Arkal’s attention had been arrested by the figure of a man who suddenly appeared from behind a cliff not four hundred yards distant from the scene of their recent exploit. The stealthy manner in which the man moved among the bushes, and the earnest gaze which he directed from time to time in one particular direction, showed clearly that he was watching the movements of something—it might be a deer or an enemy.
“Evidently he has not seen us,” whispered Maikar.
“Clear enough that, for he is not looking this way,” returned Arkal. “He presents his back to us in a careless way, which he would hardly do if he knew that two crack bowmen were a hundred yards astern of him.”
“Shall I shoot him?” whispered Maikar, preparing his weapons.
“He may be a friend,” returned the captain. “But, see! yonder comes what interests him so much. Look!”
He pointed to a distant ridge, over the brow of which the head of Gunrig’s column of men was just appearing.
“He is a scout!” exclaimed Maikar.
“Ay, and you may be sure that an enemy is not far off ahead of our column—unless, perchance, he may be the scout of some tribe friendly to the king. Hold your hand, Maikar. You are ever too ready to fight. Listen, now; yonder is a convenient hollow where I may get into the thick wood unseen by this scout, and run back to warn our friends. Ahead, yonder, is a narrow pass which leads, no doubt, into the next valley. Run you, as fast as your legs can wag, get through that pass, and see what you can see. In the nature of things the scout is almost sure to return through it, if he intends to carry the news of our approach to his people, who are probably there. You must hide and do the best you can to prevent him from doing this—either by killing him or knocking him down. Be off, we have no time to lose.”
“But how if he should be a friend?” asked Maikar with a smile. “How am I to find out?”
Arkal paused and was perplexed.
“You must just exercise your wisdom,” he replied. “If the fellow has an ill-looking countenance, kill him. If he looks a sensible sort of man, stretch him out somehow. I would offer to go instead of you, being more of a match for him, but I could not match his legs or yours, so it might well chance that he would reach the pass before me.”
“Pooh, captain,” retorted Maikar, with a look of scorn. “Ye think too much of yourself, and are unwarrantably puffed up about the advantage of size.”
Without a reply—save a grin—Arkal turned, and, jumping into the bushes, was immediately out of sight. His comrade, before starting off to carry out his part of the programme, took a good look at the scout whom he was bound to circumvent.
He was evidently a tall, powerful man, armed with a bow, a short sword, and a stout staff somewhat longer than himself. That he was also a brave and cool man seemed probable, from the fact that, instead of hurrying off hastily to warn his friends that troops were in sight, he stood calmly leaning on his staff as if for the purpose of ascertaining the exact number of the strangers before reporting them.
He was still engaged in this inspection when Maikar started off and fled on the wings of hope and excitement toward the pass. Arrived there, his first glance revealed to him the troops of Addedomar busy with their evening meal in the valley below.
“The question is, are they friends or foes?” thought the little seaman. “H’m! it’s an awkward thing for a poor fellow not to be quite sure whether to prepare for calms or squalls. Such a misfortune never could befall one at sea. Well, I must just take them to be foes till they prove themselves to be friends. And this scout, what in the world am I to do about him? I have no heart to hide in the bushes and shoot him dead as he passes.”
The little man had probably forgotten his readiness to shoot the scout in the back only a few minutes before—but is not mankind at large prone to inconsistency at times?
“I know what I’ll do,” he muttered, pursuing his thoughts, and nodding his head, as he stepped aside into the shrubbery that clothed the slopes of the pass.
Cutting down a suitable branch from a tree, he quickly stripped off the smaller branches and reduced it to a staff about six feet in length. Then, hiding himself behind a part of the cliff which abutted close on the footpath that had been worn through the pass by men and wild animals, he laid his bow and quiver at his feet and awaited the coming of the scout.
He had not to wait long, for that worthy, having ascertained the size of the invading band, came down the pass at a swinging trot. Just as he passed the jutting rock his practised eye caught sight of Maikar in time to avoid the blow of the pole or staff, which was aimed at his head, but not to escape the dig in the ribs with which the little man followed it up.
Instantly the scout’s right hand flew to his quiver, but before he could fix an arrow another blow from the staff broke the bow in his left hand.
Blazing with astonishment and wrath at such rough treatment from so small a man, he stepped back, drew his sword and glared at his opponent.
Maikar also stepped back a pace or two and held up his hand as if for a truce.
“I too have a sword,” he said, pointing to the weapon, “and can use it, but I have no desire to slay you till I know whether you are friend or foe.”
“Slay me! thou insignificant rat!” cried the scout in savage fury. “Even if we were friends I would have to pay thee for that dig in the ribs and the broken bow. But I scorn to take advantage of such a squirrel. Have at thee with my staff!”
Running at him as he spoke, the scout delivered a blow that would have acted like the hammer of Thor had it taken effect, but the seaman deftly dipped his head and the blow fell on a neighbouring birch, and a foot or so of the staff snapped off. What remained, however, was still a formidable weapon, but before the scout could use it he received another dig in the ribs which called forth a yell of indignation rather than of pain.
The appropriateness of the name squirrel now became apparent, for Maikar even excelled that agile creature in the rapidity with which he waltzed round the sturdy scout and delivered his stinging little blows. To do the scout justice, he played his part like a brave and active warrior, so that it seemed to rain blows and digs in all directions, and, once or twice, as by a miracle, Maikar escaped what threatened to be little, if at all, short of extermination. As in running, so in fighting, it is the pace that kills. After five minutes or so both combatants were winded. They separated, as if by mutual consent, and, leaning on their staves, panted vehemently.
Then at it they went again.
“Thou little scrap of a pig’s snout, come on,” shouted the scout in huge disdain.
“Thou big skinful of pride! look out!” cried Maikar, rendering the adoption of his own advice impossible by thrusting the butt of his staff against the scout’s nose, and thereby filling his eyes with water. At the next moment he rendered him still more helpless by bestowing a whack on his crown which laid him flat on the footpath.
A cheer behind him at that moment caused the little man to look round, when he found that the head of Gunrig’s column, led by Arkal, had come up just in time to witness the final blow.
They were still crowding round the fallen man, and asking hurried questions about him, when a voice from the heights above hailed them. Instantly a score or two of arrows were pointed in that direction.
“Hold your hands, men!” shouted Gunrig. “I know that voice—ay, and the face too. Is it not the white beard of our friend the Hebrew that I see?”
A few minutes more proved that he was right, for the well-known figure of Beniah descended the sides of the pass.
The news he brought proved to be both surprising and perplexing, for up to that moment Gunrig had been utterly ignorant of the recent arrival of Gadarn from the far north in search of his lost daughter, though of course he was well aware of the various unsuccessful efforts that had been made by King Hudibras in that direction. Moreover, he chanced to be not on the best of terms with Gadarn just at that time. Then the fact that Bladud had recovered his health and was actively engaged in the search—not, indeed, so much for Branwen as for a youth named Cormac—was also surprising as well as disagreeable news to Gunrig.
“And who is this Cormac in whom the prince seems to be so interested?” he asked.
Here poor Beniah, held fast by his solemn promise, was compelled to give an evasive answer.
“All that I can tell about him,” he replied, “is that he is a kind young fellow to whose attention and nursing the prince thinks himself indebted for his life. But had we not better question this young man?” he added, turning to the scout. “I have heard rumours about robbers lurking somewhere hereabouts—hence my coming out alone to scout the country round, little dreaming that I should find the men of King Hudibras so near.”
“If robbers are said to be hereabouts,” broke in Maikar at this point, “I can tell you where to find them, I think, for I saw a band of men in the hollow just beyond this pass.”
“Say you so?” exclaimed Gunrig; “fetch the prisoner here.”
The scout, who had recovered his senses by that time, was led forward, but doggedly refused to give any information.
“Kindle a fire, men; we will roast him alive, and perhaps that will teach him to speak.”
It was by no means unusual for men in those days to use torture for the purpose of extracting information from obstinate prisoners. At first the man maintained his resolution, but when he saw that his captors were in earnest, and about to light the fire, his courage failed him. He confessed that he was a scout, and that Addedomar was there with several other well-known chiefs and a body of four hundred men.
Thereupon the man was bound and put in the safe keeping of several men whose lives were to be forfeited if he should escape. Then Gunrig, Dromas, Beniah, Arkal, Maikar, and several other chief men retired under a tree to hold a council of war. Their deliberations resulted in the following conclusions.
First, that the number of warriors at their disposal, counting those of King Hudibras and those under Gadarn, amounted to a sufficient force wherewith to meet the invaders in open fight; second, that a junction between their forces must be effected that night, for, according to usual custom in such circumstances, the enemy would be pretty sure to attack before daybreak in the morning; and, third, that what was to be done must be set about as soon as darkness favoured their operations.
“You can guide us in the dark, I suppose,” said Gunrig, turning to Beniah.
“Ay, as well almost as in the light,” replied the Hebrew.
“Let the men feed, then, and be ready for the signal to start,” said the chief to his officers, “and see that no louder noise be heard than the crunching of their jaws.”
The night was favourable to their enterprise. The moon was indeed risen, but clouds entirely hid it, yet allowed a soft light to pass through which rendered objects close at hand quite visible. Before midnight they started on the march in profound silence, and, led by Beniah, made a wide détour which brought them to the encampment of Gadarn. As may easily be understood, that chief was well pleased at the turn events had taken, for, to say truth, his little joke of trotting Beniah about the land and keeping him in perplexity, had begun to pall, and he had for some days past been hunting about for a plausible excuse for abandoning the search and going to visit King Hudibras.
His difficulty in this matter was increased by his unwillingness to reveal the true state of matters to Bladud, yet he knew that unless he did so the prince would utterly refuse to abandon the search for Cormac. Another thing that perplexed the chief greatly was—how the Hebrew, knowing Branwen as he did, had failed to recognise her in the lad Cormac, for of course he knew nothing of the promise that held the Hebrew’s lips tied; his daughter—who was as fond of a joke as himself—having taken care not to reveal all the complications that had arisen in regard to herself.
The sudden appearance, therefore, of foes with whom he could fight proved to be a sort of fortunate safety-valve, and, besides, he had the comfort of thinking that he would fight in a good cause, for the region of the Hot Swamp belonged to his friend Hudibras, and this robber Addedomar was a notorious rascal who required extirpating, while the chiefs who had joined him were little better.
The council of war that was hastily called included Bladud, who was sent for, being asleep in his own booth when the party arrived. The council chamber was under an old oak tree.
When Bladud came forward he was suddenly struck motionless and glared as if he had seen a ghost. For the first time in his life he felt an emotion of supernatural fear—for there, in the flesh apparently, stood his friend Dromas.
A smile from the latter reassured him. Leaping forward he seized his friend’s hand, but the impulsive Greek was not to be put off thus. He threw an arm round the prince’s neck and kissed his cheek.
“Dromas!” cried Bladud, “can it be? Am I dreaming?”
“This is all very well,” interrupted the impatient Gadarn, “and I have no doubt you are excellent friends though somewhat demonstrative, but we are holding a council of war—not of affection—and as the enemy may be close at hand it behoves us to be smart. Shake hands, Gunrig; you and I must be friends when we fight on the same side. Now, let us to work. Who is to have the chief command?”
By universal desire the council appointed Gadarn.
“Well, then,” said the commander-in-chief, “this is my view: Addedomar will come expecting to find us all asleep. He will find us all very wide awake. There is a slope in front of this camp leading down to the Swamp. At the bottom is a nice level piece of flat land, bordering on the Swamp, that seems just made for a battlefield. We will drive him and his men down the slope on to that flat, from which, after giving them the toothache, we will drive them into the Swamp, and as close up to the spring-head as we can, so that they may be half boiled alive, if possible. Those who escape the Swamp will find men ambushed on the other side who will drive them into the river. Those who escape the river may go home and take my blessing along with them.”
“Then do you intend to divide our troops into two bodies?” asked Bladud.
“Of course I do. We can’t have an ambush without dividing, can we?”
“Division means weakness,” observed Gunrig.
“You were ever obstinate, Gunrig,” said Gadarn, sharply.
“Division sometimes means strength,” said Dromas in a conciliatory tone, for he was anxious at least to prevent division in the council. “As Addedomar is ignorant of the strength of our force, his being attacked unexpectedly, and in the dark, by two or three bands at once, from different quarters, will do much to demoralise his men and throw them into confusion.”
“Right, my young friend,” rejoined Gadarn; “though you do speak in the tones of one who has been born under other stars, there is sense in your head. That is the very thing I mean to do. We will divide into four bands. I will keep the biggest at the camp to drive them down the slope and begin the fight. Prince Bladud will take one detachment round through the woods to the river and fall upon them from that side. Gunrig, who I know loves the post of danger, will go down between the two mounds and meet the enemy right in the teeth when they are being driven out upon the flat land, and Dromas, as he seems to be a knowing man, might take the ambush on the other side of the Swamp.”
“Nay, if I may choose, I would rather fight under my friend Bladud.”
“Be it so. Settle that among yourselves. Only I must have Konar with me, for he knows the Swamp well and can roar splendidly. All the enemy below a certain point of courage will turn and split off when they hear his yell. I’m going to make him keep it for them as a little treat at the last. The Hebrew will also keep by me. Now marshal your men and take them off at once. We shan’t have to wait long, for Addedomar is an active villain.”
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