The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (room on the broom read aloud TXT) 📕

Having laid the foundations of the new town, drawn out his plans and set his men to work, Bladud appointed Captain Arkal superintendent, and set out on his quest after his lost friend Cormac, taking Dromas and Maikar along with him and four of the men—one of them being Konar the hunter. Brownie was also an important member of the party, for his master hoped much from his power of scent.

Meanwhile Cormac—alias Branwen, alias the little old woman—forsook the refuge of the Hebrew’s house, and, in her antique capacity, paid a visit one afternoon to the palace of Hudibras.

“Here comes that deaf old witch again,” said the domestic who had formerly threatened to set the dogs at her.

“Yes,” remarked the old woman when she came up to the door, “and the old witch has got her hearing again, my sweet-faced young man—got it back in a way, too, that, if you only heard how, would make your hair stand on end, your eyes turn round, and the very marrow in your spine shrivel up. Go and tell the princess I want to see her.”

“Oh!” replied the domestic with a faint effort at a sneer, for he was a bold man, though slightly superstitious.

“Oh!” echoed the old woman. “Yes, and tell her that if she keeps me waiting I’ll bring the black cloud of the Boong-jee-gop over the palace, and that will bring you all to the condition of wishing that your grandmothers had never been born. Young man—go!”

This was too much for that domestic. The unheard-of horrors of the Boong-jee-gop, coupled with the tremendous energy of the final “go!” was more than he could stand. He went—meekly.

“Send her to me directly,” said Hafrydda, and the humiliated servitor obeyed.

“Dearest Branwen!” exclaimed the princess, throwing back the old woman’s shawl, straightening her up, and hugging her when they were alone, “how long you have been coming! Where have you been? Why have you forsaken me? And I have such quantities of news to tell you—but, what has become of your hair?”

“I cut it short after I fell into the hands of robbers—”

“Robbers!” exclaimed the princess.

“Yes—I shall tell you all about my adventures presently—and you have no idea what difficulty I had in cutting it, for the knife was so blunt that I had to cut and pull at it a whole afternoon. But it had to be done, for I meant to personate a boy—having stolen a boy’s hunting dress for that purpose. Wasn’t it fun to rob the robbers? And then—and then—I found your brother—”

“You found Bladud?”

“Yes, and—and—but I’ll tell you all about that too presently. It is enough to say that he is alive and well—sickness almost, if not quite, gone. I was so sorry for him.”

“Dear Branwen!” said the princess, with an emphatic oral demonstration.

Hafrydda was so loving and tender and effusive, and, withal, so very fair, that her friend could not help gazing at her in admiration.

“No wonder I love him,” said Branwen.

“Why?” asked the princess, much amused at the straightforward gravity with which this was said.

“Because he is as like you as your own image in a brazen shield—only far better-looking.”

“Indeed, your manners don’t seem to have been improved by a life in the woods, my Branwen.”

“Perhaps not. I never heard of the woods being useful for that end. Ah, if you had gone through all that I have suffered—the—the—but what news have you got to tell me?”

“Well, first of all,” replied the princess, with that comfortable, interested manner which some delightful people assume when about to make revelations, “sit down beside me and listen—and don’t open your eyes too wide at first else there will be no room for further expansion at last.”

Hereupon the princess entered on a minute account of various doings at the court, which, however interesting they were to Branwen, are not worthy of being recorded here. Among other things, she told her of a rumour that was going about to the effect that an old witch had been seen occasionally in the neighbourhood of Beniah’s residence, and that all the people in the town were more or less afraid of going near the place either by day or night on that account.

Of course the girls had a hearty laugh over this. “Did they say what the witch was like?” asked Branwen.

“O yes. People have given various accounts of her—one being that she is inhumanly ugly, that fire comes out of her coal-black eyes, and that she has a long tail. But now I come to my most interesting piece of news—that will surprise you most, I think—your father Gadarn is here!”

Branwen received this piece of news with such quiet indifference that her friend was not only disappointed but amazed.

“My dear,” she asked, “why do you not gasp, ‘My father!’ and lift your eyebrows to the roots of your hair?”

“Because I know that he is here.”

“Know it!”

“Yes—know it. I have seen him, as well as your brother, and father knows that I am here.”

“Oh! you deceiver! That accounts, then, for the mystery of his manner and the strange way he has got of going about chuckling when there is nothing funny being said or done—at least nothing that I can see!”

“He’s an old goose,” remarked her friend.

“Branwen,” said the princess in a remonstrative tone, “is that the way to speak of your own father?”

“He’s a dear old goose, then, if that will please you better—the very nicest old goose that I ever had to do with. Did he mention Bladud to you?”

“Yes, he said he had seen him, and been helped by him in a fight they seemed to have had at the Hot Swamp, but we could not gather much from him as to the dear boy’s state of health, or where he lived, or what he meant to do. He told us, however, of a mysterious boy who had nursed him in sickness, and who had somehow been lost or captured, and that poor Bladud was so fond of the boy that he had remained behind to search for him. I now know,” added the princess with a laugh, “who this dear boy is, but I am greatly puzzled still about some of his doings and intentions.”

“Listen, then, Hafrydda, and I will tell you all.” As we have already told the reader all, we will not tell it over again, but leap at once to that point where the princess asked, at the close of the narrative, what her friend intended to do.

“That,” said Branwen with a perplexed look and a sigh, “is really more than I can tell you at present. You see, there are some things that I am sure of and some things that I am not quite so sure of, but that I must find out somehow. For instance, I am quite sure that I love your brother more than any man in the world. I am also quite sure that he is the bravest, handsomest, strongest, best, and most unselfish man that ever lived—much about the same as my father, except that, being younger, he is handsomer, though I have no doubt my father was as good-looking as he when he was as young. Then I am also quite sure that Bladud is very fond of the boy Cormac, but—I am not at all sure that he will love the girl Branwen when he sees her.”

“But I am sure of it—quite sure,” said the princess, demonstrating orally again.

At this there was a slight sound near the door of the apartment in which this confidential talk was held, which induced Branwen to spring up and fling it wide open, thus disclosing the lately humiliated servitor with the blush of guilt upon his brow.

“Enter!” cried the princess, in an imperious tone, looking up at the man, who was unusually tall and limp.

The servitor obeyed.

“Sit down,” said the princess, with a view to get the tall man’s head on a level with her blue indignant eyes. “Have you heard much?”

“Not much,” answered the man, with intense humility. “I heard only a very little at the end, and that so imperfectly that I don’t think I can remember it—I really don’t.”

“Now, listen,” said the princess, with a look that was intended to scorch. “You know my father.”

“Indeed I do,—have known him ever since I was a boy.”

“Well, if you ever breathe a word of what you have seen or heard, or what you think you have seen or heard to-day, to any one, I will set my father at you, and that, as you know, will mean roasting alive over a slow fire at the very least.”

“And,” said Branwen, advancing and shaking her forefinger within an inch of the man’s nose, “I will set my father at you, which will mean slow torture for hours. Moreover, I will set the Boong-jee-gop on your track, and that will mean—no, I won’t say what. It is too horrible even to mention!”

“Now—go!” said the princess, pointing