When Bladud walked out to the Hebrew’s hut next day and informed him of what had taken place, that long-suffering man heaved a deep sigh and expressed his intense relief that the whole affair was at last cleared up and had come to an end.
“I cannot view matters in the same light that you do, Beniah,” said the prince, “for, in my opinion, things have only now come to a satisfactory beginning. However, I suppose that you are thinking of the strange perplexities in which you have been involved so long.”
“I would not style them perplexities, prince, but intrigues—obvious and unjustifiable intrigues—in which innocent persons have been brought frequently to the verge of falsehood—if they have not, indeed, been forced to overstep the boundary.”
“Surely, Beniah, circumstances, against which none of us had power to contend, had somewhat to do with it all, as well as intrigue.”
“I care not,” returned the Hebrew, “whether it was the intrigues of your court or the circumstances of it, which were the cause of all the mess in which I and others have been involved, but I am aweary of it, and have made up my mind to leave the place and retire to a remote part of the wilderness, where I may find in solitude solace to my exhausted spirit, and rest to my old bones.”
“That will never do, Beniah,” said the prince, laughing. “You take too serious a view of the matter. There is no fear of any more intrigues or circumstances arising to perplex you for some time to come. Besides, I want your services very much—but, before broaching that point, let me ask why you have invited me to come to see you here. Hafrydda gave me your message—”
“My message!” repeated the Hebrew in surprise.
“Yes—to meet you here this forenoon on urgent business. If it is anything secret you have to tell me, I hope you have not got your wonderful old witch in the back cave, for she seems to have discovered as thorough a cure for deafness as I found for leprosy at the Hot Swamp.”
“Wonderful old witch!” repeated Beniah, with a dazed look, and a tone of exasperation that the prince could not account for. “Do you, then, not know about that old woman?”
“Oh! yes, I know only too much about her,” replied Bladud. “She has been staying at the palace for some time, as you know, and rather a lively time the old hag has given us. She went in to see my mother one day and threw her into convulsions, from which, I think, she has hardly recovered yet. Then she went to my father’s room—the chief Gadarn and I were with him at the time—and almost before she had time to speak they went into fits of laughter at her till the tears ran down their cheeks. I must say it seemed to me unnecessarily rude and unkind, for, although the woman is a queer old thing, and has little more of her face visible than her piercing black eyes, I could see nothing to laugh at in her shrivelled-up, bent little body. Besides this, she has kept the domestics in a state of constant agitation, for most of them seem to think her a limb of the evil spirit. But what makes you laugh so?”
“Oh! I see now,” returned the Hebrew, controlling himself by a strong effort. “I understand now why the old woman wished to be present at our interview. Come forth, thou unconscionable hag!” added Beniah, in the voice of a stentor, “and do your worst. I am past emotion of any kind whatever now.”
As he spoke he gazed, with the resigned air of a martyr, at the inner end of his cavern. Bladud also looked in that direction. A moment later and the little old woman with the grey shawl appeared; thrust out the plank bridge; crossed over, and tottered towards them.
“Dearie me! Beniah, there’s no need to yell so loud. You know I’ve got back my hearing. What want ye with me? I’m sure I have no wish to pry into the secrets of this young man or yourself. What d’ye want?”
But Beniah stood speechless, a strange expression on his face, his lips firmly compressed and his arms folded across his breast.
“Have you become as dumb as I was deaf, old man?” asked the woman, petulantly.
Still the Hebrew refused to speak.
“Have patience with him, old woman,” said Bladud, in a soothing tone. “He is sometimes taken with unaccountable fits—”
“Fits!” interrupted the old woman. “I wish he had the fits that I have sometimes. Perhaps they would cure him of his impudence. They would cure you too, young man, of your stupidity.”
“Stupidity!” echoed Bladud, much amused. “I have been credited with pride and haste and many other faults in my day, but never with stupidity.”
“Was it not stupid of you to go and ask that silly girl to wed you—that double-faced thing that knows how to cheat and deceive and—”
“Come, come, old woman,” said the prince, repressing with difficulty a burst of indignation. “You allow your old tongue to wag too freely. I suppose,” he added, turning to Beniah, “that we can conclude our conversation outside?”
But the Hebrew still remained immovable and sternly dumb.
Unable to understand this, Bladud turned again to the old woman, but, lo! the old woman was gone, and in her place stood Branwen, erect, with the grey shawl thrown back, and a half-timid smile on her face.
To say that Bladud was thunderstruck is not sufficient to indicate his condition. He stood as if rooted to the spot with his whole being concentrated in his wide-open blue eyes.
“Is my presumption too great, Bladud?” asked the girl, hesitatingly. “I did but wish to assure you that I have no other deceptions to practise. That I fear—I hope—that—”
The prince, recovering himself, sprang forward and once again stopped her mouth—not with his hand; oh! by no means!—while Beniah, with that refinement of wisdom which is the prerogative of age, stepped out to ascertain whether it happened to be rain or sunshine that ruled at the time. Curiously enough he found that it was the latter.
That evening the doctor of the royal household was summoned by an affrighted servitor to the apartment of Gadarn, who had been overheard choking. The alarmed man of medicine went at once, and, bursting into the room without knocking, found the great northern chief sitting on the edge of his couch purple in the face and with tears in his eyes. The exasperated man leaped up intending to kick the doctor out, but, changing his mind, he kicked the horrified servitor out instead, and, taking the doctor into his confidence, related to him an anecdote which had just been told to him by Bladud.
“It will be the death of the king,” said Gadarn. “You had better go to him. He may need your services.”
But the king was made of sterner stuff than his friend imagined. He put strong constraint upon himself, and, being not easily overcome by feeling—or anything else under the sun—he lived to relate the same anecdote to his wife and daughter.
The day following, Bladud resumed with the Hebrew the conversation that had been interrupted by Branwen.
“I was going to have said to you, Beniah, that I want your services very much.”
“You had said that much, prince, before Bran—I mean Cor—that is, the old woman—interrupted us. How can I serve you?”
“By going back with me to the Hot Swamp and helping to carry out a grand scheme that I have in my brain.”
The Hebrew shook his head.
“I love not your grand schemes,” he said, somewhat sternly. “The last grand scheme that your father had was one which, if successfully carried out, would have added a large portion of Albion to his dominions, and would have swept several tribes off the face of the earth. As it was, the mere effort to carry it out cost the lives of many of the best young men on both sides, and left hundreds of mothers, wives, sisters, and children to mourn their irreparable losses, and to wonder what all the fighting was about. Indeed, there are not a few grey-bearded men who share that wonder with the women and children, and who cannot, by any effort of their imagination, see what advantage is gained by either party when the fight is over.”
“These grey-beards must be thick-skulled, then,” replied the prince with a smile, “for does not the victor retain the land which he has conquered?”
“Yea, truly, and he also retains the tombs of the goodly young men who have been slain, and also the widows and sweethearts, and the national loss resulting from the war—for all which the land gained is but a paltry return. Moreover, if the All-seeing One cared only for the victors, there might be some understanding of the matter—though at the cost of justice—but, seeing that He cares for the vanquished quite as much as for the victorious, the gain on one side is counterbalanced by the loss on the other side, while the world at large is all the poorer, first, by the loss of much of its best blood, second, by the creation of a vast amount of unutterable sorrow and bitter hatred, and, third, by a tremendous amount of misdirected energy.
“Look, for instance, at the Hot Swamp. Before the late war it was the abode of a happy and prosperous population. Now, it is a desolation. Hundreds of its youth are in premature graves, and nothing whatever has been gained from it by your father that I can see.”
“But surely men must defend themselves and their women and children against foes?” said Bladud.
“Verily, I did not say they should not,” replied Beniah. “Self-defence is a duty; aggressive war, in most cases (I do not say in all), is a blunder or a sin.”
“I think that my mind runs much on the same line with yours, Beniah, as to these things, but I am pretty sure that a good many years will pass over us before the warriors of the present day will see things in this light.”
One is apt to smile at Bladud’s prophetic observation, when one reflects that about two thousand seven hundred years have elapsed since that day, and warriors, as well as many civilians, have not managed to see it in this light yet!
“However,” continued the prince, “the scheme which runs in my head is not one of war—aggressive or defensive—but one of peace, for the betterment of all mankind. As you know, I have begun to build a city at the Hot Swamp, so that all who are sick may go to that beautiful country and find health, as I did. And I want your help in this scheme.”
“That is well, prince, but I see not how I can aid you. I am not an engineer, who could carry out your devices, nor an architect who could plan your dwellings. And I am too old for manual labour—though, of course, it is not for that you want me.”
“You are right, Beniah. It is not for that. I have as many strong and willing hands to work as I require, but I want wise heads, full of years and experience, which may aid me in council and guard me from the blunders of youth and inexperience. Besides, man was not, it seems to me, put into this world merely to enjoy himself. If he was, then are the brutes his superiors, for they have no cares, no anxieties about food or raiment, or housing, and they enjoy themselves to the full as long as their little day lasts. There is surely some nobler end for man, and as you have given much study to the works and ways and reputed words of the All-seeing One, I want you to aid me in helping men to look upward—to soar like the eagle above the things of earth, as well as to consider the interests of others, and so, as far as may be, unlearn selfishness. Will you join me for this end?”
“That will I, with joy,” answered the Hebrew with kindling eye; “but your ambition soars high, prince. Have you spoken to Branwen on these subjects?”
“Of course I have, and she, like a true woman, enters heartily into my plans. Like myself, she does not think that being wedded and happy is the great end of life, but only the beginning of it. When the wedding is over, our minds will then be set free to devote ourselves to the great work before us.”
“And what duties in the work will fall to the lot of Branwen?” asked Beniah, with an amused look.
“The duties of a wife, of course,” returned the prince. “She will lend a sympathetic ear to all plans and proposals; her ingenious imagination will suggest ideas that might escape my grosser mind; her brilliant fancy will produce combinations that my duller brain would never think of; her hopeful spirit will encourage me to perseverance where accident or disaster has a tendency to demoralise, and her loving spirit will comfort me should failure, great or small, be permitted to overtake me. All this, I admit, sounds very selfish, but you asked me what part Branwen should play in regard to my schemes. If you had asked me what part I am to play in her life and work, the picture might be inverted to some extent—for our lives will be mutual—though, of course, I can never be to her what she will be to me.”
With this exalted idea of the married state, Prince Bladud looked forward to his wedding. Whether Dromas was imbued with similar ideas we cannot tell; but of this we are sure, that he was equally devoted to the princess—as far as outward appearance went—and he entered with keenest zest and appreciation into the plans and aspirations of his friend, with regard to the welfare of mankind in general, and the men of Albion in particular.
Not many days after that there was a double wedding at Hudibras town, which created a tremendous sensation throughout all the land. For, although news travelled slowly in those days, the fame of Bladud and his wonderful cure, and his great size and athletic powers, coupled with his Eastern learning, and warlike attainments and peaceful proclivities, not to mention the beauty and romantic adventures of his bride, had made such an impression on what may be styled the whole nation, that noted chiefs came from all parts far and near, to his wedding, bringing as many of their distinguished followers with them as they deemed necessary to safe travelling in an unsettled country. Some even came from the great western island called Erin, and others from the remote isle of the north which lay beyond Gadarn’s country, and was at a later period named Ultima Thule.
“I wonder when they’re going to stop coming,” remarked Gadarn to King Hudibras, as the self-invited guests came pouring in.
“Let them come,” replied the jovial king, with the air of a man of unlimited means. “The more the merrier. There’s room for all, and the forests are big.”
“Some of them, I see,” rejoined Gadarn, “are my mortal foes. We shall now have a chance of becoming mortal friends.”
It might be supposed that the assemblage of such a host from all points of the compass would, as it is sometimes expressed, eat King Hudibras out of house and home; but this was not so, for it was the custom at that time for visitors at royal courts to hunt for their victuals—to go in, as it were, for a grand picnic on a continuous basis, so that the palace of our king, instead of being depleted, became surfeited with food. As his preserves were extensive, and game of all kinds abundant, the expense attendant on this kind of hospitality was nil.
It would have been very much the reverse had it been necessary to supply drink, but the art of producing liquids which fuddle, stupefy, and madden, had not yet been learnt in this country. Consequently there was no fighting or bloodshed at those jovial festivities, though there was a certain amount of quarrelling—as might be expected amongst independent men who held different opinions on many subjects, although politics and theology had not yet been invented.
Great were the rejoicings when it was discovered, by each band as it arrived, that there was to be a double wedding; that the Princess Hafrydda was to be one of the brides, and that the fortunate man who had won her was a famous warrior of the mysterious East, and one of the victors at the great games of that part of the world.
How the ceremony of marriage was performed we have not, after the most painstaking research, been able to ascertain; but that it was performed somehow, and to the satisfaction of all concerned, we are absolutely certain, from the fact that Bladud and Branwen, Dromas and Hafrydda, lived happily together as man and wife for many years afterwards, and brought up large families of stalwart sons and daughters to strengthen the power and increase the prestige of Old Albion.
This, however, by the way. Of course the chief amusement of the guests was games, followed by songs and dancing in the evenings. And one of the favourite amusements at the games was scientific boxing, for that was an entirely new art to the warriors, alike of Albion, Erin, and Ultima Thule.
It first burst upon their senses as a new and grand idea when Bladud and Dromas, at the urgent request of their friends, stepped into the arena and gave a specimen of the manner in which the art was practised in Hellas. Of course they did not use what we call knuckle-dusters, nor did they even double their fists, except when moving round each other, and as “gloves” were unknown, they struck out with the hands half open, for they had no wish to bleed each other’s noses or black each other’s eyes for mere amusement.
At the beginning it was thought that Dromas was no match at all for the gigantic Bladud, but when the wonderful agility of the former was seen—the ease with which he ducked and turned aside his head to evade blows, and the lightning speed with which he countered, giving a touch on the forehead or a dig in the ribs, smiling all the time as if to say, “How d’ye like it?” men’s minds changed with shouts of surprise and satisfaction. And they highly approved of the way in which the champions smilingly shook hands after the bout was over—as they had done before it began.
They did not, however, perceive the full value of the art until an ambitious young chief from Ultima Thule—a man of immense size and rugged mould with red hair—insisted on Dromas giving him a lesson. The man from Hellas declined at first, but the man from Thule was urgent, and there seemed to be a feeling among the warriors that the young Hellene was afraid.
“It is so difficult,” he explained, “to hit lightly and swiftly that sometimes an unintentionally hard blow is given, and men are apt to lose their tempers.”
This was received with a loud laugh by the Thuler.
“What! I lose my temper on account of a friendly buffet! Besides, I shall take care not to hit hard—you need not fear.”
“As you will,” returned Dromas, with a good-humoured smile.
The Thuler stood up and allowed his instructor to put him in the correct attitude. Then the latter faced him and said, “Now, guard yourself.”
Next moment his left hand shot out and gently touched his opponent’s nose. The Thuler received the touch with what he deemed an orthodox smile and tried to guard it after it had been delivered.
Then he struck out with his left—being an apt pupil—but Dromas drew back and the blow did not reach him. Then he struck out smartly with his right, but the Hellene put his head to one side and let it pass. Again he struck out rapidly, one hand after the other, without much care whether the blows were light or heavy. Dromas evaded both without guarding, and, in reply, gave the Thuler a smartish touch on his unfortunate nose.
This was received by the assemblage with a wild shout of surprise and delight, and the Thuler became grave; collected himself as if for real business, and suddenly let out a shower of blows which, had they taken effect, would soon have ended the match, but his blows only fell on air, for Dromas evaded them with ease, returning every now and then a tap on the old spot or a touch on the forehead. At last, seeing that the man was losing temper, he gave him a sharp dig in the wind which caused him to gasp, and a sounding buffet on the cheek which caused him to howl with rage and feel for the hilt of his sword. That dangerous weapon, however, had been judiciously removed by his friends. He therefore rushed at his antagonist, resolved to annihilate him, but was received with two genuine blows—one in the wind, the other on the forehead, which stretched him on the sward.
The Thuler rose therefrom with a dazed look, and accepted the Hellene’s friendly shake of the hand with an unmeaning smile.
After the sports had continued for several days King Hudibras proposed an excursion—a sort of gigantic picnic—to the Hot Swamp, where Bladud and his friend had made up their mind to spend their honeymoon.
Arrived there, they found that immense progress had been made with the new city—insomuch that Dromas assured Hafrydda that it brought to his mind some very ancient fables of great cities rising spontaneously from the ground to the sound of pipes played by the gods.
The baths, too, were in such an advanced stage that they were able to fill them on the arrival of the host and allow the interested and impatient chiefs to bathe.
“Don’t let them go in till you give the signal that the baths are ready,” said Gadarn to the king in that grave, suppressed manner which indicated that the northern chief was inclined to mischief.
“Why?” asked the king.
“Because, as I understand, you love fair play and no favour. It would not be fair to let some begin before others. They might feel it, you know, and quarrel.”
“Very well, so be it,” returned the king, and gave orders that no one was to go near the baths until they were quite full, when he would give the signal.
The chiefs and warriors entering into the spirit of the thing, took quite a boyish delight in stripping themselves and preparing for a rush.
“Now, are you ready?” said the king.
“Ay, all ready.”
“Away, then!”
The warlike host rushed to the brink of the largest bath and plunged in—some head, others feet, first. But they came out almost as fast as they went in—yelling and spluttering—for the water was much too hot!
“Ah! I see now,” growled the king, turning to Gadarn—but Gadarn was gone. He found him, a minute later, behind a bush, in fits!
Pacifying the warriors with some difficulty—for they were a hot-headed generation—the king, being directed by Bladud, ordered the water from the cold lake to be turned on until the bath became bearable. Then the warriors re-entered it again more sedately. The warm water soon restored their equanimity, and ere long the unusual sight was to be seen of bearded men and smooth chins, rugged men and striplings, rolling about like porpoises, shouting, laughing, and indulging in horse-play like veritable boys.
Truly warmth has much to do with the felicity of mankind!
Towards afternoon the warriors were ordered to turn out, and, after the water had been allowed to run till it was clear, King Hudibras descended into it with much gravity and a good deal of what was in those ages considered to be ceremonial effect. This was done by way of taking formal possession of the Hot Springs. He was greatly cheered during the process by the admiring visitors, as well as physically by the hot water, and it is said that while his son Bladud was dutifully rubbing him down in the neighbouring booth, he remarked that it was the best bath he ever had in his life, that he would visit the place periodically as long as he lived, and that a palace must be built there for his accommodation.
From that day the bath was named the “King’s Bath,” and it is so named at the present day.
Soon after that the queen visited the Swamp and, with her ladies, made use of the bath which had been specially prepared for women; and this one went by the name of the “Queen’s Bath” thereafter. Its site, however, is not now certainly known, and it is not to be confounded with the “Queen’s Bath” of the present day, which was named after Queen Anne.
Prince Bladud lived to carry out most of his plans. He built a palace for his father in Swamptown. He built a palace for himself and Branwen, with a wing to it for Dromas and Hafrydda, and took up his permanent abode there when he afterwards became king. At the death of his father he added another wing for the queen-mother—with internal doors opening from each wing to the other, in order that they might live, so to speak, as one family. This arrangement worked admirably until the families became large, and the younger members obstreperous, when the internal doors were occasionally, even frequently, shut. He also built a snug house for Konar, and made him Hunter-General to the Royal Household. It is said that, owing to the genial influence of Bladud’s kind nature, Konar recovered his reason, and, forgetting the false fair-one who had jilted him, took to himself a helpmate who more than made up for her loss.
Captain Arkal soon found that his passion for hot water cooled. As it did so, his love for salt water revived. He returned to Hellas, and, after paying his respects to his pretty Greek wife, and dandling the solid, square, bluff, and resolute baby, he reloaded his ship and returned to Albion. Thus he went and came for many years.
Little Maikar, however, did not follow his example. True, he accompanied his old captain on his first trip to Hellas, but that was for the purpose of getting possession of a dark-eyed maiden who awaited him there; with whom he returned to Swamptown, and, in that lovely region, spent the remainder of his life.
Even Addedomar was weaned from outlawry to honesty by the irresistible solicitations of Bladud, and as, in modern times, many an incorrigible poacher makes a first-rate gamekeeper, so the robber-chief became an able head-huntsman under the Hunter-General. The irony of Fate decreed, however, that the man who had once contemplated three wives was not to marry at all. He dwelt with his mother Ortrud to the end of her days in a small house not far from the residence of Konar. Gunrig’s mother also dwelt with them—not that she had any particular regard for them personally, but in order that she might be near to the beautiful girl who had been beloved by her son.
Gadarn, the great northern chief, ever afterwards paid an annual visit to Swamptown. While that visit lasted there was a general feeling in the palace—especially among the young people—that a jovial hurricane was blowing. During the daytime the gale made itself felt in loud hilarious laughter, song, and story. At night it blew steadily through his nose. After his departure an unaccountable calm seemed to settle down upon the whole region!
Beniah performed with powerful effect the task allotted to him, for, both by precept and example, he so set forth and obeyed the laws of God that the tone of society was imperceptibly elevated. Men came to know, and to act upon the knowledge, that this world was not their rest; that there is a better life beyond, and, in the contemplation of that life, they, somehow, made this life more agreeable to themselves and to each other.
Time, which never intermits the beating of his fateful wings, flew by; the centuries rolled on; the Roman invaders came; the Norsemen and Saxons came, the Norman conquerors came, and each left their mark, deep and lasting, on the people and on the land—but they could not check by one hair’s-breadth the perennial flow of the springs in the Hot Swamp, or obliterate the legend on which is founded this Romance of Old Albion.
The End.
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