife, seemed about to leap upon his host, who, however, sat perfectly still.
“I should be sorry that you should die,” said Bladud in a calm voice, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed on those of the maniac. “You have heard, have you not, of that terrible disease of the East, called leprosy?”
“Yes—the ship-captains have often spoken of it,” said the madman, whose mind, like that of a child, could be easily turned into new channels.
“Look! I have got that disease. The Power which you profess to despise has sent it to me. If you so much as touch me, your doom is fixed.”
He uncovered his shoulder as he spoke and displayed the white spot.
Bladud felt quite uncertain how this would be received by the madman, but he was scarcely prepared for what followed. No sooner did the hunter see the spot and realise what it meant, than without a word he turned, caught up his bundle, uttered a yell of terror, and fled from the spot, closely followed by his dogs, which howled as if in sympathy.
Chapter Twenty One
A Strange Encounter and a Friend in Need
About a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, an incident occurred which, trifling in itself, was nevertheless the cause of momentous issues in the life of our hero.
He was returning one evening from a long ramble with his dog, when the screams of a pig in evident distress attracted his attention. Hastening to the place he found that a small member of his charge had fallen over a cliff into a crevice in the rock, where it stuck fast and was unable to extricate itself. The violent nature of the porcine family is well known. Although very little hurt, this little pig felt its position so unbearable that it immediately filled the woods with agonising shrieks until Bladud dragged it out of the cleft, and carried it in his arms to the foot of the precipice, where he set it free. Then the whirlwind of its outcry came to a sudden stop, thereby proving beyond a doubt that passion, not pain, was the cause of its demonstrations.
From that date many of the pigs became affected by a cutaneous disease, which gradually spread among all the herds. It was some time before Bladud observed this; but when he did notice it, he jumped at once to the conclusion that he must have communicated leprosy to his unfortunate herds while rescuing the little pig. Whether or not he was right in this conjecture, we cannot say; but the probability of his mere touch being so contaminating was sufficient to increase greatly the depression of spirits which had been stealing over him—a condition which was not a little aggravated by the fact that the white spot on his arm was slowly but surely spreading. Still the disease had not, so far, affected his general health or strength in any serious degree.
About that time there set in a long period of fine sunny weather, during which Bladud busied himself in hunting and drying meat, as well as fish, which he stored in his larder for future use. He also cut a large quantity of firewood, and built another booth in which to protect it from the weather, and otherwise made preparation for the winter when it should arrive.
One day he had wandered a considerable way into the forest, and was about to turn to retrace his steps homeward, when he was surprised to hear some creature crashing through the woods towards him. It could not have been startled by himself, else it would have run away from him. Stepping behind a tree, he strung his bow, called Brownie close to his heel, and waited. A few seconds later a deer dashed close past him, but, as his belt was already hung round with game, and home was still far distant, he did not shoot. Besides, he was curious to know what had startled the deer. A few minutes revealed that, for suddenly the sound of footsteps was heard; then the bushes opposite were parted, and a boy, or youth just emerging from boyhood, ran past him at full speed, with an arrow sticking through his left sleeve. He was unarmed, and gasped like one who runs for his life. Catching sight of the prince as he passed the tree that had concealed him, the boy doubled like a hare, ran up to Bladud, and, grasping one of his hands, cried— “O! save me!—save me!—from robbers!” in the most agonising tones.
“That will I, poor lad, if I can.”
He had barely time to make this reply when a man burst from the shrubbery on the other side of the tree, and almost plunged into his arms. So close was he, and so unexpected the meeting, that the prince had not time or space to use his bow, but saluted the man’s forehead with such an Olympic crack from his fist, that he fell prone upon the ground and remained there. Bladud had dropped his bow in the act, but his club leant handily against the tree. Catching it up, he wheeled round just in time to face three tall and strong men, with bows in their hands. Seeing their leader on the ground, they simultaneously discharged three arrows, which were well aimed, and struck the prince full on the chest; but they did not penetrate far, for, in anticipation of some such possible encounter with foes, he had covered his chest with a breastplate of thick double-ply hide, which effectually checked them.
Before they could draw other arrows Bladud rushed at them with a terrific shout, hurling his mighty club in advance. The weapon caught the nearest robber full in the chest and laid him flat on the grass. The other two, dropping their bows, turned and fled.
“Guard them, Brownie!” cried Bladud, as he followed.
The dog obediently took up a position between the two fallen men, and eyed them in a way and with an ominous growl, that meant mischief if they dared to stir.
Bladud easily overtook the other two, grasped them by their necks, and, using their heads as battering-rams, rapped them together. They sank half-stunned upon their knees, and begged for mercy.
“You shall have it,” said Bladud, “on the condition that you go and tell your comrades that if they ever come within twenty miles of the Swamp, they shall find a man in the woods who will turn them inside out, and roast them all alive! Away!”
They went precipitately, as may be readily believed, and, as the prince had intended, spread a report that gave to him thenceforth the rank of a sorcerer, and secured him from future annoyance.
Returning to the tree, Bladud found the fallen robbers beginning to recover consciousness—the one being held in submission by the fugitive youth, who stood, bow in hand, pointing an arrow at his throat; the other by Brownie, who merely curled his nose, displayed his magnificent teeth, and uttered a low growl of remonstrance.
“Get up!” he said to the one he had knocked down with his fist.
But as the order was not obeyed with sufficient promptitude, he lifted the man up by the collar, like a kitten, and sent him staggering against the tree with a violence that astounded him. Calling off the dog, he gave a similar order to the second robber, who displayed much greater agility in his movements.
Repeating the little threat with which he had dismissed their comrades, Bladud ordered them to be off. The second robber thankfully turned and took to his heels; but the first stooped to pick up his bow, whereupon Bladud wrenched it from his grasp, broke it over his head, and belaboured him with the wreck for a couple of hundred yards through the woods, while the robber ran as if he thought the evil spirit was at his heels.
Returning somewhat blown from this unusual exercise, he found the youth in a state of great amusement and satisfaction.
“Hah! you may laugh, my lad; but I can assure you it would have been no laughing matter if these scoundrels had caught you.”
“You speak but the sober truth,” returned the boy, still smiling; “for well assured am I that it would have cost me my life if they had caught me. But, believe me, I am not only pleased to see such villains get a little of what they deserve, but am exceedingly grateful to you for so kindly and effectually coming to my aid.”
“As to that, I would aid any one in distress—especially if pursued by robbers. But, come, sit down and tell me how you fell into their power. This bout has winded me a little. I will sit down on this bank; do you sit on the bank opposite to me.”
“The explanation is simple and short,” replied the boy; “I wanted to have my own way, like most other boys, so I left home without leave, or saying farewell.”
“That was bad,” said the prince, shaking his head. He was on the point of advancing some profitable reflections on this head, but the memory of his own boyhood checked him.
“I know it was bad, and assuredly I have been well punished,” returned the boy, “for these robbers caught me and have kept me with them for a long time, so long that I have quite lost count of the days now.”
“Does your father live far from here?”
“Yes, very, very far, and I know not where to go or what to do,” answered the boy, with a pitiful look.
“Never mind, you are safe at present, and no doubt I shall find means of having you sent safe home—though I see not the way just yet.”
“Is that blood on your coat?” asked the lad anxiously, as he pointed to the prince’s breast.
“It is. The arrow-heads must have gone through the breastplate and scratched the skin. I will look to it.”
“Let me help you,” said the boy, rising and approaching.
“Back! you know not what you do,” said the prince sternly. “You must not touch me. You have done so once to-day. It may cost you your life. Ask not why, but obey my orders.”
Not less surprised at the nature of these remarks than at the severe tone in which they were uttered, the boy re-seated himself in silence, while Bladud removed the breastplate and examined his wounds.
They were deeper than he had imagined, the three arrow-heads being half imbedded in his flesh.
“Nothing serious,” he said, drawing out the heads and stanching the flow of blood with a little moss. “Come, now, I will show you my home, and give you something to eat before you tell me more of your history. You shall have a couch in one of my outhouses. Have a care as you walk with me that you do not come against me, or touch me even with a finger. My reasons you may not know, but—remember what I say.”
Bladud spoke the last words with the severity that he had assumed before; then, dismissing the subject, he commented on the beauty of the landscape, the wickedness of robbers, the liveliness of animated nature and things in general with the cheerful air that had been habitual to him before he was compelled to flee the face of man. The pleasure he had felt in his brief intercourse with the gruff hunter of the Swamp had remained a bright spot in his lonely life. He naturally enjoyed with much greater zest the company of the lively boy who had thus unexpectedly crossed his path, but when he retired for the night—having told the lad to make for himself a couch in the fire-wood hut—the utter desolation of his life became, if possible, more deeply impressed on him.
During the night his wounds inflamed and became much more painful, and in the morning—whether from this cause or not, we cannot say—he found himself in a high fever.
His new friend, like most healthy boys, was a profound sleeper, and when the time for breakfast arrived he found it necessary to get up and awake him.
“Ho! lad, rise,” he cried at the entrance to the firewood hut, “you slumber soundly. Come out and help me to get ready our morning meal.”
The lad obeyed at once.
“What is your name?” he asked, as the lad appeared.
“Cormac,” he replied.
“Well, Cormac, do you roast the meat this morning. Truly, it seems that you have come just in the nick of time, for I feel so ill that my head seems like a lump of stone, and my skin is burning. It is not often that I have had to ask the aid of man in such matters. Will you get me a draught of water from the spring hard by? I will lie down again for a little.”
Cormac willingly ran to a neighbouring spring and filled thereat a cup made of the bark of the birch tree, with which he returned to Bladud’s hut.
“Just put it inside the door where I can reach it,” shouted the prince. “Do not enter on any account.”
Lifting a corner of the skin that covered the entrance, the lad placed the cup inside, and then, sitting down by the fire outside, proceeded to prepare breakfast.
When it was ready he called to Bladud to say whether he would have some, at the same time thrusting a savoury rib underneath the curtain; but the prince declined it.
“I cannot eat,” he said; “let me lie and rest if possible. My poor boy, this is inhospitable treatment. Yet I cannot help it.”
“Never mind me,” returned Cormac, lightly. “I like to nurse the sick, and I’ll keep you well supplied with water, and cook venison or birds too if you want them. I can even shoot them if required.”
“No need for that,” returned Bladud, “there is plenty of food laid up for winter. But don’t come inside my hut, remember. It will be death if you do!”
All that day the lad sat by the fire or went to the well for water, of which his patient drank continuously. During the night the prince was very restless, and groaned a good deal, so the boy resolved to sit up and watch by the fire. Next morning Bladud was delirious, and as he could not rise even to fetch from the door the water for which he thirsted, Cormac resolved to disobey orders and risk the consequences. Entering the hut, therefore, and sitting down beside the patient, he tended him for many days and nights—taking what rest he could obtain by snatches beside the camp-fire.
