We need scarcely say that the search for Branwen proved fruitless. Gunrig and the hunters returned to town crestfallen at being unable to discover the trail of a girl, and the chief went off in undiminished wrath to his own home—which was distant about a day’s journey on foot from the capital of King Hudibras.
Even in those savage times warriors were not above taking counsel, occasionally, with women. The king went to consult on the situation with the queen, the princess, and Bladud; while Gunrig sought advice and consolation from his mother. Of course neither of these men would for a moment have admitted that he needed advice. They only condescended to let their women-folk know what had occurred, and hear what they had to say!
“Why, do you think, has the ungrateful child fled?” asked the king in some indignation.
“I cannot imagine,” answered the queen. “We have all been so kind to her, and she was so fond of us and we of her. Besides, her visit was not half over, and her father would not be pleased if she were to return home so soon and so unexpectedly.”
Of course Hafrydda knew the cause, but she maintained a discreet silence.
“Return home!” echoed the king in contempt, “how can a little delicate thing like her return home through miles and miles of forest swarming with wild beasts and not a few wilder men? Impossible! My hunters must go out again, every day, till she is found. I will lead them myself since they seem to have lost the power of their craft.”
“Is this ‘little delicate thing’ as beautiful as my sister describes her to be?” asked Bladud, somewhat amused by his father’s tone and manner.
“Ay, that she is,” answered the king. “Beautiful enough to set not a few of my young men by the ears. Did you not see her on the platform at the games—or were you too much taken up with the scowling looks of Gunrig?”
“I saw the figure of a young woman,” answered the prince, “but she kept a shawl so close round her head that I failed to see her face. As to Gunrig, I did not think it worth my while to mind him at all, so I saw not whether his looks were scowling or pleased.”
“Ha! boy—he gave you some trouble, notwithstanding.”
“He has gone away in anger at present, however, so we will let him be till he returns for another fight.”
Gunrig, meanwhile, having reached his town or village, went straight to the hut in which his mother dwelt and laid his troubles before her. She was a calm, thoughtful woman, very unlike her passionate son.
“It is a bad business,” she remarked, after the chief had described the situation to her, and was striding up and down the little room with his hands behind his back, “and will require much care in management, for King Hudibras, as you know, is very fierce when roused, and although he is somewhat afraid of you, he is like to be roused to anger when he comes to understand that you have jilted his daughter.”
“But I have not jilted her,” said Gunrig, stopping abruptly in his walk, and looking down upon his parent. “That ass Bladud won her, and although he does turn out to be her brother, that does not interfere with his right to break off the engagement if so disposed. Besides, I do not want to wed the princess now. I have quite changed my mind.”
“Why have you changed your mind, my son?”
“Because I never cared for her much; and since I went to visit her 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.
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