While the prince and the Hebrew were thus conversing, Cormac was speeding towards the camp of Gadarn. He quickly arrived, and was immediately arrested by one of the sentinels. Taken before one of the chief officers, he was asked who he was, and where he came from.
“That I will tell only to your chief,” said the lad.
“I am a chief,” replied the officer proudly.
“That may be so; but I want to speak with your chief, and I must see him alone.”
“Assuredly thou art a saucy knave, and might be improved by a switching.”
“Possibly; but instead of wasting our time in useless talk, it would be well to convey my message to Gadarn, for my news is urgent; and I would not give much for your head if you delay.”
The officer laughed; but there was that in the boy’s tone and manner that induced him to obey.
Gadarn, the chief, was seated on a tree-stump inside of a booth of boughs, leaves, and birch-bark, that had been hastily constructed for his accommodation. He was a great, rugged, north-country man, of immense physical power—as most chiefs were in those days. He seemed to be brooding over his sorrows at the time his officer entered.
“A prisoner waits without,” said the officer. “He is a stripling; and says he has urgent business to communicate to you alone.”
“Send him hither, and let every one get out of ear-shot!” said Gadarn gruffly.
A minute later Cormac appeared, and looked wistfully at the chief, who looked up with a frown.
“Are you the pris—”
He stopped suddenly, and, springing to his feet, advanced a step with glaring eyes and fast-coming breath, as he held out both hands.
With a cry of joy, Cormac sprang forward and threw his arms round Gadarn’s neck, exclaiming—
“Father!—dear father!”
For a few moments there was silence, and a sight was seen which had not been witnessed for many a day—two or three gigantic tears rolled down the warrior’s rugged cheeks, one of them trickling to the end of his weather-beaten nose and dropping on his iron-grey beard.
“My child,” he said at length, “where—how came you—why, this—”
“Yes, yes, father,” interrupted the lad, with a tearful laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it in good time; but I’ve got other things to speak of which are more interesting to both of us. Sit down and let me sit on your knee, as I used to do long ago.”
Gadarn meekly obeyed.
“Now listen,” said Cormac, putting his mouth to his father’s ear and whispering.
The chief listened, and the first effect of the whispering was to produce a frown. This gradually and slowly faded, and gave place to an expression of doubt.
“Are you sure, child?—sure that you—”
“Quite—quite sure,” interrupted Cormac with emphasis. “But that is not all—listen!”
Gadarn listened again; and, as the whispering continued, there came the wrinkles of humour over his rugged face; then a snort that caused Cormac to laugh ere he resumed his whispering.
“And he knows it?” cried Gadarn, interrupting and suppressing a laugh.
“Yes; knows all about it.”
“And the other doesn’t?”
“Has not the remotest idea!”
“Thinks that you’re a—”
Here the chief broke off, got up, placed his hands on both his sides and roared with laughter, until the anxious sentinels outside believed that he had gone mad.
With the energy of a strong nature he checked himself and became suddenly grave.
“Listen!” he said; “you have made me listen a good deal to you. It is my turn now. Before the sun stands there (pointing), you will be on your way to the court of King Hudibras, while I remain, and make this Hebrew lead me all over the country in search of—ha! ha!—my daughter. We must search and search every hole and corner of the land; for we must—we must find her—or perish!”
Again the chief exploded, but subdued himself immediately; and, going to the entrance of the booth, summoned his lieutenant, who started forward with the promptitude of an apparition, and with an expression of some curiosity on his countenance, for he also had heard the laughter.
“Get ready forty men,” said the chief; “to convey this lad in safety to the court of King Hudibras. He is well known there. Say not that I sent you, but that, in ranging the country, you found him lost in the woods, and, understanding him to belong to the household of the king, you brought him in.”
Without a word the lieutenant withdrew, and the plotters looked at each other with that peculiarly significant expression which has been the characteristic of intriguers in all ages.
“Thou wilt know how to act, my little one,” said the chief.
“Yes, better even than you imagine, my big one,” replied Cormac.
“What! is there something beyond my ken simmering in thy noddle, thou pert squirrel?”
“Perchance there is, father dear.”
A sound at the root of Gadarn’s nose betrayed suppressed laughter, as he turned away.
Quarter of an hour later a band of foot-soldiers defiled out of the camp, with Cormac in their midst, mounted on a small pony, and Gadarn, calling another of his lieutenants, told him to let it be known throughout the camp, that if any officer or man should allow his tongue to wag with reference to the lad who had just left the camp, his tongue would be silenced for all future time, and an oak limb be decorated with an acorn that never grew on it.
“You know, and they know, that I’m a man of my word—away!” said the chief, returning to the privacy of his booth.
While these events were happening at the camp, Bladud and Beniah were discussing many subjects—religion among others, for they were both philosophical as well as seriously-minded. But neither their philosophy nor their religion were profound enough at that time to remove anxiety about the youth who had just left them.
“I wish that I were clear of the whole business,” remarked the Hebrew uneasily, almost petulantly.
“Why, do you fear that any evil can happen to the boy?” asked Bladud anxiously.
“Oh! I fear not for him. It is not that. He will be among friends at the camp—but—but I know not how Gadarn may take it.”
“Take what?” demanded the prince in surprise.
“Take—take my failure to find his daughter.”
“Ha! to be sure; he may be ill-pleased at that. But if I thought there was any chance of evil befalling Cormac in the camp, by all the gods of the east, west, north, and south,” cried the prince, carried away by the strength of his feelings into improper and even boastful language, “I would go and demand his liberation, or fight the whole tribe single-handed.”
“A pretty boast for a man in present safety,” remarked the Hebrew, with a remonstrative shake of the head.
“Most true,” returned the prince, flushing; “I spoke in haste, yet it was not altogether a boast, for I could challenge Gadarn to single combat, and no right-minded chief could well refuse to let the issue of the matter rest on that.”
“Verily he would not refuse, for although not so tall as you are, he is quite as stout, and it is a saying among his people that he fears not the face of any man—something like his daughter in that.”
“Is she so bold, then?”
“Nay, not bold, but—courageous.”
“Humph! that is a distinction, no doubt, but the soft and gentle qualities in women commend themselves more to me than those which ought chiefly to characterise man. However, be this as it may, if Cormac does not return soon after daybreak to-morrow, I will hie me to the camp to see how it fares with him.”
As next morning brought no Cormac, or any news of him, Bladud started for the camp, accompanied by the anxious Hebrew.
They found the chief at a late breakfast. He looked up without rising when they were announced.
“Ha! my worthy Hebrew—is it thou? What news of my child? Have you heard of her whereabouts?”
“Not yet, sir,” answered Beniah with a look of intense perplexity. “But I had thought that—that is, by this time—”
“What! no news?” cried the chief, springing up in fierce ire, and dropping the chop with which he had been engaged. “Did you not say that you felt sure you would hear of her from your friend? Is this the friend that you spoke of?”
He turned a keen look of inquiry, with not a little admiration in it, on Bladud.
“This is indeed he,” answered Beniah, “and I have—but, but did not a lad—a fair youth—visit your camp yesterday?”
“No—no lad came near the camp yesterday,” answered the chief gruffly.
Here was cause for wonder, both for the Hebrew and the prince.
“Forgive me, sir,” said the latter, with a deferential air that greatly pleased the warrior, “forgive me if I venture to intrude my own troubles on one whose anxiety must needs be greater, but this youth left my hut yesterday to visit you, saying that he knew you well, and if he has not arrived some evil must have befallen him, for the distance he had to traverse was very short.”
“That is sad,” returned the chief in a tone of sympathy, “for he must either have been caught by robbers, or come by an accident on the way. Did you not follow his footsteps as you came along?”
“We never thought of following them—the distance being so short,” returned the prince with increasing anxiety.
“Are you, then, so fond of this lad?” asked the chief.
“Ay, that am I, and with good reason, for he has tended me with self-denying care during illness, and in circumstances which few men would have faced. In truth, I feel indebted to him for my life.”
“Say you so?” cried the chief with sudden energy; “then shall we search for him as well as for my daughter. And you, Hebrew, shall help us. Doubtless, young man, you will aid us by your knowledge of the district. I have secured the services of the hunter of the Swamp, so we can divide into three bands, and scour the whole country round. We cannot fail to find them, for neither of them can have got far away, whether they be lost or stolen. Ho! there. Assemble the force, instantly. Divide it into three bands. My lieutenant shall head one. You, Bladud, shall lead another, and I myself will head the third, guided by Beniah. Away!”
With a wave of both hands Gadarn dismissed those around him, and retired to his booth to arm himself, and prepare for the pending search.
The Hebrew was sorely tempted just then to speak out, but his solemn promise to Branwen sealed his lips. The fact also that the girl seemed really to have disappeared, filled him with alarm as well as surprise, and made him anxious to participate in the search. In a perplexed state of mind, and unenviable temper, he went away with Bladud to the place where the force was being marshalled.
“Strange that fate should send us on a double search of this kind,” remarked the prince as they hurried along.
“Whether fate sent us, or some mischievous sprite, I know not,” growled the Hebrew, “but there is no need for more than one search.”
“How!” exclaimed Bladud sternly. “Think you that my poor lad’s fate is not of as much interest to me as that of Gadarn’s daughter is to him?”
“Nay, verily, I presume not to gauge the interest of princes and chiefs,” returned Beniah, with an exasperated air. “All I know is, that if we find the lad, we are full sure to find the lass not far off.”
“How? You speak in riddles to-day.”
“Ay, and there are like to be more riddles tomorrow, for what the upshot of it will be is more than I can tell. See you not that, as the two were lost about the same time, and near the same place, they will probably be found together?”
“Your wits seem to be shaken to-day, old man,” rejoined Bladud, smiling, “for these two were not lost about the same place or time.”
Fortunately for the Hebrew’s peace of mind, an officer accosted them at that moment, and, directing the one to head a band just ready to march, led the other to the force which was to be commanded by the chief in person.
In a few minutes the three bands were in motion, the main bodies marching north, south, and east, while strong parties were sent out from each to skirmish in all directions.
“Think you we shall find them, Hebrew?” asked the chief, who seemed to be in a curiously impulsive state of mind.
“I trust we may. It seems to me almost certain.”
“I hope so, for your sake as well as my own, old man; for, if we do not, I will surely cut your head off for bringing me here for nothing.”
“Does it not seem unjust to punish a man for doing his best?” asked Beniah.
“It may seem so to you men of the east, but to the men of the west justice is not held of much account.”
Proceeding round by the Hot Springs, the party led by Gadarn made a careful inspection of every cavern, defile, glade, and thicket, returning at evening towards the camp from which they set out, it having been arranged that they were all to meet there and start again to renew the search, in a wider circle, on the following morning.
“No success,” remarked Gadarn sternly, unbuckling his sword and flinging it violently on the ground.
“Not yet, but we may have better fortune tomorrow,” said Beniah.
“Don’t you think the small footprints we saw near the Springs were those of the boy?”
“They may have been.”
“And those that we saw further on, but lost sight of in the rocky ground—did they not look like those of a girl?”
“They certainly did.”
“And yet strangely like to each other,” said the chief.
“Marvellously,” returned Beniah.
A slight sound in Gadarn’s nose caused the Hebrew to look up quickly, but the chief was gazing with stern gravity out at the opening of his booth, where the men of his force could be seen busily at work felling trees, kindling fires, and otherwise preparing for the evening meal.
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