We turn now to Beniah the Hebrew. On arriving at the Hot Swamp he was amazed to find the change that had been made in the appearance of the locality in so short a time.
“United action, you see,” said Captain Arkal, who did the honours of the new settlement in the absence of Bladud and his friends, these being still absent on their vain search for the lad Cormac, “united action, perseveringly continued, leads to amazing results.”
He repeated this to himself, in a low tone, as if he were rather proud of having hit on a neat way of expressing a great truth which he believed was an original discovery of his own. “Yes,” he continued, “I have got my men, you see, into splendid working order. They act from morning to night in concert—one consequence of which is that all is Harmony, and there is but one man at the helm, the consequence of which is, that all is Power. Harmony and Power! I have no faith, Beniah, in a divided command. My men work together and feed together and play together and sleep together, united in the one object of carrying out the grand designs of Prince Bladud, while I, as the superintendent of the work, see to it that the work is properly done. Nothing could be more simple or satisfactory.”
“Or more amazing,” added Beniah, as they walked by the margin of a hot rivulet. “I could scarcely have known the Swamp had I not recognised its beautiful surroundings.”
“Just so; it is all, as I have said, the result of union, which I hold to be the very foundation of human power, for united action is strong,” said the captain, with enthusiasm, as he originated the idea which, years afterwards, became the familiar proverb, “union is Strength.”
“Most true, O mariner,” returned Beniah, “your wisdom reminds me of one of our kings who wrote many of our wisest sayings.”
“Ah, wise sayings have their value, undoubtedly,” returned Arkal, “but commend me to wise doings. Look here, now, at the clever way in which Bladud has utilised this bush-covered knoll. It is made to divide this rivulet in two, so that one branch, as you see, fills this pond, which is intended for the male population of the place, while the other branch fills another pond—not in sight at present—intended for the women. Then, you see that large pond away to the left, a considerable distance from the fountain-head—that is supplied by a very small stream of the hot water, so that it soon becomes quite cold, and branch rivulets from the cold pond to the hot ponds cool them down till they are bearable. It took six days to fill up the cold pond.”
“We have not yet got the booths made for the women to dress in,” continued the captain, “for we have no women yet in our settlement; but you see what convenient ones we have set up for the men.”
“But surely,” said the Hebrew, looking round with interest, “you have far more hot water than you require.”
“Yes, much more.”
“What, then, do you do with the surplus?”
“We just let it run into the swamp at present, as it has always done, but we are digging a big drain to carry it off into the river. Then, when the swamp is dry, we will plant eatable things in it, and perhaps set up more booths and huts and dig more baths. Thus, in course of time—who knows?—we may have a big town here, and King Hudibras himself may condescend to lave his royal limbs in our waters.”
“That may well be,” returned the Hebrew thoughtfully. “The Hot Spring is a good gift from the All-seeing One, and if it cures others as it has cured Prince Bladud, I should not wonder to see the people of the whole land streaming to the place before long. But have you given up all thought of returning to your native land, Arkal? Do you mean to settle here?”
“Nay, verily—that be far from me! Have I not a fair wife in Hellas, who is as the light of mine eyes; and a little son who is as the plague of my life? No, I shall return home once more to fetch my wife and child here—then I shall have done with salt water for ever, and devote myself to hot water in time to come.”
“A wise resolve, no doubt,” said Beniah, “and in keeping with all your other doings.”
“See,” interrupted Arkal, “there is the river and the women’s bath, and the big drain that I spoke of.”
He pointed to a wide ditch extending from the swamp towards the river. It had been cut to within a few yards of the latter, and all the men of the place were busily engaged with primitive picks, spades, and shovels, in that harmonious unity of action of which the captain had expressed such a high opinion.
A few more yards of cutting, and the ditch, or drain, would be completed, when the waters of the swamp would be turned into it. Those waters had been banked up at the head of the drain and formed a lake of considerable size, which, when the neck of land separating it from the drain should be cut, would rush down the artificial channel and disappear in the river.
Engineering in those days, however, had not been studied—at least in Albion—to the extent which now prevails in England. The neck of land was not equal to the pressure brought to bear on it, and while the captain and his friend were looking at it, there appeared symptoms which caused the former some anxiety.
At that moment Konar the hunter came up. Although attached to the settlement as hunter, he had agreed to take his turn with the diggers, for the water accumulated in the lake so fast that the work had to be done rapidly, and every available man at the place was pressed into the service. The overseer himself, even, lent a hand occasionally.
“I don’t like the look of the lower part of that neck,” he remarked to the hunter.
Konar was a man of few words. By way of reply he laid aside his bow and descended the bank to examine the weak point. He was still engaged in the investigation and bending over a moist spot, when the entire mass of earth gave way and the waters burst into the drain with a gush and a roar quite indescribable. Konar was swept away instantly as if he had been a feather. Arkal and Beniah sprang down the bank to his assistance, and were themselves nearly swept into the flood which had swallowed up the hunter, but Konar was not quite gone. Another moment and his legs appeared above the flood, then his head turned up, and then the raging waters tossed him as if contemptuously on a projecting spit of bank, where he lay half in and half out of the torrent.
In a moment both Arkal and the Hebrew were at the spot, seized the hunter by an arm, the neck of his coat, and the hair of his head, and drew him out of danger; but no sign of life did the poor man exhibit as he lay there on the grass.
Meanwhile the energetic labourers at the lower end of the drain heard the turmoil and stood motionless with surprise, but were unable to see what caused it, owing to a thick bush which intervened. Another moment and they stood aghast, for, round the corner of the only bend in the drain, there appeared a raging head of foam, with mud, grass, sticks, stones, and rubbish on its crest, bearing down on them like a race-horse.
With a yell that was as fully united as their method of work, the men scrambled out of the drain and rushed up the bank, exhibiting a unity of purpose that must have gladdened the heart of Captain Arkal. And they were not a moment too soon, for the last man was caught by the flood, and would have been swept away but for the promptitude of his fellows.
“H’m! it has saved you some work, lads,” observed the captain, with a touch of grave irony as he pointed to the portion of the bank on which they had been engaged. He was right. The flood had not only overleaped this, but had hollowed it out and swept it clean away into the river—thus accomplishing effectively in ten minutes what would have probably required the labour of several hours.
On carrying Konar up to the village of the Swamp—afterwards Swamptown, later Aquae Sulis, ultimately Bath—which had already begun to grow on the nearest height, they found that Bladud and his party had just arrived from the last of the searching expeditions.
“What! Beniah?” exclaimed the prince, when the Hebrew met him. “You have soon returned to us. Is all well at home?”
“All is well. I am sent on a mission to you, but that is not so urgent as the case of Konar.”
As he spoke the young men laid the senseless form on the ground. Bladud, at once dismissing all other subjects from his mind, examined him carefully, while Brownie snuffed at him with sympathetic interest.
“He lives, and no bones are broken,” said the prince, looking up after a few minutes; “here, some of you, go fetch hot water and pour it on him; then rub him dry; cover him up and let him rest. He has only been stunned. And let us have something to eat, Arkal. We are ravenous as wolves, having had scarce a bite since morning.”
“You come in good time,” replied the captain. “Our evening meal is just ready.”
“Come along, then, let us to work. You will join us, Beniah, and tell me the object of your mission while we eat.”
The men of old may not have been epicures, but there can be no question that they were tremendous eaters. No doubt, living as they did, constantly in fresh air, having no house drains or gas, and being blessed with superabundant exercise, their appetites were keen and their capacities great. For at least ten minutes after the evening meal began, Bladud, Arkal, Dromas, little Maikar, and the Hebrew, were as dumb and as busy as Brownie. They spake not a single word—except that once the prince took a turkey drumstick from between his teeth to look up and repeat, “All well at home, you say?” To which Beniah, checking the course of a great wooden spoon to his lips, replied, “All well.”
There was roast venison at that feast, and roast turkey and roast hare, and plover and ducks of various kinds, all roasted, and nothing whatever boiled, except some sorts of green vegetables, the names of which have, unfortunately, not been handed down to us, though we have the strongest ground for believing that they were boiled in earthenware pots—for, in recent excavations in Bath, vessels of that description have been found among the traces of the most ancient civilisation.
“Now,” said the prince, wiping his mouth with a bunch of grass when he came to the first pause, “what may be the nature of your mission, Beniah?”
“Let me ask, first,” replied the Hebrew, also wiping his mouth with a similar pocket handkerchief, “have you found the lad Cormac yet?”
“No,” answered the prince, gloomily, and with a slightly surprised look, for the expression of Beniah’s countenance puzzled him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because that bears somewhat on my mission. I have to deliver a message from your father, the king. He bids me say that you are to return home immediately.”
“Never!” cried Bladud, with that Medo-Persic decision of tone and manner, which implies highly probable and early surrender, “never! until I find the boy—dead or alive.”
“For,” continued the Hebrew, slowly, “he has important matters to consider with you—matters that will not brook delay. Moreover, Gadarn bid me say that he has fallen on the tracks of the lad Cormac, and that we are almost sure to find him in the neighbourhood of your father’s town.”
“What say you?” exclaimed Bladud, dropping his drumstick—not the same one, but another which he had just begun—“repeat that.”
Beniah repeated it.
“Arkal,” said the prince, turning to the captain, “I will leave you in charge here, and start off by the first light to-morrow morning. See that poor Konar is well cared for. Maikar, you will accompany me, and I suppose, Dromas, that you also will go.”
“Of course,” said Dromas, with a meaning smile—so full of meaning, indeed, as to be quite beyond interpretation.
“By the way,” continued Bladud,—who had resumed the drumstick,—“has that fellow Gadarn found his daughter Branwen?”
Beniah choked on a bone, or something, at that moment, and, looking at the prince with the strangest expression of face, and tears in his eyes, explained that he had not—at least not to his, Beniah’s, absolutely certain knowledge.
“That is to say,” he continued in some confusion, “if—if—he has found her—which seems to me highly probable—there must be some—some mystery about her, for—it is impossible that—”
Here the Hebrew choked again with some violence.
“Have a care, man!” cried the prince in some alarm. “However hungry a man may be, he should take time to swallow. You seem to be contradicting yourself, but I don’t wonder, in the circumstances.”
“Verily, I wonder at nothing, in the circumstances, for they are perplexing—even distressing,” returned the Hebrew with a sigh, as he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.
“Better not speak with your mouth full, then. Ah! poor Gadarn,” said Bladud, in an obviously indifferent tone of voice. “I’m sorry for him. Girls like his daughter, who are self-willed, and given to running away, are a heavy affliction to parents. And, truly, I ought to feel sympathy with him, for, although I am seeking for a youth of very different character, we are both so far engaged in similar work—search for the lost. And what of my father, mother, and sister?”
“All hale and hearty!” replied Beniah, with a sigh of relief, “and all anxious for your return, especially Hafrydda.”
At this point Dromas looked at the speaker with deepened interest.
“She is a good girl, your sister,” continued Beniah, “and greatly taken up just now with that old woman you met in my cave. Hafrydda has strange fancies.”
“She might have worse fancies than being taken up with poor old women,” returned the prince. “I’m rather fond of them myself, and was particularly attracted by the old woman referred to. She was—what! choking again, Beniah? Come, I think you have had enough for one meal. And so have we all, friends, therefore we had better away to roost if we are to be up betimes in the morning.”
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |